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I feel like starting something

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I feel like taking off the day to be with you.


“Fitz? Fitz! You overslept, you are running late!”

His mind is foggy with sleep and a warm buzz of happiness, but he is not startled, because it’s not the first time- and hopefully it won’t be the last- he has been awaken by Jemma’s voice, even if the circumstances of this time make it quite different from the previous ones.

“Noooo. Sleep. Sleep is nice, Jemma. Jemma is also nice.”

He can hear her fighting to control her laughter, and he smiles a little, his cheek against the soft sheets. It is a strange situation, new and potentially scary (they will have to talk about it, and soon), but she is not panicking, and therefore he can be calm too.

“Thank you for the compliment, but it doesn’t deny the fact that you are late for your lab.”

His head is not clear enough to forge an answer, so he just grabs his phone and thrusts it to her face, open on his message inbox. While she is reading it, he scoots closer to her until he can press his face to her outer thigh. She is soft and warm and she smells nice, and okay, he is going to fall back asleep in ten seconds flat, because he has never felt more content in all his life.

“Leopold Fitz, did you fake a cold just so you could ditch your especial project lab?”

She sounds half outraged, half touched, and Fitz opens one eye to look at her face. She can pretend to be as indignant as she wants, but she is smiling all the same.

“No. I faked a cold so I could stay in with you.” He is not trying to sound romantic or charming, it’s just the truth, but she still bends down and lifts his chin up with one finger till she can kiss him, and somehow it feels like a reward. How could he not feel this way, when Jemma Simmons is sitting on his bed, naked and cross legged, with the blankets pooling at her hips? “Jesus, you are freezing.” He feels like he has to make a complaint, because his own thoughts are so sweet that he is almost giving himself mental cavities.

But Jemma rubs her nose against his and that wicked smile has always given him chills, but what pleasurable chills they are.

“Warm me up, then.”

She is teasing him, and he knows it, but he is too sleepy to keep the game going.

“Okay.”

Jemma smiles, and she is obviously pleased, but she still plays it haughty, even while she cuddles down his side and he circles her waist with one arm.

“What? Not witty comeback, Leopold? You are getting soft with me already?”

Okay, there is no way he can keep on playing lazy after that. She realises her mistake one second too late, and he hurries to make his comment before she can take back what she just said.

“Believe me, Jemma, at this point, I’m getting  anything but soft with you.”

He is being bold and he knows it, and for a second he is afraid he might miscalculated, that the high level of intimacy and the full disclosure policy they have on their friendship don’t translate exactly to this shift on the relationship, especially when it’s so new and so tentative. But the fear lasts for only an instant, because Jemma laughs, loud and open, and Fitz grins, because the best part of this is that she is still his best friend, even while naked, even while he wants to kiss her senseless.

“It seems to me that you are all talk and little action, Leopold Fitz.”

Maybe if it wasn’t her, he would be hurt or offended by this kind of comment, but it is her, and they have been playing this game of teasing each other to help the other improve and strive for almost three years; having reached this point, he knows exactly how to get even with her.

“The Jemma Simmons from last night wouldn’t say the same, I think.”

She raises an eyebrow and he holds her stare, neither of them willing to break it. Fitz is almost getting cross eyed when Jemma finally speaks.

“I mean, we could always repeat the experiment. Taking a sizeable sample and all that.”

How does she do that, make his stomach swoop with just a light sentence? He swallows, and even though he is still trying to seem playful, he is very very serious.  

“You know I’m a firm defender of the most severe scientific protocol, Dr. Simmons.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Dr. Fitz.”

That’s when he kisses her, fierce and hard, and Jemma smiles into the kiss and cups his face to deepen it. He doesn’t regret all the times their arguments ended with them cuddling together under a blanket or shouting at each other in the lab until one or both of them got hoarse. He doesn’t regret the time it took them to get here, because she is first and foremost his best friend, and she will always be; he couldn’t love her the way he does without the shared memories and the intimacy and everything that have happened in between.

(Inside his own head, he doesn’t use circumlocutions for what he feels for her: he has loved her for a long time, and he noticed he was falling in love with her a while back. He is not ready to say it out loud yet, but he is getting there.)

She inches her leg between his, and this is right, their friendship was right and worth it, but this progression just feels natural; he feels like his eyes were made for the only purpose of looking at her under the morning sun, all creamy skin and glorious freckles. Maybe it’s because it’s early morning and his usual defenses aren’t totally up yet, but who is he trying to fool: he has been a different man even since she is around (he has a feeling he will always be).

Fitz strokes her left hip and she might notice that he is jammed up with feelings, because she moves away until she is looking at him leaning on one elbow.

“Fitz.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just his name, but it is enough; she might overflow his chest with feelings, but she is allowing him to feel them, and to express them to her in the way that he deems more fitting. His hand snakes all the way through her abdomen and the valley of her breasts until it rests on her left collarbone. He feels bold, empowered by the sweetness in her eyes, her trembling lips, the shivering he causes on her body. He got afraid last night, when they stumbled on his room kissing desperately, that maybe he wasn’t up to par: he isn’t (wasn’t, even) a virgin, but he didn’t feel like his previous sexual experiences (all of them in general, and with women in particular) have prepared him for this.

He was afraid, but he didn’t let himself get paralyzed by fear, and by the time he was bragging about being able to unclasp her bra with just one hand, and she was trying to get him to shut up by thrusting his face on her breasts, every fear had dissipated: so far they have been compatible on every thing they have tried, why that wouldn’t translate to the bedroom? There are a lot of pros on their favour: they know each other very well; they have been sharing physical intimacy for a long time; they thrive in pleasing the other; there is enough trust between them that they are not afraid of speaking their mind on what they want and what they like.

“You are lost in your mind again.” He focuses his eyes to look at her face, a soft smile on her lips. “I’m that boring that you need to think about someone else?” There is no way he could be thinking of anyone else while she is naked on his bed, and he knows that somehow she knows it too. She is just teasing him, and in order to keep the mood light (they can do intense and they can do deep, but maybe not right now), he gives her an impish smile, and that makes her smile wider. “Because I promise you, I’m anything but boring.”

She is paraphrasing him, but Fitz plays dumb while he rubs his nose against her neck.

“Maybe you need to prove it. The good scientific method and all that.”

Her hands on his body are almost as smart as her mind, and Fitz shivers in pleasure; there are a lot of social prejudices about how much vulnerability men are supposed to show in sentimental situations and especially sexual ones, but he was raised to be open and honest, and he prides himself in always being sincere with her; he is not about to stop now. The reward of her not faking anything and not keeping any of her reactions to herself either is more than enough.

She is touching him lightly, like a warm-up before the main event, her fingers on his ribs, her palms on his abdomen, her lips on his throat, and he is overwhelmed but he lets her do; he knows she is mapping his body with the same detailed attention that she uses on her samples. It doesn’t make him feel like an animal, more like something important to her, worthy of her curiosity, deserving of her nimble hands. She is good at making him feel aroused and wanted and pliable all at the same time, and he doesn’t know if he feels this way because it’s her or because she is just that good. Maybe a little bit of both.        

He likes it a lot, being the center of her ministrations, but their relationship has always been about a back and forth of ideas, of little gestures, of parts of projects, and he wants to keep the healthy streak running. And if they want to take this even further, he needs to stop asap that wicked hand of hers that is travelling down his treasure trail. He has enough memories from last night to fuel his fantasies for a lifetime, and if she so much as breathes on him, he will burst. And he wants everything with her, but most of all, he wants to make her moan his name again. And again.

“Jemma. Stop.” He wants to sound firm, but instead her name comes out as a breathy moan, and he blushes crimson. She grins smugly, and he is dying to kiss it off her face.

“Give me a good reason why.”

“Because I’m asking?”

“Fair enough.” She is big on the consent department, he knows, and she sits up to look at his face, but her hand high on his thigh still makes him whimper. “But do you want me to stop or you are just saying it because you don’t want to come before I do?”

He gasps at her signature boldness. Is he really that transparent? Or maybe he is that transparent to her? He might be okay with that second possibility. He can’t lie to her, and therefore he remains silent. Jemma waits a couple of beats before continuing.

“Talk to me, Fitz. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop. But if you want me to keep going, know that I am doing this because I want to, not because this is a game or a competition or I feel like I have to.” His hands are itching to touch her, and his hips answer for him by thrusting involuntarily upwards, and she smirks. “But you have to use your big boy words, Dr. Fitz.”  

“Please, Jemma, touch me.”

Her smile is wicked, and so are her hands. “Of course. After all, you ditched your project to stay here. We have to make it worth it.”

It wasn’t supposed to go this way, with him begging her while she strokes his cock, his eyes shut tight, but he is enjoying it in a way he can’t even express in words, and he relies on knowing that he will have time to return the favour. She is dexterous and fast, and maybe he should be embarrassed, but he can’t be when she looks so pleased with herself when he comes all over her hand stuttering her name. She climbs on his lap while he is still trembling with aftershocks, and kisses him with more tongue than finesse.

Fitz surrounds her waist with his right arm, and he is not a big man, but she is so tiny that he can almost enclose her entire body with just that one arm. His hand looks ridiculously big on her hipbone, and it boosts his self esteem, not because he feels manly and needed, but because he feels wanted and trusted. He answers her kisses in kind, and Jemma whimpers when he sneaks a hand between their bodies to touch the sensitive skin of her mons pubis. He has always used his hands as precision instruments, but he has never been more grateful for the skill they have developed until this very moment. She is slick and warm under the pad of his fingers, and she is missing an amazing opportunity to make a playful comment about his squeamishness not applying to this situation; later, he will tease her about it. Later, when the concept of being responsible for Jemma Simmons’s arousal is not so overwhelming that he has to bite the inside of his cheek to not moan that thought out loud.  

“Jemma.” Fuck, she is the one being touched, but his voice is the one going all deep and breathy. He has always known that they feed back on each other, intellectually and emotionally; he should have expected that her being turned on would be a turn on for him on itself alone. “You are so-”

“-wet? Yeah, I am.”

Okay, that’s..., that’s crossing a line, she has to know that. He can not be blamed for pinning her down to the bed and sucking a nipple into his mouth till she rolls her eyes in pleasure. She is so precious, all soft curves and untamed desire, and she is objectively attractive, yes, he can appreciate that, but he is crazy about her because she is who she is, with her insatiable curiosity and her strong morals and her even stronger heart. He is crazy about her because she is his equal, because she is his partner, because she is unashamed about who she is and what she wants, and because they can do everything together: discuss quantum physics and laugh in bed and fawn over David Tennant, and each experience is exciting and new with her. How could he not want to make her melt all over his bed, how could he be unaffected by her, when he didn’t dream of someone like her when he was younger, but they built their dreams together?

“Why?” It’s a question that could be silly or fishing for compliments, he knows, but he is asking out of actual interest. They both are scientists, after all: they thrive in giving and receiving detailed explanations.      

Jemma looks into his eyes, and it’s admirable how serious her eyes can look while he is circling her clit with his thumb and all her body arches when he teases her entrance with the tip of his fingers. It’s not the first time he has felt a little like they are physically linked, but it is somehow more intense when there are not clothes involved.

“What there is to not be aroused about?” It’s the bossy voice she uses in the lab, and he likes her sweet and rendered speechless, but he likes her like this too. But then she smiles and her voice softens. “This is mutual, Fitz. I want you too, you know.”

Fitz has a doctorate, and admission to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, his mother’s pride and a couple of other achievements that help him feel focused and determine his worth. He is not delimited by the way Jemma Simmons feels about him. But he kind of is, too.

There a lot of things he could say to that, but not yet, and he leans down to kiss her, because for now he can let his lips and his fingers and his pounding heart speak for him.