"Jesus!" he spluttered, leaving Jemma with a pleased flush at her ability to make him drop his teasing in the space of a second. That's right, mister. Taste of your own medicine. "You're- y' can't just-" He gestured vaguely at where she stood, his eyes darting between her face and everything else.
"Of course I can, Fitz," she said, deliberately misinterpreting his comment. "They were my voicemails, after all. And," she brought her shoulders up innocently, "it's possible I may have changed a few autocorrects while I was in there." She beamed. "You probably shouldn't curse in your texts until you've figured it out. Or, well," she tutted, "good manners would imply you shouldn't curse at all."
"Why, you-" Fitz's hand had shot forward and snatched his phone back, and a gratifyingly aggrieved look took over his face. "Jemma! You cannot just break into a man's personal mobile device! That's like-" he faltered, "messing about in his sock drawer!" He narrowed his eyes. "You're gonna try to organize my socks, aren't you?"
Jemma couldn't stop the satisfied laugh that bubbled out of her chest. She might be pushing it, but it was just such delicious payback to see Fitz flustered for once, considering how often he did it to her.
"Incidentally, Fitz, your mother says hello. Lovely woman. So willing to share embarrassing stories about her only son!"
"My mother!" Fitz stomped over to the breakfast nook and grabbed the bag from 3 Brothers with a scowl. "That's it. No scone for you!" Fitz jabbed the pastry in her direction. "I mean it, Jemma. I'm holding this hostage until you tell me exactly what you did." He disappeared around the counter into the kitchen, grumping under his breath. "Honestly, can't do anythin' nice without bein' punished for it. 'Oh great idea, I'll just get up at the arse-crack of dawn and wait in a bakery queue for a goddamned fortnight, it'll be fun' - and this is what I get?"
She rounded the corner and saw him scowling into the door of her refrigerator, one hand on the small of his back and her breakfast still waving wildly in the other.
"Damn Koenigs playin' us all for fools; 'Two per customer! No pushing! Where's your lanyard!' - hmmph! Most likely get the things frozen in bulk at Costco and spend the rest of the day laughin' at anyone stupid enough to-"
"Is that for me, darling?" she purred, stepping closer.
"Sweetheart," he sniped back, "Just because you're naked and gorgeous, don't think y' can just walk in here and-"
She plucked the scone out of his grasp and took a large bite, enjoying the way his mouth dropped open in mighty offense. After chewing and swallowing, she set it, napkin first, on the counter. Jemma ducked under Fitz's arm, not bothering to close the refrigerator door, and leaned her head back against the freezer, looking up at him uncertainly from under her lashes. "Gorgeous?" After months of fine and nice and not unattractive, she expected him to say he'd been exaggerating, taking the mickey with gorgeous the same way he had with sweetheart. But her voice caught slightly on the question, and she felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her lack of clothing.
"S' what I said." His eyebrows drew inward, and he dropped his head to bump his forehead against hers. "It's not a compliment," and there it was - just making a joke, same as always - until he kissed just next to her nose and mumbled, "when it's true."
The smile that sneaked past her teeth was tiny, but she thought he picked up on it as he brought his fingers under her chin and kissed her properly. Within moments, Jemma had forgotten the cool air at her back, lost in the warmth of Fitz's unselfconscious regard. His hands cradled her face, lips moving over hers like a violin bow, and her tiptoes lifted her into him without thinking. She grabbed for his neck, one hand clutching at his hair while the other tried to keep her towel and her modesty from slipping. Please be as good as you seem, Fitz. The wish crept into her mind, fragile hope snagging a seat between deep-set pragmatism and stubborn self-reliance, and she sighed into his mouth. It would appear that when it came to protecting her heart, a towel wasn't very good armor.
Fitz broke away first, his lungs screaming like he'd won a marathon. His hand untangled from her wet hair and he hugged her fast against him. "You shouldn't keep your refrigerator open like this," he murmured without much conviction.
"There's nothing in there to spoil," she countered, lips brushing against his Adam's apple. "I had meant to do some shopping later. Care to join me? Maybe help me choose a lobster for dinner?" She snickered at the shudder that immediately ran through him.
"Don't even joke about that. Do you know how long it was before I stopped smelling phantom seafood everywhere?" Fitz pressed his cheek to her temple. "You must be freezing." He ran his hands over her shoulders, keeping her chest pressed to him. "This is terrible for your electric bill. And the environment, probably."
Jemma nosed at his jaw. "Then you move."
He called her bluff, tightening his arms around her back and lifting, and ignored the way she squeaked in his ear. Stepping away from the fridge, he nudged it shut with his toe and set her down on the linoleum. "Go on, eat your breakfast," he urged, pushing the scone at her and trying to focus his eyes anywhere but the pale peek of hip where her towel had gapped slightly. "You're nothin' but skin and bones."
She readjusted her grip on the terrycloth edge, then tapped her scone against the tip of his nose. "Gorgeous skin and bones, according to you."
He rolled his eyes and refused to think about what a cliché it was to be falling in love with his arch-enemy. "Eat your breakfast," he repeated gruffly, "and if you expect me to go shopping with you, you'd better put some clothes on." He softened his words with a kiss to the top of her bare shoulder on his way past her into the living room. "Not that I'm complainin'."
"You, complain?" She took a bite of her scone, following him, and they sipped at their coffees together. Fitz's brief nap on the couch had perked him up slightly, but just then, his lukewarm caffeinated lifeline was everything good in the world.
"You know, the shower's free, if you'd like one, and the laundry." She polished off the last few crumbs and popped a wayward blueberry in her mouth. "A clean set of clothes might be nice."
"Excuse you, I am a very rugged, manly man, and if I want t' stink all day, I'll- yeah, okay." Between the clock tower, which had been a veritable spider arcade, and trekking to 3 Brothers and back, Fitz was definitely sporting that not-so-fresh feeling.
After Jemma'd shown him the laundry machines and handed him a spare towel, she ducked into her bedroom to change. Fitz stood by the washer, measuring soap and checking the instructions on the inside of the lid. A thought blipped into his head and he stuck his neck into the hall, trusting his voice to carry the short distance to her door. "Hey, do you still have my plaid? I'll toss it in."
"No need," she called back. "I washed it this morning; should be in the basket."
Crossing his fingers that it hadn't shrunk, Fitz picked up the plastic latticework bin sitting on top of the dryer and rummaged around for a second before all concern for his shirt flew right out of his brain. He carried the basket the few steps to Jemma's bedroom and knocked lightly. "Oh, Jemma," he sang, "is this what I think it is?"
Two seconds later, she was craning her head around the edge of the door, eyes widening like inkstains as he held up a very familiar pair of white cotton underpants. Large ones.
"Y' know, if I'd realized how incredibly hot they would look up close, I'd've-"
"Oh my god, Fitz, not another word-" she groaned.
"-the infamous granny pan-"
"-don't you dare-"
"-can't wait to see them on y-"
"Fitz!" Jemma's bare arm snaked out and she yanked the panties from his grasp with enough force to make him wobble. "Leave the basket. Take your shower." She raised her eyebrows in a mask of incredulity. "And I really shouldn't need to tell you this," her voice had gone quite high, "but don't touch people's underwear without permission!"
Something heavy hit his face before the door slammed in front of him. It was the towel she'd had on, still a bit damp from her skin. Sweet onion soup, that's sexy. Fitz ran his hands through his hair, assessing his options, before rapping his knuckles once more against the wood. "So… can I have permission?"
"Sod off!"
Fitz looked around the bathroom, completely out of his depth. Bath salts, bubble bombs, and shower gels stared back at him from the counter. Weird porous stones and little mesh scrubbers sat neatly next to the tub. Her vanilla-scented shampoo seemed to judge him from its metal caddy. Doesn't she have any normal soap? He didn't want to come out of this smelling like a candle store.
He could text her, just to ask. Unless she's still sore at me. Realistically, though, if she'd let him see her in a towel, she probably wasn't too bothered that he'd seen her underpants. It was hard to tell.
He grabbed his phone from the counter - he'd refused to let it out of his sight since getting it back - and had just pulled up her contact when he stopped short. Did she really…?
With a smile almost too big for his cheeks, Fitz sank into the hot water, deciding he really wouldn't mind smelling like Jemma.
-o-
"Jemmaaaa!" he shouted past the bathroom door, scrubbing at his head with the hand towel. "What am I meant to wear until my clothes dry? Not all of us look as good in next-to-nothing as you."
"There's a robe on the hook! It should fit!" Her reply was quick, and close, and the mischievous giggle that followed ought to have worried him, but really only made him wish he could see her when she laughed.
Stepping back, Fitz looked around for the hook, while the memory of her towel-clad body resurfaced with a vengeance. "I'm not being funny, but is there a petition I could sign for that to be your new Captain Chemistry costume? Because-"
He finally pulled down the robe, which - ah, yes, that makes sense now - turned out to be a belted silk dressing gown, peach-pink and predictably embroidered with flowers and hummingbirds.
Brilliant.
Her voice came ringing in a moment later, far too innocently. "Tell me again how you're a rugged, manly man?"
-o-
"Jemma?" Fitz peered around the dividing wall in the kitchen. He knew he looked a bit silly per her intention, but if he was being honest, the silk felt divine against his skin. I might never give this back. Serve her right, really. He popped back into the living room and then ducked his head into the laundry alcove. "Where are you?"
"Bedroom!"
He was there in seconds, but hesitated. She certainly didn't sound as annoyed as the last time he'd stood in that spot, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.
"Oh! And I've still got your shirt and tie," she carried on, a bit muffled, from just on the other side of the door.
"Thanks, that's great, I'll just-"
The door creaked under his hand, and for the second time that morning, the sight of Jemma Simmons him hit like a hundred punches to the stomach. She turned around, his open button-up barely covering her breasts where she'd pinched it closed, and his loosely-knotted tie sitting jealous around her throat. After a few stunned seconds of silence, her nose wrinkled, and a light pink dusted over her cheeks and chest.
"Too much?"
Fitz's hand came up to rub at his jaw, willing it to work again. I must've been so unlucky in another life. In this one, however, Jemma was peeking up at him with a secret in her eyes, shifting her weight like a cat, and for the love of all things holy, she was wearing his shirt, his tie… and most decidedly her panties.
-o-
They ended up standing in her room, with teasing demands to return each other's clothing and a whispered "make me" that set the world in motion. Their kiss felt like the beginning of an argument, raw and stubborn and full of bravado. With every round, the intensity climbed: each side striving to make its point, accepting what the other offered and building a rebuttal out of tongues and breath and fevered skin. And once the debate lost all moderation, the final score was both unknowable and unnecessary as Fitz and Jemma surrendered to the pull of the blankets.
Author's Notes:
I did say Thursday, but life got in the way, and I suppose it's Fitz Friday now :-) I hope you'll forgive me for having taken a little longer than I promised.
(I always wanted to include a "make me" in a fic.)
:-D
So, next chapter'll be up on Sunday!