(Pretend With) Bare Hands
Originally posted on tumblr,
Shameless self-indulgent (kind of?) smut. Rather big spoiler for 'T.R.A.C.K.s' mentioned in passing, so avoid if you haven't watched it yet. It's a oneshot for now, but I have some actual plot in mind, that could turn it into something more than that.
Pairing: FitzSkye (could be read as one sided, although personally I choose to believe Fitz returns the sentiment)
Words: 560
Warnings: sexual situations/ masturbation
"Overall, you weren't actually that bad a fake girlfriend. I'd have preferred it if you hadn't got shot though." He teases, once she's fully recovered.
She thinks about that day a lot. It's to be expected of course, having a gun fired at you isn't something you tend to forget easily. By all rights though, the rest of the day's events should have paled in comparison, but the bullet in her stomach is far from the only moment from that day she's become accustomed to reliving.
Bare hands. Bare hands,
"Sometimes, I wanna do things with my bare hands!"
Sometimes, she wants him to do things with them too. Especially after that day, when he'd unintentionally brought her full attention to them. Beforehand, things hadn't been quite so bad. The initial acceptance that he really was rather odd moment here and there when his accent made her knees weak, and her breath catch.
Now, however, His hands. Those hands. Strong and protecting, and yet skilled, fingers long and dexterous, practically designed for building, and fixing, and oh…
She found herself watching them more often than she cared to admit. The way they simply refused to stop still as he talked. Big enthusiastic gestures as his excitement got the better of him, contrasting the small fidgeting movements they made during his more nervous moments. The way they moved when he fixed things, when he worked the holotable, the way it felt when he left them resting against her back, or shoulder, for half a second too long, making it hard for her to concentrate on anything at all.
Sometimes, in the stolen moments she had alone in her bunk, she'd let her imagination wander. In her mind, those hands caressed her body, exploring without restraint, before finding their way between her legs and working her up into a breathless moaning mess, as his lips let whispered words escape against her ears. Pretend words of love, vibrating through her body, storm clouds and sex firing through the accent that haunted her dreams.
She imaged how his accent would taste on her tongue, and the way his words would feel dragged down her body, along with his fingertips. Whispers working their way down her body, as bare hands followed slowly, making their way over sensitive breasts and stiffening nipples, eventually gliding over her stomach, coming to rest on her hips.
She'd remember the taste of his mouth, as he tasted her, his soft curls brushing against her stomach and thighs as his tongue moved between her legs. Taking her clit into his mouth, caressing the nerves as his long fingers entered her, making her gasp, making him groan, making her shudder from the effort required to not scream. In pleasure or utter frustration, she wasn't entirely sure which.
Sometimes, she'd awaken from these thoughts with "Leo!" on her lips, body flushed, and aching to be relieved from the tension her dreams had created. Others, she'd allow her mind to wander willingly to the man in the bunk next to hers, holding back moans of "Fitz!" without quite daring to speculate about his reaction if he were to hear her lose control as she moved her own hands over her body, longing for his to take their place.
Sometimes, she thought, he was the most attentive pretend boyfriend she'd ever had.