This story copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
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Steed grows a tail,
Emma makes her move
Chapter 1
Emma shifted in the usually comfortable car seat trying to find a position that didn't hurt. The fight she'd had with Steed while she was under the influence of the giant, alien plant back in Surry had left her with a number of bruises and probably worse. She was certain nothing was broken, except maybe her left middle finger, but the sore spots all over her body were bad enough.
"Are you all right, Mrs. Peel?" Steed asked, glancing at her as she squirmed.
"As well as can be expected," she replied tersely.
"I can't begin to apologize enough for what I had to do, Mrs. Peel," he said. "You were, I might add, very difficult to subdue."
"Yes," she sighed, "I'm sure I presented a challenge for you. Ouch!" She had rested her arm on the top of the door and found another bruise.
"I'm so sorry," he repeated, turning onto her street. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you to the clinic?"
"Yes, quite sure. Nothing is broken."
Steed parked the car outside her building and got out, coming around to her side.
"We're here. Shall I come up with you?"
"Yes you shall. And you shall make me some tea and draw me a warm bath," she said firmly.
He opened her door and took her hand, smiling broadly, "That would be my pleasure, Mrs. Peel."
In the few months that Emma had been working with Steed her life had changed dramatically. Steed's personal whirlwind kept her spinning with cases from bizarre to life-threatening, and sometimes even silly. In between there were romantic dinners, formal parties, opera, the theatre, the symphony, and, rarely but most wonderfully, quiet Sunday afternoons at one of their apartments with newspapers and fresh scones.
Emma had forced herself to make and keep dates with other men. She sometimes genuinely enjoyed their company. But at the end of each such evening as she drifted off to sleep, Steed's sweet grey eyes would fill her mind and she'd feel his hands on her waist, his lips on her brow. And some evenings, lying in her warm, empty bed, she'd found that the only way to ease the heat he stirred in her was with her own fingers. It was a temporary measure, momentarily satisfying but ultimately only more frustrating as her feelings for Steed deepened. She wanted to know his body as she had once known Peter's. She wanted to know it more.
Somehow Steed had slipped past her carefully constructed barriers. He couldn't have known that his manners, his charming ego, his fascinating interests, and his many talents would be just the right combination of traits to overcome her cynicism and earn him her trust. And yet she sometimes suspected that he had -- that Steed could be who ever he needed, or wanted, to be. So at first she'd held herself aloof, enjoying their time together, both working and playing, but always stopping herself from even thinking about the state of her emotions.
But weeks had passed, then months, and Steed had not changed. Oh, he acted many roles and assumed disguises to endear himself to suspects and witnesses, but at the end of each case, when they were once again alone together, he was still her charming, eccentric, dear Steed. For a brief instant when he'd held a clump of mistletoe over their heads in a carriage last Christmas she'd allowed herself to put a word to what she felt. Love. They'd kissed, Steed letting the buggy whip with the silly bit of greenery drop at their feet as the horse slowed, then stopped, and started cropping the grass by the side of the road. Their kiss had dissolved into giggles as they realized two automobiles had pulled up behind their stopped carriage, the drivers too discrete to honk and disturb the Christmas lovers.
Lovers.
But Emma knew instinctively that she could not love Steed. He wouldn't allow it, wouldn't reciprocate. Couldn't. She didn't know why, but on some level she understood. His life was too tenuous, for all of his skill and amazing talent. He kept everyone at a distance. With tremendous sadness at the revelation, she resolved to be content with just how close he'd allowed her. And when she thought about him, about her feelings for him, she substituted "trust" for "love." She trusted him as she'd never trusted another person. She could be intimate with a man she trusted so completely.
She wanted Steed, and with each case, each date, each kiss, she wanted him more.
"Would you prefer tea or a drink?" Steed asked, laying his umbrella and hat on the piano bench.
"Tea please," Emma replied, heading for her bedroom.
It really did hurt to move quickly, so by the time she returned wearing her thick, white bathrobe, Steed had poured hot water into the teapot, the loose tea leaves swirling around beneath the steam. Standing outside her bedroom door she pulled up her left sleeve above the elbow.
"Look at this," she said, rotating her arm so he could see the outside of her upper arm and elbow. It was streaked with a vivid yellow bruise. "I'll have to wear long sleeves for a week. And I haven't a thing now for that museum charity benefit on Friday."
Steed crossed the room to her and raised her arm gently. He bent and kissed her elbow, then smiled impishly at her face. "Does that help?"
"A little," she conceded, knowing he regretted what he'd had to do. There was little point in belaboring it. And she had other ideas. Although she'd not been in control of herself during their fight, on some level she'd been aware of his physical proximity, his touches to parts of her body that, outside of this strange situation, were off limits. And she was aware now that he had fought two battles -- one with her, and one with himself between the need to subdue her and the desire not to hurt her. And now a desire to feel him touch her again was pulsing beneath the hurts to her body. The bruises and strains were nothing compared to the burning need that was welling up beneath her belly. It took all of her forbearance to maintain control and not press herself into his arms.
"Where else does it hurt?" he asked, his soft voice washing over her. She held up her left hand, showing him that the middle finger was swollen. It felt sprained, not broken.
"Here," she said. He took her hand and kissed it gently. His cool lips soothed the ache, if only for a second. She needed more. She pulled aside her robe to point to a spot on her right shoulder. "And here," she said.
"I don't see a bruise there," he pointed out.
"It doesn't show yet," she assured him, tilting her head away from her shoulder to look at the spot in question. He leaned in and kissed it, his hands settling lightly on her waist. Then, on impulse, he made a trail of kisses up her shoulder to the very sensitive spot on her neck just beneath her ear. She sighed, letting it transform into a little moan. Her skin tingled where he touched her. She felt him shiver, his breath a sharp intake against her flesh.
Does he understand? She wondered, does he know what I want?
"Where else?" he whispered into her ear, his breath tickling her. He knows. She took his right hand and moved it up on her ribs under her arm. The edge of his palm just brushed her nipple through the robe.
"Here," she whispered, struggling to contain the intense desire to thrust her hips against his.
He moved his hand, caressing the side of her breast, feeling her nipple harden as he brushed it. The fire in his groin shot through is body and he gasped. Undirected, his thumb passed over her breast, rubbing her harder. She inhaled a sharp breath, her eyes shut tight, her lips slightly parted as she enjoyed the sensation.
"Shall I have a look?" he whispered.
"Yes, please," she sighed. Steed gently slipped his hand inside her robe, his fingers brushing her taut nipple as he cupped her breast. He bent to kiss it, drawing her nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. Slowly Steed, she's in charge, he reminded himself even as the feel of her response aroused him almost beyond control. Her hands slid into his hair. He could feel her heart racing. "Please," she moaned.
He used his left hand to lift the other side of her robe, brushing his fingers over her left nipple and feeling it harden as well. He left a trail of kisses across her breasts, drawing her left nipple between his lips. She slid her hands down his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back, pressing herself against him. She felt the rock hardness between his legs and her body responded with a wave of desire that shivered through her leaving her nearly limp.
"Where are we going, Emma?" he whispered, raising his head, his face close to hers. Her eyes opened, desire -- her own, or a reflection of his? -- smoldered in them.
"To bed," she whispered back in a husky voice, closing the gap between their faces to draw him into a deep, searching kiss. He wanted to consume her, to touch every inch of her, first with his fingers, then with his mouth. His own heart raced with joy. He'd known from their first kiss that eventually they'd come to this, but he'd left it to her, waiting for her to choose the right time, knowing she would, and savoring the anticipation. The reality, however, was proving to be far beyond the pleasure of his fantasies. They paused to breathe and she whispered, "but you're over-dressed."
"Not for long," he said, reluctantly removing his hands from her to begin unbuttoning his waistcoat. She took one of his hands, leaving the other to struggle on alone, and led him into the bedroom. By the bed she stopped and turned, helping him by undoing the buttons starting from the bottom and working upward. Their hands met at the middle one and she left it to him, reaching up instead to loosen his tie.
She left the shirt to him too, instead sliding her hands downward to cup the bulge in his trousers. As he struggled with his shirt buttons, growing impatient and clumsy as more and more of his attention was focused on her, she unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. He froze, unable to focus on anything other than what she was doing as she unzipped his trousers and, in a single, careful movement, slid both his trousers and his briefs down to his thighs. He stood naked and aroused, hands on his half-buttoned shirt, as she caressed his erect penis.
"Emma," he moaned, his whole body focused on her fingers as she drew them along the underside of his long member. The feverish need to touch her, to feel his skin against hers, overwhelmed his equally strong desire to maintain the integrity of his very expensive clothes. He shrugged off his jacket and waistcoat, letting them drop to the floor, then pulled his shirt off over his head, squeezing his hands through the still fastened cuffs. He dropped it to the floor, body winning the battle over mind. He slid both hands inside her robe, caressing her bare back, feeling all of its muscular contours, drawing her against himself and claiming her mouth with his own.
She responded, her kisses the most demanding he'd ever known them. He wanted to press her onto the bed, to enter her with powerful, burning thrusts. He loosened his embrace, glancing at the bed, then at her face. Her lips curled in that knowing little smile, and she turned away from him, pulling down the covers. She slipped out of her robe and he realized he was still constrained by his trousers and briefs, not to mention his shoes and socks.
He slid the confining garments down his legs, then crouched to remove shoes and socks and finally, pants. She reclined on the bed, reaching for him as he rose, finally completely naked, and joined her. She drew him against her, desperate to feel his skin against hers, her legs parting, knees sliding up his hips as he hovered over her. Their mouths met, tongues probing, nipping and sucking at one another. He kissed his way down her chin to her breasts, suckling one, then the other as she moaned beneath him. He held himself above her on one elbow, his other hand caressing her, slowly reaching between her legs to touch her. She cried out as he found her aching, sensitive, center, her body convulsing in a small orgasm at his first touch. He smiled, kissing her gently, tickling her to a second quick orgasm with his gentle, clever fingers.
"More?" he whispered, withdrawing his fingers. She gasped, clutching at him, hands on his buttocks.
"Fill me, I need you inside me," she said, her voice husky with desire. "Deep inside me."
He complied, sliding his penis into her slowly, pausing part way to reach down and caress the insides of her thighs until she shivered.
"Deeper," she moaned, her rough, demanding voice pushing him nearly to the edge of his control. He pushed further into her, feeling her muscles contract in an orgasm around him, the pressure nearly driving him mad. Her fingers drove into the muscles of his back as she cried out, drawing her legs higher. He pulled out and in again, moaning at the fire pulsing through him, imploring him to fill her with his very being. His thrusts increased, going still deeper as he plunged, then staying there, moving within her, feeling her muscles contract in a powerful orgasm. Nearly out of control, he pulled out and thrust again, his orgasm crashing through him, filling her, triggering her yet again. Emma forgot everything, was unconcerned with anything other than the utter fulfillment of that instant as her body impaled itself on his thick, long shaft.
Steed lay on his back, Emma on her side with her head on his shoulder and her body contoured to his. She traced circles in the hair on his chest, studiously ignoring a puckered scar there.
"Will things be different between us now, Mrs. Peel?" he asked quietly, turning his head toward hers.
"Why should they, Steed? We've been lovers since we met. This was just another step along our way."
He pressed his lips to her forehead and she sighed happily. "You're quite amazing," he whispered.
She smiled playfully. "So are you."
"I look forward to repeating this step many times," he said, just to be sure.
"Soon?"
"In a few minutes, if you like. Then I'm going to take you out to dinner."
They took their time, Steed exploring her body and fulfilling his desire to touch and kiss every inch. He worked his way along her arms, kissing each finger and knuckle. He rubbed his nose against the stubble under her arm, making her giggle and admit she'd meant to shave there that morning and forgot. He turned her over and massaged her back, asking where it hurt and kissing the spots she indicated. She sighed luxuriously as he slid his hands along the insides of her thighs, following with kisses down to the backs of her knees. Those, he soon discovered, were extremely ticklish. He persisted in his caresses there despite Emma's protesting giggles until she forcefully rolled over and pulled her legs away from him. He pursued her across the bed, trapping her beneath him with carefully placed knees and hands. Her giggles subsided as she gazed up into his smiling eyes.
"Kiss me," she requested quietly. He complied, one hand compulsively slipping into her hair, then down her chest to cup her breast. She reached up to his breast, teasing a nipple to hardness, then sliding her hand down his rigid stomach following a trail of dark hair to his genitals. He froze above her, unable to focus on anything outside of her touch. She raised her other hand to his chest and pushed, rolling him onto his back, keeping her hand wrapped carefully around his erect penis. He was at her mercy.
She tongued his nipples while passing her thumb over the tip of his penis. He shuddered and moaned, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. She pulled lose and moved down, replacing her thumb with her tongue. She ran it down the vein on the underside, placing light kisses on his engorged balls, then sliding her lips back up to take him into her mouth.
Peter had never liked this, and she was not sure what to do. Teeth sheathed behind her lips, she moved her head up and down, sucking gently. She felt him convulse, tasted a few drops of his salty semen.
"Emma," he groaned, an entreaty for her to go on, or stop, she wasn't sure. She stopped, looking up at him for guidance. "Come here," he pleaded. She smiled slyly and shook her head, rising up to straddle him. She used her fingers to guide him inside of her, settling down onto him, moaning with surprise at the friction and heat as he filled her.
He reached up, gripping her upper arms despite the bruises to pull her face to his and kiss her. His tongue probed her mouth as she moved on him, rising and pressing back down, falling into a rhythm that he matched with grunting upward thrusts. His body, which looked deceptively slender when clothed, was a coiled spring of muscle beneath her. He released her arms, sliding one hand down to the place where they were joined, slipping his fingers inside of her. She reared up, his touch combined with a solid thrust of his loins triggering an orgasm deep inside of her. His other hand reached for her breast, pinching her nipple gently but firmly until she cried out and he felt her muscles contract around him over and over again. He let go, of himself and of her, his orgasm pumping his essence into her as she moaned and ground herself against him.
"John," her hands dropped to his shoulders as she gasped his name. She started to raise herself but he clamped his hands onto her hips, holding her down as his loins shuddered a final time. He relaxed, running his hands up her torso and guiding her to the mattress at his side where she collapsed bonelessly.
"Are you really hurt here?" Steed asked, touching her shoulder where she'd said she was injured. They lay facing one another, legs entwined, finally sated.
"No. I just wanted you to touch me," she admitted.
"Vixen," he muttered, running his fingers along her shoulder and up her neck where previously he had kissed her many times.
"You love it," she said, immediately regretting the word, wishing she could snatch it back, swallow it down where it belonged buried deep within her heart. She closed her eyes against the awkwardness. It couldn't be love, not with Steed. Trust and friendship were enough. They had to be. There was no point in pining for that when she had everything else.
"Yes I do," he whispered, touching his lips to hers. Her eyes shot open and she was looking into his, the edges crinkled with a smile, their grey depths swirling with unexpressed emotions. It was more than she could ever have hoped. For suave, guarded Steed it was practically an unprecedented expression of devotion. She touched her lips to his, closing her eyes in contented silence.
"You know, I never did get that tea," she said after a while.
"Ummm. It's gone cold by now," he replied sleepily.
Emma felt a wholly mundane physical need pulling at her. "I'll just go clear it up," she said, slipping out of Steed's embrace and the bed. She bent to retrieve her robe, some of the aches of the day reasserting their dominance over her body, and went into the bathroom that adjoined her bedroom. Steed rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. How did I manage to wait this long for her? She is like nothing I've ever experienced before, he smiled. Emma came out of the bathroom and left the bedroom, tossing a smile in his direction as she went. He heaved himself out of the bed and went to the bathroom as well, taking a moment to wash his face and, out of ingrown habit, look in the medicine cabinet.
Plasters, aspirin, gauze bandages and iodine. Birth control pills. Steed's eyes widened. He gripped the sides of the sink with both hands to brace himself. He hadn't given it a thought, hadn't asked her. Her seduction had been so abrupt and so compelling he'd been consumed by it. He'd never done such a thing before. Never been so careless. His hand shaking slightly, he lifted the disk shaped pill dispenser and opened it. About half the pills were used. She'd planned on this, she'd known as much as he had that it would happen. It was at once comforting and disturbing to be so in tune with her. He carefully replaced the pills and closed the medicine cabinet, resolving not to snoop in Emma Peel's belongings ever again.
Emma returned to the bedroom just as Steed came out of the bathroom. She was carrying a silver tray with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two glasses.
"The tea was cold, and I felt more like this," she said with a grin and a shrug. Steed took the tray from her, sitting on the bed and setting it on the floor. She climbed onto the bed, stretching out behind him in her robe while he opened the bottle and poured. He settled back against the pillows, handing her a glass and holding his own.
"Votre sante," he said, touching his glass to hers.
"A'la votre," she replied.
"Lovely idea, my dear," he sighed, indulging in a long, cool sip. She did the same, then snuggled closer to him, seeking the security of his arm beneath her neck. His hand drifted down her far shoulder, brushing her breast through her robe. He sipped his champagne noisily like a magician practicing misdirection. Emma giggled, her body arching to his touch.
"I've wanted you to touch me like this for so long," she sighed. He turned his face to hers, pressing his lips to her temple.
"And I have wanted to touch you."
"Just keep doing it," she sighed, emptying her glass so that she wouldn't have to keep track of it.
Emma started at the overly loud seeming ring of her bedside telephone. Taking a deep breath and squeezing her eyes closed against the morning light, she reached for the handset, bringing it slowly to her ear.
"Hello," she muttered, then cleared her throat and added, "Emma Peel."
"Mrs. Peel, Mother. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm trying to locate Steed. Is he there by any chance?"
"Hold on." She covered the receiver with her hand and used the earpiece to nudge Steed, who lay with his back to her. "Steed. It's Mother looking for you. Steed!"
Steed rolled onto his back, squinting at her, then at the telephone handset she was waving at him. He cleared his throat and rolled onto his side facing her, taking the handset from her.
"Good morning, Mother." Amazingly, he sounded bright and cheerful, like a man who'd been up and busy for hours. Mother ought to find that suspicious, Emma reflected, Steed's never up before nine. Thinking it might be a good idea to be ready to go, She started to slip out of the bed. Steed's right arm shot out and clamped around her. He wedged the phone handset between his left shoulder and neck and reared up over her on his left elbow, his devilish grin half obscured by the receiver.
"Yes, that's right. . . . No, she's fine. But I did want to stay with her to be sure," he said, winking at her, "Yes I understand, I don't think it's a concern."
Preferring to make the best of any situation, Emma began caressing Steed, one hand exploring the solid musculature of his lower back, the other between their bodies, inching down to rub lightly at the base of his penis. She was surprised to find it quite hard, and the notion of it pressed between them aroused her. So did knowing that Steed was carrying on his conversation with Mother while his body was doing its best to distract him.
"That does indeed sound peculiar," Steed said after a long pause. "Yes, well, I suppose there's nothing for it then." He squinted at Emma as her fingers found the tip of his penis and she slowly rubbed it with her thumb. She gave him her "you started it" smile followed by a tiny "I can't help myself," shrug, then bent her left knee, shifting her pelvis to position it more directly beneath him, She closed her eyes to concentrate on the feeling of his erection against her clitoris, moaning as, sensing her arousal, he ground his pelvis against her. She brought her left hand to his chest to draw circles around his nipple, smiling wickedly as his struggle to maintain his concentration became evident.
"I'll just be a few minutes," Steed gasped, "Yes, I'm fine. -- See you then Mother." He reached out to put the handset on the bedside table, not even trying to replace it on the telephone. Emma took his penis in hand, gently rubbing herself with it, her dampness mingling with his early semen.
"Just a few minutes, Steed?" She breathed.
"You're not helping my career," he said, bending to kiss her breasts as she continued gently manipulating him. He reached down to slip his fingers insider her, watching her face. She let him take over, releasing his penis as his fingers brought her a wave of pleasure. She gasped, raising her pelvis to drive his fingers further inside, needing him to fill her. He refrained, keeping his fingers on her clitoris and bending again to suck and nip at her breasts. She came again, a second and then third little orgasm that left her panting, her hands clutching his shoulders. As she writhed under him he felt a sense of control that aroused him still more. The indomitable Emma Peel was entirely his, all her brilliance, strength, and beauty were at his mercy. He could make her beg, he could make her come. Her surrender to him was complete, her trust implicit. He wanted to fill her deepest desire, to fill her with himself, to merge with her into one complete being.
He used his fingers to direct his penis into her, sliding half it's length in, then back out. She cried out as he withdrew, snarling with need. He pressed back in, covering her groaning mouth with his own, driving his tongue inside. He pulled back out, feeling her muscles contract in another orgasm. He pressed hard against her contraction, the tightness gripping him like divine fire. Finally out of control, he drove himself deep inside her. She cried out, scratching at his back, drawing her knees up on either side of him. He thrust deeper still, pulling only part way out before thrusting again and again through her waves of contractions. Her continuous moan drew his own voice and he roared as his loins exploded, pumping his essence deep inside her, their combined moistures overflowing. Still he thrust, determined to spend himself on her, to leave them both with a memory that would carry them through the day, until they could come together again.
He held himself propped on his elbows nuzzling her neck, dazed by their combined orgasm. She lay still beneath him, eyes closed, breath slowing. He wanted to roll aside and lay there, cuddling her, dozing, and eventually waking up to make love again. Sometime soon, he silently promised himself, and her.
"Duty calls," he whispered, straightening his arms to raise his torso above her. Cool air rushed into the space between them. She opened her eyes, her lips curled into a contented smile.
"Is it a new case?" she asked, and he realized she'd only heard his side of his conversation with Mother.
"Yes, some strange goings on at the Bakers Hall in the City." Speaking about it helped him focus. He climbed over her and off the bed.
"Shall I come?" she asked, rolling onto her side to watch him stretch. It was a pleasant sight, muscles rippling over bone. So many muscles, so much better defined than one would think when he concealed them beneath his fine suits. Except she had known, known from his lightening quickness, his easy strength, and the many fights she'd seen him win. She'd known from touching him while dancing, and while kissing. But it was still a pleasure to finally watch his magnificent, naked body.
He bent to pick up his clothes, unable to resist replying "I thought you already had."
She pulled a pillow out from under her head and swatted him with it. He darted away from the bed, pleased that she was game for the next case. She was truly his partner, now more than ever.
"Yes, come along," he said, then impulsively stepped close to kiss her. "Partner."