Prompt: "Heated kisses with gasps in between, hands tugging at clothes and exploring skin, bodies pressed close. giving in."
Jemma can't remember a time when she has felt this cold. The absence of warmth surrounds her, seeping into the pores of her pale skin, freezing her to the core. Her fingers are numb, stiffened by the below-zero draft flowing through the crack under the window, and she hisses as she attempts to wiggle the newly-formed icicles, the sting zipping through her joints as they protest her movement.
Shivering, she pulls her legs close to her chest, huddling under the thin sheet that covers only half of her body. Of course Fitz had to hog all the covers, as usual. How a man that brags about being so warm-blooded could possibly need a whole queen-sized, woolly comforter, she would never understand. It takes all of the energy she has left to tug on the sheet, hoping that she can somehow wrench it from his steel-like grip, but the sheet doesn't budge. Just her luck.
It isn't necessarily the tundra-esque environment that's bothering her the most, though; it's the fact that they're sharing a bed, her bed, and the distance between them is too great. It has been like this for months now; he agreed to give her time to grieve the loss of Will, but in doing so he pulled away from her, only engaging in physical shows of affection whenever she was the one to make the first move. She pretends that she can't see the hollowness in his gestures and the uncharacteristic stiffness in his posture every day, but his detachment from reality lingers inside of him, a hidden demon that she can't exorcise.
It's a shame that Fitz doesn't understand how much she needs his words, his touch, to dissipate the unrelenting ache in her heart. Even the thought of his arm, taut from months of field training with Bobbi and Daisy, wrapping around her waist and pulling her close to his chest, full of the warmth and comfort she so desperately desires, is enough to drive her nuts. If he doesn't want to talk about what transpired on Maveth, that's fine with her, but the physical and emotional distance between them is torture.
"Fitz?" she whispers, brushing her foot against his ankle, and she holds back a gasp as his heat permeates her freezing toes. A similar jolt appears to travel through him, but otherwise his form remains stagnant, stirring only slightly at her touch. "Fitz? Are you awake?"
He mumbles in response and shifts towards the sound of her voice. Sleepiness clouds his eyes as he rubs them, and Jemma can't help but feel the tiniest bit guilty. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
"S' okay." Fitz's hands move to grasp his pillow and his lips perk at the corners. "I wasn't really sleeping anyway."
He's lying. "I couldn't sleep either," Jemma admits. She stops herself from giggling at his blond curls, all tousled and unruly on top of his head. All she wants to do is run her fingers through them, savor the feel of the strands gliding through her fingertips, and slide her hand down to stroke the stubble on his cheeks.
"Are you okay?" Fitz asks. His smile molds into a frown upon seeing Jemma's chattering teeth.
"I'm fine." She waves it off, but her not-so-subtle glance at the sheet covering them says otherwise.
"Oh, bugger," he curses under his breath, jostling the sheets as he sits upright. "I stole the covers again, didn't I?"
"It's fine," Jemma repeats, "you don't have to-"
The whoosh of the comforter gliding through the air silences her, and she grins as she feels it settle across both of their bodies. "Much better," Fitz says, satisfied, and they both huddle under the covers. "Now we can both be warm."
Jemma hums in response, inching closer towards him, hoping that he will take the hint. Unfortunately, he doesn't, his eyes slipping closed as he starts to nod off, only increasing Jemma's determination. With a fluttery sigh, she places a hand on his shoulder, and Fitz's eyes snap open as her hand slides down his arm, and her fingers lace through his when she reaches the bottom. She bites her lip nervously and gently squeezes his hand, encouragement radiating through the gesture.
He scans her facial features, fuzzy in the darkness, for a sign, for something that conveys even an inkling of what is going through her mind to provoke her actions. He had promised himself that he would give her all the time in the world to heal and sort out her thoughts, and he thought the distance would be a good thing for him as well, but the lack of her presence has just made him feel more dejected and remorseful than ever before.
The delicate caress of her fingers sends his heart leaping in his chest; it's the smallest of gestures, one seemingly insignificant amongst the countless showers of affection they have exchanged over the years, but every caress, every grip, every hug she bestows upon him still possesses the ability to throw his brain into a conniption. Despite the coziness he feels being swaddled by the sheets, he shudders.
Could it be? Is this finally the green light he's been anticipating all of this time?
Of course it isn't. It's an absurd hour of the night and the unbearable temperature of the room just so happened to awaken her. There's nothing more to it than that.
The moon breaks through the clouds, shining an iridescent beam across the upper half of Jemma's body, allowing Fitz to detect a glint in her eyes that he hasn't seen (or at the very least noticed) since the day he kissed her: longing. Desire. Something that extends beyond the compilation of her facial expressions that Fitz has become all too familiar with. He can't be sure though; it could easily just be his tiredness clouding his judgment.
Testing the water, he traces a curl resting underneath her chin, moving deliberately to tuck it behind her ear. His hand lingers there, his calloused thumb brushing over her smooth earlobe, resting on the nape of her neck.
Neither of them can decipher the ambiguity of who moves first, but suddenly their lips collide and the electricity that accompanies the contact takes them both by surprise. The anticipation runs through both of them like a current, and they savor the moment before deepening the kiss. Fitz gasps and pulls her closer to him because she is just so cold and all he wants to do is unfreeze her with his warmth, and Jemma anchors a hand behind his neck, holding on to him for dear life, because he is just so warm and she desires more of the fuzziness that has invaded her mind. Her other hand clutches a fistful of his t-shirt, nails attempting to dig through the cotton to reach the skin underneath.
No words are exchanged as they attempt to communicate how lonely they were without each other, and finally it seems like their psychic link is functioning again. Kisses are gradually diverted from the lips, nestled in the crooks of necks and traced along jaw lines, and every scorching imprint takes Jemma's breath away. Eye contact and nods become beacons of permission as shirts are pulled over heads and discarded haphazardly to the floor below, and Jemma's movements are anything but hesitant as she practically rolls onto Fitz, straddling his waist. The flames of his warm skin lick the crystals of her cold chest and stomach as she leans forward to meet his swollen lips again, and suddenly she's melting into him, molding around his form like putty.
The fire spreads quickly around Jemma as the pile of clothes on the floor grows, and a mixture of crackling, sparks, and soft groans fill the air as new skin is explored and fingers and lips travel to places they've never been, ones originally concealed by pesky layers of fabric. The eyes rolling back into her head and the whimpers escaping her mouth are embraced enthusiastically along with the pleasure that overwhelms her senses as Fitz provides her with sensations she never thought she would receive from him in a million years. If the thought had ever crossed her mind that this boundary could have been blurred all along, that his intimate touch could've been successfully interwoven with the complex, covalent bonds that make up the basis of their unbreakable friendship, she would've pursued this option years ago when she had the chance.
She mentally gives herself a face-palm as the myriad of all the events that had to occur to get her to this point dawns on her: ejecting herself from the Bus after contracting an alien virus, Fitz sacrificing himself at the bottom of the ocean in the med pod, Fitz leaving for a dangerous mission after Bobbi almost bleeds to death in Hunter's arms, the bloody monolith swallowing her up and almost ripping the future she wanted away from her, and finally Fitz being forced onto Maveth by Malick to serve as a snack for the Hydra Inhuman. Why did so much have to occur for her to reach this point of attraction to her best friend? Why in the world did she not consider him as a viable dating option sooner?
Jemma's thoughts are cut off by the rustling of foil, and the heat seems to vaporize out of her body. The covers are crumpled at the bottom of the bed now and she fights the urge to pull them towards her, much preferring a more natural heat source to combat her lingering cold. The moon hides behind the clouds again and she is thrown into darkness, and she inhales sharply in surprise as Fitz's fingers brush her bare shoulder. "Jemma, are you sure about this?" he whispers, his breath barely grazing her ear.
She shudders in anticipation and nods vigorously. It's his lasting silence that makes her remember the obscurity of the night and she forces a soft, frantic "Yes" out of her mouth as her fingers dance across Fitz's chest.
"It's just-" Fitz gulps. "I know things have been weird between us lately and I don't want to do something we both regret later-"
Jemma cuts him off with a kiss. "Tomorrow," she breathes, resting her forehead against his. "We'll talk about everything tomorrow."
Fitz chuckles in the midst of his happiness and he strokes her cheek tenderly. "I've missed you," he says, causing Jemma to laugh softly.
"I've missed you too, Fitz."
"Not just this-" Jemma feels him shift above her, and she can just imagine him waving his arm awkwardly amidst his stammering. "I mean, we've never had this before, but I'm talking about-"
"I know." Jemma nuzzles her forehead against his. "You don't have to explain."
"Good."
The smile on Fitz's face radiates against her lips as Jemma pulls him down with her. Her frozen exterior cracks as he buries himself inside of her, and fiery ecstasy seeps through her pores. With every thrust, another icicle melts until her skin is completely thawed, moist from the labor of the task at hand. She grabs onto him tighter, her nails digging into the burning flesh covering his shoulder blades, and suddenly she turns into steam, bubbling up in tremors and moans underneath him. She gives into the sparks, spurred by the crackles of his fingertips pressing into her hip and side, and an unexpected shift of his pelvis sets her off. Her volatility is explosive, igniting a stream of high-pitched squeals and repetitions of Fitz's name in varying frequencies, and she collapses blissfully back onto the sheets, the warm blood thrumming through her veins at a rate her mind currently cannot comprehend.
They fall into a deep sleep side-by-side after Fitz flops down beside her, curled up in each other's arms, and for the first time in months neither of them experience any Maveth-related nightmares. Eventually, when they wake, they'll admit to each other that it was the most peaceful sleep they've had in what feels like forever.
Their morning talk is calm, surprisingly short and succinct as they are eager to reach a definite conclusion after the events of last night. Dumbfounded by the absurdity of their earlier miscommunications, they laugh tearfully at the situation together, relieved that their prior doubts and insecurities were finally put to rest. Their happiness continues as they celebrate without hesitation; Fitz pulls Jemma into his lap and kisses her passionately, and soon enough they are once again engaged in activities that would never be spoken about outside the bedroom.
The team is accustomed to FitzSimmons sleeping in the same bedroom by now, with only Daisy and Bobbi being the least bit suspicious of the constant sleepovers. It wasn't unusual for Fitz and Simmons to depart from Simmons' bedroom at the same time, but even Coulson raises an eyebrow when they stumble into the kitchen that day for breakfast in disheveled clothes and with dreamy smiles bursting at the seams. Within minutes, everyone knows something has changed, but they can't quite put their fingers on what exactly is different (except for Daisy and Bobbi, who secretly high-five each other when no one is looking) as the two scientists return to their assigned tasks, chatting amicably as they collaborate.
No one notices Fitz's fingertips tracing the thin layer of skin on Jemma's wrist or the way they brush her ponytail, barely grazing the skin of her neck as he walks by. Their intertwined fingers are hidden under metal lab tables and benches, and only do they dare peck each other on the cheek or lips when absolutely no one else is in their general vicinity. The sparks flying off of them are invisible to the naked eye, yet they are perfectly aware of the rapid beating of their hearts and the heat of their caresses every day. Because he is fire and she is ice.
And together, they make an explosive combination.
I really enjoyed writing this ficlet! And I'm even prouder I wrote under 5k words. Thanks amandajbruce for editing this, as always!