A/N: So a lot of mixed reactions to Moan

And no, I'm not (ever) warning about a major character death. I'm not plastering the ending of a story all over the front page. Sorry I'm not sorry.

But…since it seems I put a lot of you through hell with that one, here's this.

Groan

5 Times Ward Hears Skye Groan

(aka The Story You Thought You Were Reading The First Time)

ONE

The first time Ward hears Skye groan it's after he's beaten her at Scrabble. Again.

"You speak six languages. How is this even fair?"

"But I can't use those languages in Scrabble. English only, you know that."
"Point. But you also have a much more thorough knowledge of the English language than I do. This isn't fair. I'm sick of Scrabble. I get to choose the next game," Skye grumbled.

Ward put the last of his tiles down, "TORIC. And the C is on triple letter, so 16 points. And I'm out. What's the final score?" Skye calculated how many points she had left, "428 – 322, you win. Again." "Hey, don't worry about it, you're getting better. Actually broke 300 this time," Ward smirked. "Oh shut up," Skye groaned, stuffing her face into one of the couch pillows.

TWO

The second time Ward hears Skye groan, she's griping over making dinner.

"It is *not* my turn. It's Simmons's turn!" "Oh it most certainly is not. I cooked Wednesday. It's your turn." Simmons left the kitchen, Fitz trailing behind her, leaving Skye alone and effectively ending the argument. "Damn," Skye groaned. She looked around and spotted Ward on the couch. "Ward, come on, you know the extent of my kitchen knowledge is PB&J and mac & cheese." "Which is what you had for lunch, so veto," Ward said, barely looking up from his book. "Help me? Please?" She sat down beside him on the couch and took his book out of his hands. He looked up at her and she returned his gaze with those god damn Bambi eyes he couldn't resist. "Fine. I'll help." "Best SO ever." She handed his book back and bounded off the couch. "Yeah, yeah," he called after her. "Meet me in the kitchen in an hour."

THREE

The third time Ward hears Skye groan, it's finally out of pleasure.

But it's not Ward's name she was growling. "Oh god, James," Skye groaned. They were undercover. And while he was the one causing her to make these noises, he knew it wasn't real. Doesn't mean he wasn't taking advantage of the opportunity though.

They stood alone in the middle of the garden, completely wrapped up in each other. Their plan was to sneak off from the party, have a little alone time outside while they tracked the security guards' movements, then sneak in to the restricted area of the house via a side window. So far, so good.

He let his hand roam further south, grabbing her ass and grinding her into him. She groaned again. Oh god did he want to hear that noise again. He tangled one hand in her hair and let his lips travel down her neck. He kept one eye on the house, watching as the guards passed by the windows.

"Okay guys, the third window from the right on the second floor is where you want to climb in," Fitz's voice cut through their comms. "You'll have roughly eight minutes until the next guard passes there, so hurry up." Ward pulled away from Skye, both breathing heavy. "Okay James, let's head in,"Skye said, winking.

FOUR

The fourth time Ward hears Skye groan it's after he stuns her into silence.

The team was spread throughout the plane packing for their latest op. Skye was helping Ward pack weapons in a crate in the open cargo bay. "Well, that should do it," Ward said, closing the lid on the last crate and locking it. "I'm going to go stand outside and wait. So if anyone asks – I'm outstanding." He turned and walked out of the parked plane. Skye stood paralyzed for a moment, dumbfounded that Ward had actually made a joke, just managing to collect herself before he walked out of sight. "That was TERRIBLE!" Skye groaned after him. "Who would have thought the robot could make such a corny joke?" she muttered to herself, barely suppressing a huge smile.

FIVE

The fifth time Ward hears Skye groan it's his name and she's writhing under him, head thrown back in pleasure.