So I wrote this piece as part of a story that formed in my head. I want to write the whole story out, but I'm not sure when I'll have the time. So I've decided to just post this piece as a sort of one-shot and when more ideas/excerpts from the story actually get written down, I'll make it a proper story.
Basically it splits from the show from the S1 final. Garrett didn't go insane and die, Hydra was defeated in the battle but still going strong and Jemma and Fitz we're immediately separated when captured and Fitz was still thrown off the plane but Jemma wasn't and was taken back to a Hydra base.
Sorry for any grammatical/spelling mistakes, etc, but enough rambling. Hope you enjoy it!
The first time they kiss, it takes them both by surprise. Jemma's day has been brutal; filled with threatening demands and devastating bodies. She wants, no, she needs, comfort, and Grant is the only person here who she thinks she'll remotely find that with. She doesn't know what her plan is when he answers the door, but she honestly did not picture practically throwing herself on him as an option. To his credit he only staggers slightly, from the shock, and he quickly holds her waist to steady them both. She parts her lips to gain better access and the kiss becomes frantic; all teeth and tongue and rough. She can feel her body start to succumb to feeling, pushing everything else aside, nails digging into his neck as if at any moment he might gain a moral compass and push her away.
But it's that moment that her own mind shifts, sharpens through the fog, and reminds her how absolutely and incredibly fucked up this all is. She shoves him back in a harsh panic, tears in her eyes, gulping down air in a fruitless attempt to ease the unbearable tightness in her chest.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I don't..I just..." She doesn't understand why she's apologising. She doesn't understand any of the words she's saying; all of it rushing out in a mix of sounds. She shouldn't feel guilty. She knows she shouldn't. He should. She was in an obvious moment of weakness, and he'd just accepted that without question. This was just all so wrong. He was the man who carelessly slaughtered Victoria Hand and so many others. The man who tried to kill her best friend, whatever the reasoning. He'd betrayed them all so cruelly.
And yet in that moment she'd been desperate to kiss him. She struggles to comprehend it.
Grant, for his part, doesn't try to offer any comfort. He stands stoic, gauging her fear, waiting for a moment when it seems acceptable for him to talk.
She doesn't expect one anytime soon.
The second kiss, though, fairs better. Seeing as she's now in charge of the new team dedicated to the study of powered people (much to the chagrin of many other Hydra scientists, though none with anything less than a death wish would dare argue with Ward's decision), they have been up late sorting through lab requirements. It's almost 2am, and sleep is beginning to settle over her eyes. Grant stretches in his chair and pushes it backwards, happy with the progress they've made. She stands up at the same time as him, from the same side, and they end up chest to chest. For a second everything is still, her eyes locked onto his, and then Grant dips his head. His touch is barely there, lips ghosting over hers, fingers dancing over her waist, and for a moment he hesitates, allowing her that time to refuse. Instead, she closes the last breadth between them, pressing fully against him.
It's soft and slow and she can imagine him as the Grant Ward from before. All lazy smiles and hard edges and light, teasing words. The same Grant Ward who dove out of a plane to save her.
It doesn't help entirely, but it's enough.
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The first time they decide to go further, Jemma can't catch her breath. He's kissing her everywhere and she can't form a coherent thought. He flicks his tongue over a nipple and her back arcs into him shamelessly, heat pooling between her legs. He runs a hand along her side, smoothing over pale skin, eventually reaching the band of her underwear. She feels his fingers oh-so-teasingly slip underneath, before they abruptly stop. She opens her eyes to look at him, ask what's wrong, but she's beaten to it by him. It's then she notices the wetness against her cheeks.
Oh. She's crying.
Not only does it make her quite self conscious, she's not entirely sure why it's happening at all.
When she doesn't answer, Grant slides up beside her, so he's leaning against the backboard, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders to pull her close to his chest. A nervous giggle bubbles up from between Jemma's lips as she looks up at him, laughing at the absurdity of them both topless and curled together. Grants mouth twitches into a smile, obviously understanding, and he kisses the top of her head, circling his thumb over her collarbone. It's a strangely sweet gesture, bringing slightly overwhelming emotions to the front if her mind, but it's nice just focusing on the moment, and Jemma finds she doesn't really want it to end.
The second time they try, he distracts her with a bruising kiss to her throat as he slides in, her breath hitching at the overwhelming fullness. For a moment, he's perfectly still, and Jemma tries to roll her hips, get him to move inside of her, but she's taken by surprise when he clutches her tight and swings them around, placing her on top. The change in position makes her moan embarrassingly loud, her vision gone blurry, hands planted firmly on his chest to catch herself.
His hands begin skimming across her stomach, her waist, her hips, her thighs. He's waiting for her to move, for her to be in control, to make this as pleasurable for her as possible. She marvels at how maddening it must be for him to be so patient; she can feel him twitching inside her, desperate for friction.
Secretly mortified at how she's lacking the necessary confidence, she begins an unsteady rhythm. His hands finally secure around her hips to even out the thrusts, guiding her, helping her.
He finds his release that night.
She does not.
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The first time she comes is wicked and blissful and a mixture of between.
Jemma is pushed up against his office desk, already feeling unsteady as he looks down at her with darkened eyes.
"Someone might hear...uh, oh..." She forgets her words when he palms a breast under her shirt and tugs an earlobe between his teeth. "Um, ah...there's the meeting. Here. Soon."
"We have time." He flashes her a cheshire grin. She finds she doesn't have the will to argue with that.
Her skirt is bunched up to her waist and her underwear has slipped down to circle her ankles. A sole finger traces the wetness between her thighs and penetrates her briefly. Her lips part at the contact, a breathy whine escaping, and Grant takes the opportunity to catch her in an open mouthed kiss. He continues to move down her body, and when he plants a kiss in the mess of curls above her centre her hips buck forward of their own accord. He gives a few testing flicks to her clit and she whimpers. She bites her lip to try to keep quiet and Grant chuckles against her, which causes pleasure to shoot up her spine.
Her hands are gripping the desk so hard that her knuckles have turned white, and her legs are beginning to become a serious worry, as she's not sure they will be able to keep her upright much longer. He doesn't wait to tease her, and the way he's attending to her with his tongue and fingers, combined with thrill of being caught at any moment, brings her close astonishingly quickly. She cries out his name as she comes; tumbling from her lips; trapped in her moans.
He holds her steady as her the shudders fade, fingers pumping slowly now to help her ride out the orgasm.
It's almost immediately followed by a second.
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After that, the guilt winding tight in her gut begins to ease, and they start to seek each other out more and more for pleasure, easing out the nerves with practice.
One night, about two months later, he has her pressed into the mattress, his weight now a comfort rather than a concern. Their fingers of one hand are intertwined above her head and one leg is hooked lazily around his hip. He's kissing her deeply and passionately to match his thrusts and a brilliant warmth spreads through her body. It feels different than usual, but Grant picks up his pace and she doesn't have much time to think it over before all thoughts are replaced with heated desire.
It's not until later, when his breathing has evened, his arm slung over her stomach, that she's able to pinpoint the feeling. It's only a small spark, but it's definitely there.
She's falling in love with the enemy.
There's nothing to do but cry.
The title comes from the song 'I Didn't Plan It' - Sara Bareille's new Waitress Album. All of the other posts to (what I'm hoping will turn into) this series, will have their names from it as well.
I have another story as well that will be set up like this one. Random one-shot type pieces set in alternate universe post-What They Become. I'm trying to finish a few of those as well but I dunno when I'll have time. Just glad I managed to get this little piece out anyways.