May I?

"You are never going to make a move, right?"

Her question is so sudden and completely out of context – they are in the cargo bay, having their usual morning workout, and he was just showing her how to use an opponent's weight against him – that it has him take a step back, looking at her with wide eyes.

He could pretend that he doesn't understand; that he takes it as an ill-timed attempt for a joke. He could scowl and tell her to focus on the task and hand. He could definitely be Agent Grant Ward now, all distant and unapproachable.

He could – but it would be pointless.

Despite her recurring nickname for him, he's not a robot, and he knows exactly what's been going on between them. He knows that their relationship have been evolving – going from irritated comments to witty flirting. There have been teasing smiles and longer-than-necessary touches and longing gazes that held more meaning than thousands and thousands words could.

And yet, nothing happened. Nothing of real significance.

Mostly because of him.

Solely because of him.

Because starting a relationship with his rookie would be highly unprofessional, unwise and downright stupid. And he doesn't do stupid. (No matter how much he wants to.)

"Excuse me?" he says simply after a way too long pause, his voice significantly higher than he'd like it to be.

Skye crosses her arms in front of her chest in a gesture he knows she intends to be haughty, but in fact is a defense mechanism.

"I mean you're never going to… I don't know. Kiss me or something."

(Damn, he wants to kiss her so bad. He wants to know if her lips are as soft as they look, and whether her hair feels like liquid silk beneath his finger, and whether her body would fit his as well as he's imagined.)

Instead of answering, he simply swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Skye must feel like she's having the upper hand, because she smiles (grins) and licks her upper lip.

"I bet you couldn't even kiss me – I mean, your programming must be lacking this particular app."

This – her fake-confident grin, the twitch of her mouth, the slight rise of her eyebrow, the playful glint in her eye and the teasing tone of her voice –breaks him. He's not proud of it, but he can feel the heat rise to his cheeks.

"I could kiss you! I could. I mean, I'd like to. I – may I? We me? I mean may we? Wait, what?" The last question is addressed rather to himself than to her.

For a moment, Skye just stands there, wide-eyed, apparently completely stunned. It's clear as the day that she didn't expect this kind of outburst.

And then she starts laughing – doubling over, tears flowing down her cheeks-laughing. Even Grant can't help but smile at the situation.

It takes a good minutes for her to calms down, until she tames her rolling laughter into a little chuckle. But when she does, she steps closer to him and takes one of his hands in hers.

"You may," she tells him, looking into his eyes. "Kiss me, I mean."

And that's exactly what he does.