Fools Fooling Around

When she first met him, Skye would have never thought that Grant Ward would make a clingy boyfriend. A good lover, yes, with his determined demeanor, but not a boyfriend who is overly into PDA.

She was wrong.

She had to learn early in their budding relationship that Grant thrived on touch – it was almost like he suddenly wanted to make up for the years he went without gentleness with his relationship with her. He was always looking for some kind of physical contact, let it be just holding her hand, or having her sit on his lap in the lounge, or sneakily putting his arms around her waist or shoulders. Not that she minded it – not at all.

But his fondness for physical contact, coupled with his healthy – very healthy, if Skye may say so – sex drive (because she was right about him being a good lover) sometimes did got them into awkward situations. (Not that she minded them in hindsight.)

There was one particular incident, when she was in the galley of the Playground, preparing dinner while softly humming to herself, when suddenly a warm presence appeared behind her. She didn't react, just smiled to herself, eager to see what was to follow. Ever so gently, Grant swept her hair to one side, then his lips descended upon the soft skin of her neck, making her giggle, while his hands found their way around her waist, pulling her close against his chest.

"What's with this eagerness, Robot?" she asked, refusing to turn around.

"I missed you," he murmured against her skin, making her chuckle.

"You see me, what? Three hours ago? You know when…" Her voice trailed off as his fingers deftly sneaked under her top, caressing the taut skin of her stomach.

"I know. It felt like an eternity," then bit down gently at the juncture of her neck.

She was quickly turning into jelly under his attentive touch – not that it was a new phenomenon.

"You are incorrigible," she meant to say, but what left her mouth was little more than a needy moan.

"Not that you'd want to change me," he countered, then, encouraged be her body's tells, his hand sneaked southward, cupping her through her jeans, while simultaneously he grinded his groin against her backside, letting her feel everything.

The sensations were overwhelming; a loud gasp escaped her lips. She was hot and already so wet, so ready for him (damn him), and if it was up to her, they would–

"Honestly, guys," Lance's mildly annoyed voice broke her Grant-induced trace. "We eat here. Couldn't you take it somewhere else? Like your room?"

She almost pouted when Grant pulled away. Damn Lance and damn his terrible timing. They were this close to having sex on the counter, which would have been, she admitted, a tad bit unsanitary, but damn, she wanted it. Bad.

"Thank you, Hunter, for your sage advice," she told him simply, albeit a little angrily, then grabbed Grant's belt, and started pulling him out of the galley.

"To our bunk?" Grant asked as if reading her mind as soon as they were out of the galley.

"To our bunk," she confirmed, giving his belt a firm tug.

(In hindsight – at least it wasn't Coulson who found them.)