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The Playground has no bathtubs. At all.

Phil assumed this would be no problem; before this they were living on a fucking plane, for christ's sake, and it wasn't like they could take a long soak whenever they wanted. Instead he has heard, "I thought we'd maybe get a little something nice once we were on solid ground, but noooo," "Have to say, I expected a little more from what I'd heard, Director," "I don't know why you would ever expect anything better than this, it isn't exactly like we're in the best of situations," "I don’t think anybody asked you, but thanks for your input," and "What? Can't I make an observation? Is that illegal now?" from, of course, Skye, Bobbi, Hunter, Bobbi, and Hunter again.

Phil completely fails to understand what the problem is. They have showers. They're pretty nice showers, actually, good water pressure, little benches for your stuff; sharing a bathroom with twenty other people is sometimes really, really annoying, but he's been in situations that were so amazingly, horrifyingly worse than this that it's really not a blip on his radar. Everyone should be very grateful for what they've got.

That being said, he is not about to reject the massive bathroom in the plush suite that he and Melinda- excuse me, Jake and Claire- are staying in. All they needed for their mission was two rooms at the resort, so that it would look natural for their team- the two of them, Skye, and Trip- to be wandering around the premises.

That is, of course, not how it worked out.

Check-in went fine, facilitated by some strategic account tampering by Skye, who, Phil was seventy-five percent sure, had even managed to get hotel reward points doing it. He really needed to supervise her better; somehow two rooms had turned into one Platinum Premiere Suite and one Sunset Experience Deluxe. Phil didn't even know what a sunset experience was, but apparently you could have it here, for about the cost of a used car.

It took Skye thirty seconds to throw him a curveball. "You can have the big room, Daddy," she said, pecking him on the cheek and taking the Sunset Experience Itinerary and Guide out of his hands.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he replied, ignoring the fact that she'd changed the plan out of nowhere. "Why don't we walk with you to your room?"

"Sounds great," Trip said, putting his arm around Skye's shoulders.

Thankfully, there was no one in the hallway to the elevators; if there were security cameras, they were well-hidden. "I thought we agreed I wasn't claiming anybody else as a dependant on undercover trips," Phil said, keeping his voice down anyway.

"Don't worry," Skye assured him. "I won't bring up hookers." She sighed at his expression. "Oh, come on. Nobody was actually gonna believe you decided to take a trip to a resort and decided to bring your coworkers. I was gonna look like the girl you had on the side. This is way better."

"What would that make Trip?" Phil asked.

"Guy on the side," Trip replied.

"Only if people thought I was very ambitious," Phil said.

"I told her she could do it," Melinda said calmly, and Phil stared at her. Melinda shrugged. "It was a bad plan, and it would look suspicious. I don't think it's much of a stretch to think you'd be cheating on me with her."

"There is no answer to that that will not get me in trouble," Phil said, reaching the elevator and pressing the up button.

That was a few hours ago. In the interim, Skye and Trip have been downstairs, checking out the layout of the place, the security, the people. Melinda and Phil have been in their room, looking for surveillance devices and examining hotel procedures for guest service.

Translated: Skye and Trip read the brochure, had dinner, and went for a swim; Melinda and Phil ran a bug sweep, called for extra towels, and ordered a ridiculous amount of room service.

In fairness, they were all things that needed to get done.

Now Phil is laying in bed, his head propped up on half a dozen pillows, distractedly snacking on twelve-dollar homemade potato chips while he watches TV; neither of them are particularly interesting on their own, but he definitely took advantage of the "free" champagne that came with the room, so he's feeling pretty good anyway. Melinda is in the bathroom, taking a shower- though it occurs to him that she's been in there an awfully long time.

His cell phone goes off, and he swallows, taking a sip of champagne to wash it down. "Talk to me," he says.

"Hi, Dad," Skye says sweetly.

"Am I on speakerphone?" Phil asks warily.

"Yeah, but it's just me and Trip," she replies.

"Good," Phil says. "I'm totally getting you back, darling."

"Oh, I know," Skye says. "Listen, me and Trip were wondering about breakfast. I know we were supposed to meet up, but there's a Sunset Experience Brunch, might be a good chance to scope out some of the younger crowd."

"I didn't know Sunset Experiences were only for young people," Phil says. "How do you experience sunset at brunch, anyway?"

There's a pause. "You're drunk, aren't you," Skye says.

"I am not drunk," Phil says, trying not to sound too defensive, though he maybe is a little. "You do brunch. You know what to look for. We'll touch base before you go."

"Roger that," Skye says. "You and Mom have a good night."

"Yeah, keep it up," Phil says. "See you in the morning."

He hangs up, setting his phone back on the nightstand. It's very tempting to just lay here and eat all these potato chips, but he should probably apprise Melinda of the new plan, even if it means getting up. He swings his legs off the bed, standing and walking over to the bathroom door. He's just about to knock-

And then he stops.

He's not particularly worried about interrupting the sanctity of Melinda's shower, especially when it's been going on for so long. That part is fine; it's just that one, the shower's not running anymore, and two, Melinda is making noises.

Yes, that kind.

Phil has no idea what to do. He knows what the right thing is to do, which is to step carefully back and pretend he heard nothing at all. Yep. That's the thing to do. Just leave well enough alone, pretend he didn't hear anything. That's what he should do.

A minute later, he's still standing there.

His imagination is absolutely running wild, and he should really, really stop it. She must be in the bathtub, because he can hear soft sloshing noises. He is honestly trying not to fixate, but it's very hard not to think about it, about Melinda lying back in the huge tub, her hands running over her wet skin, down her stomach, in between her-

"I know you're there, Coulson," Melinda says, and Phil jumps a foot in the air.

He could try to pretend he wasn't just lurking outside the door, but he knows it isn't going to work. "Uh," Phil says intelligently. Very suddenly, he gets it back together. "There's been a change of plans for the morning. Skye and Trip-"

"I can't hear a word you're saying," Melinda says. "The door's unlocked."

Alarm bells are going off in Phil's head. The last thing he needs to do is go in there, because- Because why, exactly? They're two agents on a mission. He's seen wet, naked people before. He can do this. Nothing to it. He opens the door and steps inside, shutting it behind him.

Nope, he was right the first time. He can't do this.

Melinda is in the bathtub, alright; she has her arms folded over her chest and there are bubbles on the surface of the water, so very thankfully, Phil can't see anything. Unfortunately, what he can see is driving him to distraction already. Melinda's hair is wet, slicked back from her face; there are beads of water rolling down her neck, like she's only just lifted it out of the water. What he can see suggests so much about what he can't, and his mind is tying itself in knots trying to fill in the blanks.

"Can I help you?" Melinda asks, raising an eyebrow at him; she sounds annoyed, but not nearly as much as he expected.

Phil swallows, standing taller, very resolutely looking her in the eyes. "There's been a slight change of plans for the morning," he says, in his best and most neutral voice. "Skye and Trip are going to do some recon work, so we'll be meeting up with them before they leave. We'll discuss how to proceed from there."

"Is that it?" Melinda asks.

"Yes," Phil says.

"Take your clothes off," she says.

Phil's eyes go wide. "Excuse me?"

Melinda looks at him, then significantly glances down, and yup, Phil has a hard-on, he was really hoping that was a thing he didn't have, but here we are. "If you want to stay," she says, dropping her arm away from her chest and lying back, "then take your clothes off."

Phil just stares at her.

"Okay," Phil says, pulling his shirt over his head. He should probably stop this, but there's a beautiful woman offering him what he's wanted for a very long time. If this is a catastrophically stupid idea, he can just deal with it in the morning. It might be an amazing one, and either way, it's entirely possible this will be the only chance he gets.

His pants and boxers hit the floor, and he suddenly feels incredibly self-conscious. He's not entirely sure why; he's aware he looks good for his age, and he's not exactly ashamed of the size of his dick, which is getting harder by the second. He just has a visceral need for her to see something she wants- if nothing else, it would put a serious damper on the evening if she didn't.

But Melinda just smiles and crooks her finger at him, and he is intensely relieved.

The bathtub looks like it could seat about four, and even after he climbs in and sits down, he is an unacceptable distance away from her. She fixes that before he can, pushing off from her side of the tub; he's not expecting it when she turns, sitting down between his legs and fitting herself up against him, her back against his front.

"This is a little unexpected," Phil says, unsure what else to say- or really, what the hell is even happening.

"No, it isn't," she replies.

"It isn't?" he says, completely puzzled. "Because I was fully expecting this to never happen."

"Did you want it to happen?" Melinda asks, and there's something in her tone he doesn't like, like she's tensing up. It occurs to him that he might not be the only insecure one here, and he doesn't know what to think about that.

"Obviously," Phil says. "If I didn't, I'd still have my clothes on." Melinda relaxes against him, just enough that he feels it; it's probably time to cut off this conversation before it derails things entirely. "What have you been doing in here?"

"Taking a bath," she replies.

"I can see that part," he says, and damn, can he ever. He's taller enough than she is that he can see over her shoulder; there are little drops of water trickling down her breasts, and he desperately wants to lick them off. "You definitely sounded like there was more to it than that."

"Maybe I just like baths," she says, her hand sliding down her stomach and into the water, and it is exactly as hot as he imagined. This can't actually be happening to him; he is almost certainly passed out on the bed, and any minute now, Melinda is going to come back from the shower to find him lying there, snoring loudly and covered in expensive potato chip crumbs, hopefully in some position that won't require him to explain why he has a raging erection.

But then she arches against him, her head tipping back onto his shoulder, and he definitely couldn't have imagined how amazing that is.

It's almost certainly a bad idea to just manhandle her into a good position and fuck her silly, but he seriously considers doing it anyway. Instead, he takes her breasts into his hands, massaging them, pinching her nipples lightly; she moans appreciatively when he buries his face in her neck, kissing and sucking, exactly as hard as he can without leaving marks. He works his way down to her shoulder, biting, sucking harder. It'll be underneath her shirt, and it's ridiculously hot to think about it, how no one else will know it's there, something that's just for him.

He doesn't think it's much of an accident that she keeps grinding against him, her ass pushing back hard against his cock. He really doesn't know how much of this he can take; he wants so badly to see her come, to just watch her, feel her against him as she does it, but he's going to fucking die if he can't get inside of her soon.

But then she's breaking away, turning to face him.

"I need you to fuck me," she says; she has this look like she's ready to eat him alive, and Phil is a little terrified and amazingly turned on.

"That is certainly something I can do," he says, his voice hitching as she finally wraps her hand around his cock. "How do you want me?"

She kisses him hard, straddling his thighs. "I want you to hold still."

"I can probably do that," he says, "at least for a while." He immediately disproves this by leaning down and taking her nipple into his mouth, but that's probably not what she meant; either way, she seems to appreciate it, which is all Phil really cares about. He doesn't stop, except to switch sides, and Melinda twines her hands in his hair, not letting him, moaning as he does it. She's clearly sensitive, and Phil wonders how far he could get her just from that, just his mouth on her skin.

Even if it doesn't work very well, it sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.

Finally she pushes his head away; she looks wrecked, and it is an amazing feeling to know that it's his fault, that he's the one who made her that way. "Hold on," she says, when he tries to pull her in. That's not a phrase he really wants to hear right now, but he stops, waiting. Melinda leans over, looking for something on the ledge of the bathtub.

"Condom?" he asks, though he's not sure why she'd have one waiting.

"Don't need it if you don't," she says, still distracted. She picks up a washcloth, promptly throwing it across the room for annoying her, and finds her prize; now he's very confused, because the condom was unlikely, but a bottle of lube is even more so.

"Were you planning on ambushing me?" Phil asks suspiciously; he's not sure how he feels about that.

"I was planning on defiling this bathtub, and I planned on being comfortable," Melinda says, pouring a slightly ridiculous amount of lube into her hand and reaching into the water. "You're a nice addition."

"Like bath salts," he says, feeling slightly put out.

Melinda kisses him, taking his cock into her hand and stroking it. "I can get bath salts anywhere," she says. "I don't exactly take this-" he hisses when she squeezes for emphasis- "wherever I can get it."

Phil doesn't respond, because now she's lining them up, getting ready. Ever so slowly, she sinks down onto him, inch by amazing inch, until he's all the way inside of her. It feels so fucking good that his brain shorts out for a second; he can't even think, just sits there, trying to get it back together. There's pretty much no hope of that, because then she starts riding him, moving slowly up and down, and it is everything that he wanted it to be, when he let himself want it.

It's a little unstable for a minute, and the very last thing in the world he wants to do right now is stop; he brings his knees up, bracing the two of them. That's much better, especially since she shifts forward, putting her hands on the edge of the tub, and now she's the only thing in his vision, the only thing that matters. She has him hemmed in, trapped, and he is so completely fine with that, with being at her mercy.

He puts his hands on her hips, steadying her as she rides him. She's moving faster, taking him deep, and he can see just how bad off she is; she wants it just as badly as he does, and that still amazes him, that that could be true. It seems impossible, when he's been waiting for it this long, wanting it so much, even when he knew he shouldn't.

"Phil," she pants, and christ, that sounds good. "Fuck, Phil-"

"Yeah?" he says, slipping his hand between them, rubbing her clit. "Tell me what you need."

"Please," she says. "Please, fuck, just like that."

She's coming apart on top of him, and all he wants is more; from this position, it's not the easiest thing in the world to thrust up into her, but by god, he's gonna do it. He'd do anything right now to give her everything she wants, make sure she's satisfied. He knows she's getting there, pushing down on him harder, and he moves his fingers faster, needing it, needing to make her come almost as much as he needs to do it himself.

She's right there, she's so close, he can feel it in her body, the way she tenses against him. "That's right," he says, pushing into her again and again. "Please, Melinda, do it for me-"

She gasps when she comes, clinging to him like she's lost, like he can anchor her; he's there moments later, calling out her name, holding her tight against him as he finally gives it up. He can't imagine letting her go, letting her leave him for an instant. There's nothing he wants right now but her in his arms, nothing but this, the two of them together.

Even when they're finished, Melinda doesn't move, just curls up against him and stays there; Phil rests his chin on the top of her head, just sort of floating, enjoying it.

"Is this thing heated?" he asks idly, suddenly realizing that they should probably be freezing by now.

"Yeah," Melinda says, making a little noise of contentment as he runs his fingers up and down her spine.

"We really need one of these," he says. She's making no attempt to move at all, just settled in, her eyes shut. "Hey, you can't nap on me."

"Give me one good reason," she says, not budging.

Phil could think of several, but he's having a hard time wondering why he should move, when it's so comfortable. "You caught me," he says instead. "Only for a minute, though."

Melinda shifts against him, getting more comfortable. Well, maybe a couple of minutes. The night is young, after all.

--

In the morning, Skye and Trip don't end up wandering downstairs until around nine, which is good enough; breakfast is just starting and they have another two hours before they have the Sunset Brunch- which seems like it should be at like seven at night, but whatever. There's plenty of time to meet up with Coulson and May and do a little more recon. Skye fully intends to make a careful search of the sauna, the mimosa bar, and the room just behind the breakfast area that she's pretty sure is where the hotel's unusually large servers are.

Maybe doing it in that order is a bad plan, but whatever.

She and Trip are basically just standing around waiting for Coulson and May to show; they're not hiding behind a plant, but they're not not hiding behind a plant either. At this particular moment in time, they still have nothing to hide, and it's not exactly a good idea to go sneaking around making it look like they do.

"I see them," Trip says, and Skye takes a look. They've been stopped by somebody; Skye's pretty sure it's the man who checked them in, though she can only see part of his face. Neither Coulson nor May seems particularly concerned about him, not making any signals, just having a chat, and Skye thinks they're probably fine.

May is going a little more subtle than mirrored sequins today, wearing a long, flowing sundress that makes her look absolutely nothing like herself. It seems a little big for her, actually, because while they're talking, one of the straps rides down a little, almost falling off her shoulder. She catches it quickly, pulling it back up, but it's not quick enough that Skye misses the bigass hickey.

Trip and Skye look at each other.

"Did Dad get some last night?" Skye asks, avoiding his name just in case someone overhears- and also because calling him that is never not funny.

Trip looks them over. "Looks like your mom certainly got some."

"I kinda have to assume Dad is where she got it from," Skye says.

"Little weird if it wasn't," Trip agrees.

"I can't believe she'd just walk around with a hickey," she says. "Doesn't seem like her style."

Trip shrugs. "Makes for good cover," he says. He slips his arms around Skye's waist. "I seem to remember that you're walking around with a few hickeys too."

"I got them in very strategic places," Skye says. "It's part of my cover."

"Uh huh," Trip says. "I'm sure it really helps maintain the illusion, having bite marks on your-" Skye has pulled away, making frantic motions at him, and he stops. "Your dad is behind me, isn't he?"

"No," May says, and Trip winces. Skye really doesn't know if this is better or worse than being caught by your actual parents; homicidal maniacs aside, Coulson and May are possibly the closest she's ever gotten, but they're also her bosses, which just compounds the whole thing.

"Hi, Mom," Skye says, trying not to sound too terribly embarrassed- though now that she thinks about it, wouldn't that be pretty in character?

May looks the two of them over, raising an eyebrow. "We were hoping to see you before breakfast," she says.

"Well, here we are," Skye says, not sure how much of this is an actual awkward interaction and how much of it is an act. She still hasn't decided when Coulson joins them, slipping an arm around May's waist; he does it like it's normal, like it's a place his arm always is, and May makes no attempt to dislodge him.

"Hi, pumpkin," Coulson says, smiling; his face says he knows exactly what's going on here and thinks it's too funny to stop any of it. "Why don't you come sit with us for a minute?"

"Sure thing, Pop," Skye says, lacing her fingers into Trip's. There's a little sitting area, just a couple of couches, secluded enough that they can control who overhears, but not enough so that it looks anything but normal. Coulson and May both sit down, and he does that arm thing again, putting it casually around May's shoulders like it's second nature. There's skilled undercover work, then there's resolved sexual tension, and Skye very much knows the difference, thanks.

Skye sits down next to Trip, but before Coulson can say a word, someone comes by and gives everybody ridiculously large drinks with big skewers of fruit in them. Coulson looks at it like he's confused as to why someone's giving him a mai tai at nine in the morning, and May rolls her eyes and takes it out of his hand, setting it on the table next to the couch. Skye leans back against Trip, grinning, and eats the pineapple off her skewer.

This is totally the best mission ever. She's pretty sure nobody disagrees.