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Amateurs

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There are weird noises on the Bus sometimes. It's just a thing. Sometimes they're the smacks and unfs of Coulson and May's sparring matches, sometimes it's the click and hiss of Fitz and Simmons's equipment, sometimes it's just Skye, who sings loudly and off-key in the shower.

Ward has grown to expect these noises; some things just can't be helped, unfortunately, and even though he wants to throttle Skye when she starts back up with her latest destruction of "Summer Lovin'", he deals with it.

The noises he's hearing right this second are without precedent, however. He's damn sure he's never heard anybody having sex on the plane before, and honestly, he doesn't even know who'd be doing it, though there are some rather obvious possibilities.

So he goes looking for them. He's only human, and he wants to know if there are any surfaces he needs to Lysol before touching.

He tracks the noise to the lab, of all places. He doesn't know if he's disappointed or not by the fact that the sounds are coming from speakers, not from the source. Fitz, Simmons, and Skye are crowded around a laptop, looking intently at the screen. There are people on it doing the kinds of things you'd expect from those kinds of noises; in this particular instance, which is really sort of amateur in terms of production values, there's a petite woman wearing a strap-on that is not petite, and she's giving it to a dark-haired man hard, hard enough that he's yelling and begging.

Unfortunately, Ward is already very familiar with this porn.

"Hey, my laptop is personal," Ward snaps, because denying it at this point seems like an exercise in futility. The chances that someone found, out of the grand universe of porn, his favorite one, then loaded it onto his laptop- somewhere other than the the subfolder labeled "asdfiajpo" in the folder labeled "sudoku"- and then watched it in the lab for absolutely no reason is essentially nil. "I expect a little bit of privacy."

Three heads turn to look at him.

Simmons turns back to the screen. "Don't know why you thought that was going to work."

"He is a flexible one, isn't he?" Fitz says, studying the man on the screen.

"Do you have popcorn?" Ward asks incredulously. He knows his face is flaming red, but if he can stay at furious and not totally ashamed, then maybe no one will notice.

"Do you want some?" Fitz says, holding up the bowl.

"What is wrong with you people?" Ward demands.

"Oh, lots of things," Simmons says.

"We started a list once," Fitz says.

"Got a bit depressing, actually," Simmons adds. Skye is just grinning at him, looking at him like she knows something that he doesn't, and it's more infuriating than usual.

"You know what?" he says. "You guys just have fun. Have fun with your little unprofessional attempt at embarrassing a fellow agent."

"We will," Skye says, taking a handful of popcorn.

"Loads," Simmons says.

Ward doesn't know how to respond to that, so he just storms off instead, the sound of porn and color commentary still going on behind him. He goes off to do speed assembly drills with his sniper rifle, which is probably pretty Freudian of him, but fuck it, he's mad, he'll do what he wants to do.

It is not a small thing to avoid that many people on an aircraft that is really not that big. This is especially true when they're on an overnight and there's no leaving short of parachuting- which Ward might just be willing to do. There is the on-call room, though; it isn't so much a room as a cubby with a bed, but the door does lock.

Ward is only sort of hiding, because it's not going to take particularly long for anyone to find him- but again, door, lock, and all he has to do is not let anyone in. That's what he thinks, anyway, until the banging on the door starts.

And goes on.

And on.

And on.

He slides the door open, which is kind of fiddly and not as dramatic as he hoped. "What?" he demands.

"I brought a bottle of tequila and a strap-on," Skye says, grinning dirtily, holding up a bag. "Wanna join the Mile High Club?"

Ward's brain shorts out. "Why do you have either of those things with you?"

"I have to deal with you people, of course I brought tequila," she says, pushing him backwards into the room and shutting the door.

"The tequila I can understand," Ward says; with how little space there is in the room, they're very close together, and Skye's personality seems to take up more room than her stature suggests. "It's the strap-on I'm having a problem with."

"Didn't look like you did," she challenges.

"You still didn't answer my question," he says.

"Because you were going to crack eventually," Skye says. "You want me. It's obvious. We have this whole thing going."

Ward crosses his arms, stepping back, which only makes the backs of his shins bump into the bed. "And because we have a 'thing', you thought you were going to get to waltz in and fuck me up the ass?"

"Pretty much," she says. "It's just really lucky that you're so into it."

"Look," he says angrily. "I don't know what you think this is, but-"

"Do we really have to go through this whole thing?" she asks. "Are you going to do that manly shit where you turn me away just so you can one-up me? If you let me win, you get laid." She pats the bag. "In a big way, if you know what I mean. You do more of the tough guy act, you get to handle your stress all on your own." She flicks her eyes down his body. "You look pretty stressed to me."

Ward certainly feels pretty damn stressed. It's not like he hasn't thought about it- he's been thinking about her since he met her, in an alternately wanting to punch her and screw her kind of way. To be perfectly honest, he's not entirely sure which one he wants to do right now- he's not really into doing both.

"Give me the goddamn tequila," he says.

An hour later, she's kneeling between his thighs. "Safety first," she says sweetly, as she buckles the bed's belt around his waist.

"If you try to put that low and tight over my lap I'm going to kick you in the face," he tells her, not sure why he's letting her do it except that he's in the fuck-all-this stage of the evening.

She bends down, kissing him. "I've got plans for your lap."

She wasn't kidding about the strap-on being big. She looks a little ridiculous with it on, the dildo swinging between her legs, but really not any more ridiculous than anybody ever looks wearing a big blue strap-on. Ward's had just enough tequila that he doesn't really care, mostly just wants to get it inside of him as fast as he can.

She's not making it quick, sliding her small fingers in and out of him slowly, opening him up a little at a time. "You can hurry it up any time," he grumbles.

"Oh no," Skye says. "You're not rushing me. I'm not sending you away limping, because then Coulson's going to ask what happened, then he's going to have my ass."

"Literally or figuratively?" Ward asks, unable to resist.

"The last thing I need to think of right now is taking it from Coulson, thanks," she says, making a face.

"Always glad to help," he says. Just for that she gives him another finger, all four of them in him now, and it's good but it's not enough, not at all. "Come on and do it."

"Pushy pushy," she says, pulling her fingers out of him and reaching for a condom. She rolls it down over her toy before she slicks it up with lube, getting it ready for him. "Lie back and think of SHIELD."

"I don't think-" he starts, but then she's pushing into him, and he forgets what he was going to say- well, not really, he just stops caring about whether he gets to say it. The thing really is big, and for a second he thinks he's bitten off more than he can chew. It only lasts for a second though, because then it's sliding deeper and deeper, glancing off his prostate, and it's so fucking good. What he's not going to admit to her, wouldn't admit to her in a thousand years, is that she's only the third or fourth girl to do this to him, and none of them had anything close to this big, nothing that was so satisfying.

"You good?" she asks, as she starts to move in and out of him, long, slow, easy strokes that seem to last and last.

"I'm good," he says, because it sounds like a genuine question, taunting put aside for a second.

Then she snaps her hips forward suddenly, so hard that his eyes cross. "Good."

She fucks him nice and hard, just how he wanted it, and with the belt across his waist, he can't do anything but take it, just ride it out as she uses him. Her hand roams over her body, fingers twisting her nipples; he's not sure whether she's toying with him or just really into it, but when it looks that good, whatever.

He's at the right level of drunk where he's loose and relaxed without the other side effects, drunk enough that he loses it, his careful control; this is all in the end a game where she wins, but now it just feels like a beautiful woman is fucking the daylights out of him, and all is right with the world.

"Harder," he says.

"Trust me, you're gonna get it hard," she says.

"Any idea when?" he goads.

She pushes his legs up suddenly, thrusting into him hard, and he groans. "Now good for you?"

"Now's good," he says tightly, as she starts to fuck him with abandon. He gets his hand around his cock, stroking it while she moves in him, nice and deep, the toy stretching him out. He's almost certain by now that he's going to be limping out of here, and he just has such a hard time caring about that.

He's been trying to be at least moderately quiet, but she's not helping, fucking him faster and faster, hitting exactly the right spot over and over. He can't help crying out when he comes, a small but embarrassing noise, and she grins widely at him. He tries to be angry, but he's coming his brains out, and it's not exactly easy.

She gives him a minute before she pulls out, unbuckling her harness and wrapping the whole thing in the towel she brought with her- she really did prepare for this- before shoving it in her bag. Then she's crawling up his body, bracing herself on the wall as she lowers herself over his face, and here's his chance, just about the only one he gets to get any of his own back. He's not sure that making somebody come over and over again counts as a victory, but whatever, this is all kind of ass-backwards anyway.

When she's finished, they hurriedly dress, not touching, not more than you have to when you're trying to dress in a tiny room. He turn to go, but she grabs his arm, pulling him back. She pulls him down, wiping his face off and kissing him before she lets him go.

This is definitely a 'thing'. He'll leave it til tomorrow to decide what kind.

He opens the door, stepping out into the corridor, and then he stops dead.

Coulson has a pleasant non-smile on his face. "The on-call room is for sleeping when you're on-call," he says. "Pretty reasonably named, I think. Should have been pretty easy to figure out."

"Sorry, sir," Ward says, looking anywhere but Coulson's face. Skye, that traitor, just slips out behind him and walk-runs off down the corridor, and he's back to wanting to punch her.

"Clean up in there," Coulson says, making no move to leave, and Ward turns, slinking back in and shutting the door.

"Is it ready?" Melinda says softly, emerging from her spot down the corridor and sidling up to Phil.

"Five minutes," he replies.

He jumps as she grabs his ass. "Good," she says, giving him a smug grin as she goes back to wait.

Damn amateurs.