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Hawaiian Sunset
"Are you still grumpy?" she asks with a grin on her face that even the Cheshire Cat would be envious of as she playfully rubs her toes against his shoulder.
He lets out an annoyed grunt (but somehow it's not that convincing) and closes his eyes.
"Yes."
She laughs. She throws her head back and laughs, a pure, joyful sound tearing free from the depth of her throat, making her body and the hammock they are lying in rock. In spite of himself, he smiles.
Twelve hours ago she told him they had a mission and he had to prepare the jet right away – Coulson's orders –, because they needed to leave immediately. Eight hours ago they landed on Maui and she threw a pair of swimming trunks into his face. He was not amused.
Now they are lying in a hammock hip to hip, facing each other, background lighting provided by the setting sun, and apparently he has nothing to do for seven whole days other than swim in the ocean, lie in the sun and drink cocktails. It is strangely unnerving.
"You are impossible," he tells her, grabbing her probing foot and pressing his thumb against the arch of it. She mewls in pleasure.
"I can't be impossible. I exist," she says with such cheekiness he knows it's supposed to be some kind of reference he is supposed to get, but he just can't find it in himself to force his brain to remember (he might be too comfortable for that).
(Damn her.)
"Just admit it," she says after a while, "you're glad we are here."
He scoffs, trying to convey annoyance (he has been tricked to come here, after all), but it sounds unconvincing even to him.
"Admit it!" she presses, grinning.
"I don't care where I am – as long as I'm with you, I'm okay," he says at last, still not really admitting what she wants him to acknowledge.
"Aww," she goes, anyway, "I think I've broken you. You've gone mushy. Cornier than a pop-corn stand."
"That's a terrible simile," he chuckles, sliding his hand up her calf.
"But it's true."
He doesn't argue with that. He sighs.
"But this place is nice. And it's good to relax a little."
She pokes his chest with her toes.
"Hah! I told you. So you're not mad at me for tricking you?"
"No, not really," he answers, taking hold of her foot again. "Irritated, a bit, but that's fading."
"Good. Because you needed some downtime. Desperately. Ah… don't you stop this," she moans as he massages the arch of her foot. "You have magic hands. Hm… Care for a little midnight swim later?"
"A midnight swim? Isn't that a little bit too movie cliché for your taste?" he teases.
"Not if we skinny dip."
He stills for a moment.
"I'm in."
