A/N: I'm finally done with my translation, and I'm on a break for a week and a half, so I have time to write! This also means that I can finally join the Skyeward Smut Challenge, posting steamy stories for a whole month :) I've decided to start with all the smut prompts I have for my picture drabbles, then take a look at the original prompt list for the challenge – but I'm also open to suggestions :) I'm pretty sure I won't be able to finish it in 30 days, but I'll try – and I'll also try to get some progress done with the picture drabbles as well. So, without further ado – let the steamy fun begin! :D

The Upside of S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV's

He's trying to be a gentleman here – he really is. He bought her flowers, and put on a tie (one that doesn't scream "government agent here"), made reservations at a nice place, and he even pulled the chair out for her – trying to give her the first date she deserves. He can't help it if Skye's making it absolutely impossible.

Because she is just so effortlessly sexy – she isn't doing anything extraordinary, she is just sitting there at the other side of the table, opposite of him, laughing at one of his so called jokes that feels lame even to him, and all he can think of is whether her lips would be as sweet as the cake she ordered for dessert, or sweeter than that if he kissed her? Would she moan into his mouth? Grab his neck, slid her fingers into his hair? Would she object if he slipped his hands under her dress, or picked her up, crushing her body into his?

And these kinds of thoughts are seriously damaging his ability of witty conversation.

(Because the tip of her pink tongue just poked out from between her lips, and now he can't think of anything else other than her running that tongue down his neck and–)

He shakes himself. Well, mentally, at least. He has to pay attention to her.

…Meaning what she is actually saying – because she is saying something –, not her different body parts and what he'd like to do to them. (Heavens, he used to be good at multitasking.)

With some effort, he actually manages to focus on what she is saying – it's some story about a bakery she used to park next to back in her van days, which had pastries almost as good as she is having now. She actually puts a piece on her fork, and offers it to him, because Ward, this is divine, you have to try this! And so he leans over the table and taking her wrist in his hand (her skin is soft and warm and he wants more of it), he guides the bite into his mouth. (He has to give it to her – it really is good.)

Feeling obliged to reciprocate the gesture, he takes a bite-sized piece of his own dessert, and holds it out for her to take. Her eyes sparkling, and with a hint of a mischievous smile at the corner of her mouth, she rises a little from her chair, leaning in – offering him a view of her décolletage –, then wraps her lips around the piece of chocolate-y delight, her eyes fluttering closed and a soft, pleasure-fueled moan escaping from her throat (the sexual subtext is not lost to him).

After that – after seeing her lick off the speck of chocolate sauce from her upper lip – he is having an even harder time focusing on the conversation.

But it seems like he is not the only one with that problem – for the next moment there is a bare foot trailing along teasingly, torturingly, along his calf.

He freezes and looks up at Skye – who is looking at him with more than a touch of seductiveness in her eyes.

"I'm full – what do you say we get out of here?"

He is sure he has never been in a greater hurry to get out of a restaurant before.

On their way out, he sneaks a hand around her waist, slipping it lower and lower, past the point of being decent, until he can squeeze her ass. She doesn't jump or freeze or even look at him, only pulls herself closer to him, puts her own arm around his waist, and slips her hand into his pocket, drawing little spirals into the juncture of his thigh through the thin lining.

She is definitely going to be a death of him.

All the way back to the car, he is contemplating the shortest route back to the base, and then the fastest and quietest way to his – or her, he's not picky – bunk, because he is well too aware of the fact that he just simply needs to have her, the sooner the better, or the world will end.

He has an inkling that she would agree with him on this topic.

Correction: he is absolutely sure she agrees with him, because the moment they get to the car, and he is just about to open the door for her, she roughly grabs his tie, and pulls him down to her level – and the next moment her lips are on his.

There is nothing decent in the way she is kissing him – her tongue slipping into his mouth, seeking his, then taking his lower lip between her teeth, pulling at it playfully. Her hands are sliding down his arms and back, until she has her palms on his ass, pulling him closer still, their bodies flush against together.

He is not complaining at all.

He has been trained to respond quickly to every situation, so that's what he does. He slides one hand into her locks, pulling at them and turning her head in a way that gives him batter access. The other hand slides down to her leg, grabbing her thigh and pulling it up against his hip, until his hardness is pressed roughly against the raging fire in her core and she moans into his mouth.

Then she is pulling away.

"Backseat, now," she says, breathless, her words coming out almost like a command.

He finds himself liking her giving commands.

The next moment the back door of the car is open, and she is already climbing in, pulling him with her. Once the door is closed behind them with an insistent thud, he wastes no time – he is pushing his hand under her skirt, between her legs, pulling and ripping her panties off.

He needs to feel her.

She is wet and warm and needy; two fingers slip into her core effortlessly as she clenches her legs, seeking more friction, trapping his hand. She throws her head back and moans loudly, one hand clawing at the leather interior of the car (Coulson will flip when he'll see the scratches, a nagging little voice says on the margin of his mind), while the other grabs his wrist, trying to urge him to go faster, harder.

Then she is kissing him again – or is it him kissing her? He is not sure anymore –, with such a passion it is taking his breath away, and then she is nibbling on his ear, whispering to him, her voice a hoarse moan, "I need more… I need you…"

As much as he wants to be naked and wants her to be naked, to feel every single inch of her against him, he is too aroused and ready to combust to care about such trivial things like undressing right now. So he simply rips off what's left of her panties, and hurriedly – his hand slipping on the buckle – gets rid of his belt and pulls him pants just down enough to free his aching, hard member.

The next moment – not wasting a single second – she is already throwing her leg over his (if there is one thing to be said about S.H.I.E.L.D. SVU's, it's that they are roomy), straddling him, and, placing a hand over his to steady his cock, she is sinking down on him.

He can't help the loud grunt that escapes from his lips as he is being enveloped in her warmth.

It's a frenzied, passionate affair – no time or patience for little games and teasing and taking it slow. She is gyrating her hips over him in a frantic pace, while he thrusts into her wildly, making her boobs shake, while squeezing her ass, his hands under her skirt. They can't really find the perfect rhythm, but they still fit together perfectly, chasing pleasure. Her lips finds his again in the primal dance, licking and biting and demanding, her hands on his face and neck and shoulders, while he reaches down between them, and rubs her clit furiously, making her shiver and moan.

They don't last long; soon enough, she is coming, her walls pulsating around him and her whole body going rigid, her back arching. He has to put his hand on her mouth to muffle her screams (she bits into his palm, but he just can't shake off the feeling of pride, because damn, he made her scream). It's enough to push him over the edge, too, and with her still spasming around him, he is there, too, shooting his seed into her in hot spurts.

Spent and sweaty and disheveled, their juices mixing and sticky between them, she collapses on top of him, breathing heavily. He, too, is too tired to move – he simply puts his arms around her slight form, caressing her still clothed back. She nuzzles her face against his neck (his tie loosened and his top two buttons somehow came undone during their encounter), sighing happily, her breath warm on his skin.

"You know…" she says after a while in a whisper, her lips brushing against his neck. "Maybe next time we should book a room for the night."

He couldn't agree more.