A/N: From the Tumblr list "Nonsexual Acts of Intimacy" – Back scratches.
Damn That Itch
Skye was sure that itchy back was a cruel joke of the universe. Especially the kind where you just couldn't reach the itchy spot – like right between your shoulder blades – no matter how hard you tried, and the itch just got worse and worse until it drove you up the wall.
Exactly like the one she was having now.
The itch was killing her, and no matter how she twisted, turned or stretched – and believe her, she had tried every position imaginable (and even some unimaginable ones) –, she just couldn't reach it, and so she was fast approaching the point where she started crying or shouting or the mixture of the two out of sheer frustration. As a last resort, she stuck her right hand behind her back, and tried to push it upwards with her left at the elbow to reach that damn spot, and she was so close, so damn close, just an inch, and then –
Jackpot.
Her tight muscles loosened up right away, and she let out a relieved sigh.
…Only to tense slightly up a moment later when she realized it wasn't actually her scratching her back.
She cast a careful glance behind her shoulder at her savior – whoever was still mercifully scratching her back.
"Oh, hi," she almost squeaked out.
"Hi," Ward replied with that stupid, infuriating half-smile on his face that she had always interpreted as I am amused and you are adorable, but I refuse to show it. "Is it okay?"
"More than okay," she moaned softly (damn, she actually moaned), then, her body going lax again, she let her head drop, resting her forehead on her arms on the table in front of her, and positioned her back in a way that he got just the best angle. "It's amazing."
She could have sworn she heard him chuckle.
"You're welcome," he said, then dropped his hand. "Well, if you need any more itches to scratch, you know where to find me." And with that, he walked away.
She almost called after him, asking if he only meant back itches. Almost.
