They ended up sitting on her couch, hip to hip with barely an inch between them. Her left foot was stacked over his right on the coffee table, their clasped hands resting on his thigh as they sipped their beers and chatted about everything from the mechanics of the TARDIS to their ideas for the new season of Science Is Super to whether or not Hunter had a shot with Bobbi anymore. Fitz's thumb ran a sandcastle groove over the soft, taut skin of her palm, and her head was forever leaning over to dip against his shoulder. And whenever either one got the notion to do so (which was often) they would drop fleeting kisses on whatever skin they could reach.
-o-
"Fitz?" Jemma mumbled sleepily from her spot against his shoulder.
"Mhmm?"
"When did I talk to you about our compatibility score?" At least, that was what she meant to say. It came out as a garbled string of syllables, breathed into plaid cotton as her head drooped farther towards his chest.
Fitz transferred the hand he was holding hers with, settling his arm around her shoulders and snugging her tighter to him. "What's that?"
She craned her neck back, trying to meet his gaze. "You said I complained about there being no decent men around. And that I called our 97% a mistake." She blinked away the drowsiness. "I still think so, by the way - it should be much higher." She couldn't really see much more than his jaw, but that was enough to catch the peak of his smile. "So when did I say those things to you?"
"Ahh… I might've… sort of… overheard them?" She pulled away fully, and Fitz squinted, sheepishly running a hand through his mussed hair. "On your voicemail?"
Oh, not this again. "Fitz! You told me I didn't say anything embarrassing!"
At least he had the decency to turn pink. "Well, it wasn't embarrassing… for me." She caught the spark in his eye that signaled he was about to start riling her up, and god damn it, she oughtn't find that so attractive.
"Really, Jemma," he drawled, "so what if you told me how cute you think I am," he ducked out of the way of her shove, "and funny," he dodged a pinch, "and how you had a thing for me," he chortled gleefully.
"Did I say that?" He was never going to stop taunting her with those stupid voicemails. She needed to hear them for herself. "I don't know," she tsked, "it's not very believable, is it?"
"I can assure you-"
She cut him off mid-retort, surprising him by bracing herself on his shoulders and throwing a leg over his lap to straddle him, only losing her balance a little in the process. "I think," she managed, voice faltering when he grabbed her backside to steady her, and missing his hands immediately when they hot-potatoed off, "I think you might have a thing for me." She ran her own palms down his chest and around, kissing him languidly as she slipped her fingers into his back pockets.
And then drew back in annoyance. "Ugh, Fitz! Where is your phone?! I need to hear those messages!" She was certain his mobile had been in his pocket, because, well - it wasn't as if the curve of his butt had gone unnoticed, nor the shallow rectangle marring its perfection.
Fitz was breathing harder than usual, but otherwise seemed his standard canary-eating self as he chided, "Jemma, please. You really think I didn't know what you were up to?" Christ, he's insufferable. "I've put it somewhere you'll never find it."
"Don't be an idiot, this is my apartment." Easily sorted; she'd just call him and listen for the ring. She went for her own mobile, and gritted her teeth. "Fitz! What the Hell did you do with my phone?"
He wiggled his fingers with a flourish. "Magic!" He tugged at the back of her neck and drew her face down for a kiss. "Shame I never went into the pickpocketing business," he nuzzled against her throat.
"Never say never, Fitz," she teased. "I'd be more than happy to," her head tipped back as he discovered a really lovely place along her jawline, "hire someone else next year," - was that a growl? bloody hell - "so that you can follow your dreams of petty thievery," she laughed breathlessly.
That earned her a nip to the soft part under her chin, and well - after that she forgot to say anything for some time.
-o-
They ended up sprawled across the cushions, Jemma's head pillowed on Fitz's forearm as he held onto her hand like she was a parachute and he was the safety harness. He hovered over her, eyes closing reluctantly, as if she were too dazzling to watch but too tempting to ignore. And he kissed her. Like a sculptor crafting in clay, like a swimmer cresting the water, like a thrillseeker finally finding his foothold in the cliff face, he kissed her. Her hands were small and a little cold, but they traveled his back, rucking up his shirt, and everything she touched - lips, skin, shirt - felt like soft indulgence as her mouth found his time and time again.
-o-
"We should have done this months ago," she murmured into the quiet room, and rubbed her bare foot against his socked one.
"Nah." The sound came from just behind her ear, where Fitz was sandwiched between her body and the back of the sofa, and he shook himself before bringing their laced fingers up to kiss her knuckles. "I mean, yes, obviously, but in my defense, I had no idea your place was this nice."
"Fitz," she tutted. "Besides, I thought you liked me for my car."
She could feel his smile against her temple. "Well, that too." His hand traced a lazy path up her blouse from where it had been tickling at her hip, counting her ribs before moving back down, fingertips burning her skin through the silk despite staying respectfully (and a bit regrettably) outside her clothes.
She'd been willing enough to follow his lead - no sense scaring him off before they even had a proper date - especially since, considering she'd started the day without a boyfriend, her legs were only shaved to the knee. And he's sporting quite the bruise from cushioning your fall onstage. She giggled silently to herself, still somewhat in awe of the memory. World's most considerate trampoline.
Still, the longer he lay there, curled around her petite frame, petting her chastely with those wide, warm hands, the longer she felt like telling her self-imposed restrictions to take a hike. There was nothing wrong with stating an interest, after all, even if she didn't necessarily intend to act on it that very minute.
"That feels good." The sultry tinge her words took on was mostly accidental.
"Mmm?" He rested his stubbled cheek against her hair for a second. "And how's your arm?" A feather-light finger tapped lightly at the side of her torso she'd landed on.
"Not as bad as it could be." Thanks to you. Her neck was getting a bit sore from lying on the couch, though, and she rolled her head as best she could, reaching up a hand to massage at the spot where she could feel a crick forming.
Fitz was shifting uncertainly behind her, as if trying to decide whether to let go of her waist. "Do you need anything? Ice? Ibuprofen?"
"Actually, we should put something on that bruise you've got, or your shoulder'll be a mess tomorrow." She debated a moment. A modern woman goes for what she wants. "And I'd love a neck rub."
She heard his inhale, felt him still. "Ehh, yeah." He started to sit up. "Okay. Sure. Where-"
"I'll get them." She maneuvered herself off of the couch and went to the bathroom, grabbing a tube of athletic muscle cream, some arnica gel, and a bottle of witch hazel. She walked back into the living room to see Fitz standing rather nervously by her coffee table, the plaid already off and hands like talons clutching at the hem of his T-shirt. God, but he's cute. And possibly somewhat shy, although Jemma could remember vividly what his chest looked like under there, and he really didn't need to be.
"You'll want to take that off, this could stain." She kept her glances and tone straightforward, trying to put him more at ease. It didn't work.
She could see the glottal stop before Fitz finally got his tongue working again. "Right. On it." He started to bring up the fabric, paused, cleared his throat. "So, er, ah, I'll just sit on the floor and you can sit on the couch and then we'll switch?"
It was difficult to focus on his words with Fitz's belly button in her eyeline, but the question registered eventually. "Oh! No, we should go in the bedroom, I'd rather not lay facedown on the sofa."
Fitz's voice was like the squeak of a rusty hinge. "You, uh… what?"
It wasn't apprehension in his body language, not quite - and he'd been eager enough earlier- but Jemma was suddenly rushed by a hint of panic. Am I pushing too far? She flashed back to watching Fitz and Mack repair the stage lights, how she and Skye and Vaughn had sat there joking and ogling the two men. Just a bit of fun at the time, but - oh, god - she was just as bad as those creeps on the Sexual Harassment And YOU! videos, wasn't she? What if Fitz didn't want to be in her flat at all?
"I'm not trying to sleep with you!" she blurted a tad desperately. "Oh, goodness." She shook her head. "No. I'm not not trying to sleep with you, but for tonight, most likely, I would imagine… not." Her flushed cheeks and furrowed brow pleaded with him to understand. "Don't you think?"
Fitz's neck, ears, head and probably a good deal of the chest she couldn't see were a bright tomato red. "I'm… I wasn't…"
Like many people with a tendency to ramble, when faced with the possibility of an awkward silence, Jemma kept going. "Because I do find you attractive, and… yes, all right, that may have played some part in my suggestion to massage your shoulder, but in fairness you did hit the stage with quite a bit of force, and you're liable to wind up completely stiff." Fitz's eyes widened, and she revisited her word choice in her head. "Oh. Oh, yes, I hear it now."
She was making an absolute mess of this. Puffing out her cheeks, she waited, biting her lip into silence and eyes slightly downcast.
"Okay…" Fitz's shirt was still being held aloft in an odd nudity limbo as he thought about his response. "So, okay. That's fine. Are we still…" his eyes squinched, "erm. Backrub?"
Her face came up and morphed into a relieved smile. "Yes! Of course," she smiled, nodding quickly as she ducked into her bedroom and invited him in with a tilt of her head. Setting the various ointments on her nightstand, she faced him squarely and gestured that he should sit on the bed. "Fitz, I know we haven't always-" She winced and changed course, looking above his head at a point on the wall. "I don't want to ruin anything," her hands found their way onto the sides of her chin, and she met his eyes, "between us. Is that- do you know what I mean?"
"Hey. Hey," Fitz reached out and pulled her to him by both hands, close enough that she had to stand between his legs as he sat on the edge of the mattress. He tugged on her arms until she looked straight at him, and he grinned. "There's nothin' to ruin, Jemma." Fitz brought her right hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it, before doing the same with her left. "You said it yourself. We're not friends, remember?" He accompanied the statement with a bemused eyebrow tilt, and placed her arms on his shoulders before wrapping his own loosely around her waist. Looking up at her with - she'd have to be a fool not to see it - undisguised infatuation, he kept on. "So whatever we make of this? It'll be better than what we had before."
Jemma could sense her nerves receding as she processed his words and the hint of challenge that lay within them. "Well, that's good then," she teased, trailing her fingers down his hairline. "I didn't want to be your friend anyway."
"Oh, really?" His retort was full of rampant speculation as he pulled her flush to him. "What did you want?"
She bent her head to give him a sweet, lingering kiss. "Let me show you."
Author's Notes:
The fic is very nearly over, so from now on, updates will arrive every other day. Meaning the next one will be on Tuesday, not Wednesday, for whatever that's worth.
:-D Thanks for coming along with me for the ride! I really appreciate the support I've had for this fic so far.