fic: ELASTIC
ELASTIC
mad men; peggy olson (peggy/stan; peggy/ted); pg-13.
post 'in care of': hidden depths beneath the turtle necks?
note: spoilers for season six finale.
she had not known the weight until she felt the freedom
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
There’s a party for Ted, a big banner strung up across the stairs and enough booze to slay six hundred laid out on the conference room table, with a small splatter of vomit underneath it by eight o’clock. Peggy’s settled for the red dress and smiles sweet when Ted blanches, his hand bracing around his wife’s waist.
“I heard the weather in California’s lovely this time of year,” Peggy says to Nan. Her cheeks are flushed with something, be it guilt or alcohol.
“Yes,” Nan gushes, the wide open smile she seems to reserve only for her. Ted eyes her warily and she ignores him with equal caution.
The silence hangs, “I’m gonna go get another drink.”
“Oh yes, sure.”
“What’s the deal with you and Chaough? Hidden depths beneath the turtle necks?” Stan says, shutting the door to Don’s office. It’s easy enough to avoid Ted, but Stan sticks like glue.
Her eyes track his path to Don’s whiskey and then to the edge of her desk. “You wear turtle necks.” She says, takes the glass from his hand.
“Yeah but you only ever fuck with me.”
Peggy snorts, “I have offered to sleep with you on several occasions.”
“Only when you want something.” He reminds her. His laugh is low and gentle and kind of kicks her in the ribs.
She scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You can’t call me ridiculous.”
“I’m not the one who owns a jacket with bangs.”
He laughs properly now, from the belly and Peggy laughs too. Her eyes fix on the door as she hears the sound carry. She’s half expecting Ted to burst in at any moment with some half-assed declaration of love, or worse still Nan with tears running down her cheeks. How could you?-I don’t know, ask him.
Stan fumbles for a joint to her left. He’s frowning at her, “What’s up, buttercup?”
“Don’t call me that.”
He takes a drag and passes it to her, “Don’t do this, don’t do that,” he intones shrilly, “Are we married already?”
She shrugs and takes a pull. “Steady there cowboy.”
Ted leaves for California the following lunchtime. Before that, though, he stands outside her apartment and leans his forehead against the door. When she opens it, half-dressed and unmade-up, his arms hang at his sides and his hands fist unoccupied. He moves towards her, as though to touch her and then stops, seems to think better of it.
She waits for him to still, “You have a flight-“
“I came to say sorry.”
“You’re really good at saying that like you mean it.”
He looks slightly broken when she closes the door.
Stan wears a turtleneck to work and Peggy doesn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. His smirk stretches when he catches her eye, “Turtlenecks,” he says, “That’s some kinky shit there, Olson.”
“Stop.” She says, but she’s grinning.
“Will you sleep with me now? You can call me Ted if you like.”
Her arms cross, “Don’t push it.”
Stan only laughs, “You’re pretty fucking cliché, you know that?”
“Gee,” she replies, “Just what every girl wants to hear.”
This makes him laugh, and she smiles too, despite herself. He puffs himself up, “I will wine and dine you, then.” He says, gestures to the door.
“Can we skip the dine and go straight to the wine?”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
They settle in a booth, a smiley southern waitress recommending the martinis. “Two bourbons,” Stan says, holding up the index and middle fingers of his right hand with his elbow propped on the table. He uses his sexy voice and pretends not to notice Peggy’s wry smile.
“Comin’ right up!” The waitress chirps.
“You’re a doll.”
“Really?” Peggy says, when his gaze returns to hers from the waitress’ ass. “Is this some amateur attempt to make me jealous?”
Stan grins, “Is it working?”
“No!” She laughs incredulously. “Should it be?”
“Andddd there’s your answer.”
She smiles weakly, lets her knee bump his under the table. He reaches for it instinctively, his hand landing heavily on her thigh. She cocks an eyebrow. “Is that your answer?”
“I won’t be your rebound bitch.”
Her laugh stinks of whiskey, and so do his lips against hers.
They go back to his, mainly because it’s closer but also because Stan doesn’t want to fuck her on the same sheets Ted fucked her on first.
“I changed them,” she protests weakly.
He laughs against her neck, “No you haven’t.”
“No,” she laughs now, “I haven’t.”
His beard slides against her collar bone and down her body. “Such a fucking cliché.”
end.
mad men; peggy olson (peggy/stan; peggy/ted); pg-13.
post 'in care of': hidden depths beneath the turtle necks?
note: spoilers for season six finale.
she had not known the weight until she felt the freedom
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
There’s a party for Ted, a big banner strung up across the stairs and enough booze to slay six hundred laid out on the conference room table, with a small splatter of vomit underneath it by eight o’clock. Peggy’s settled for the red dress and smiles sweet when Ted blanches, his hand bracing around his wife’s waist.
“I heard the weather in California’s lovely this time of year,” Peggy says to Nan. Her cheeks are flushed with something, be it guilt or alcohol.
“Yes,” Nan gushes, the wide open smile she seems to reserve only for her. Ted eyes her warily and she ignores him with equal caution.
The silence hangs, “I’m gonna go get another drink.”
“Oh yes, sure.”
“What’s the deal with you and Chaough? Hidden depths beneath the turtle necks?” Stan says, shutting the door to Don’s office. It’s easy enough to avoid Ted, but Stan sticks like glue.
Her eyes track his path to Don’s whiskey and then to the edge of her desk. “You wear turtle necks.” She says, takes the glass from his hand.
“Yeah but you only ever fuck with me.”
Peggy snorts, “I have offered to sleep with you on several occasions.”
“Only when you want something.” He reminds her. His laugh is low and gentle and kind of kicks her in the ribs.
She scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You can’t call me ridiculous.”
“I’m not the one who owns a jacket with bangs.”
He laughs properly now, from the belly and Peggy laughs too. Her eyes fix on the door as she hears the sound carry. She’s half expecting Ted to burst in at any moment with some half-assed declaration of love, or worse still Nan with tears running down her cheeks. How could you?-I don’t know, ask him.
Stan fumbles for a joint to her left. He’s frowning at her, “What’s up, buttercup?”
“Don’t call me that.”
He takes a drag and passes it to her, “Don’t do this, don’t do that,” he intones shrilly, “Are we married already?”
She shrugs and takes a pull. “Steady there cowboy.”
Ted leaves for California the following lunchtime. Before that, though, he stands outside her apartment and leans his forehead against the door. When she opens it, half-dressed and unmade-up, his arms hang at his sides and his hands fist unoccupied. He moves towards her, as though to touch her and then stops, seems to think better of it.
She waits for him to still, “You have a flight-“
“I came to say sorry.”
“You’re really good at saying that like you mean it.”
He looks slightly broken when she closes the door.
Stan wears a turtleneck to work and Peggy doesn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. His smirk stretches when he catches her eye, “Turtlenecks,” he says, “That’s some kinky shit there, Olson.”
“Stop.” She says, but she’s grinning.
“Will you sleep with me now? You can call me Ted if you like.”
Her arms cross, “Don’t push it.”
Stan only laughs, “You’re pretty fucking cliché, you know that?”
“Gee,” she replies, “Just what every girl wants to hear.”
This makes him laugh, and she smiles too, despite herself. He puffs himself up, “I will wine and dine you, then.” He says, gestures to the door.
“Can we skip the dine and go straight to the wine?”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
They settle in a booth, a smiley southern waitress recommending the martinis. “Two bourbons,” Stan says, holding up the index and middle fingers of his right hand with his elbow propped on the table. He uses his sexy voice and pretends not to notice Peggy’s wry smile.
“Comin’ right up!” The waitress chirps.
“You’re a doll.”
“Really?” Peggy says, when his gaze returns to hers from the waitress’ ass. “Is this some amateur attempt to make me jealous?”
Stan grins, “Is it working?”
“No!” She laughs incredulously. “Should it be?”
“Andddd there’s your answer.”
She smiles weakly, lets her knee bump his under the table. He reaches for it instinctively, his hand landing heavily on her thigh. She cocks an eyebrow. “Is that your answer?”
“I won’t be your rebound bitch.”
Her laugh stinks of whiskey, and so do his lips against hers.
They go back to his, mainly because it’s closer but also because Stan doesn’t want to fuck her on the same sheets Ted fucked her on first.
“I changed them,” she protests weakly.
He laughs against her neck, “No you haven’t.”
“No,” she laughs now, “I haven’t.”
His beard slides against her collar bone and down her body. “Such a fucking cliché.”
end.