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like-a-bag-of-potatoes · 4 years ago

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Playing With Fire - Girls Night Out

A/N: So this is my first crack at Chicago fire fanfiction, so don't judge too hard, alright? This will unfold from the beginning of season three, so if you haven't watched it yet, but plan to; SPOILER ALERT! I tried to follow along with the storyline of the show, but some things have been changed. Shout out to my superawesome beta @thorne93, you rock!

Fandom: Chicago Fire

Pairing: Kelly Severide x Beth (OFC)

Warnings: Language probably. Drinking

Wordcount: 2245

Beth stood in front of her TV, coffee in hand as she watched the morning news in disbelief. A helicopter had crashed and landed on top of a building, the reporter on scene kept talking as the camera panned out and captured the unbelievable scene that unfolded.

“Witnesses say that there are still people trapped inside the helicopter, but luckily the Chicago fire department is on the scene and working tirelessly to get everyone out safe.”

She couldn't really make out any faces or the names on the uniforms, but the big white ‘81’ on one of the trucks was easy enough to see, and her heart sank in her chest. Everyone she knew and loved in Chicago was on that scene.

With eyes glued to the TV she paced back and forth in her apartment, her heart beating a million miles an hour. “They have to be alright,” she said to herself, feeling more helpless than she had ever done before.

She didn't really register what she was doing when she jumped in her car and headed for the fire house. There wasn't really anything she could do for any of them right now, but she was sure as hell gonna make sure they returned to a hot meal. The plan was to make some lasagnas that they could easily heat up and then get out of there before they returned, but it didn't really work out like that.

One by one they poured into the kitchen, their somber faces revealing the impact of the day they had had.

“Beth? What are you doing here?” Gabby asked, surprised and happy to see her friend.

“I saw you all on the news and figured you’d be hungry when you got back,” she explained.

“You weren't wrong, kid,” Herrmann said with appreciation in his voice.

“You’re the best,” Otis chimed in.

“The best,” Cruz repeated, backing up his best friend.

Beth gave Gabby a tight hug. “I'm glad you’re okay,” she said. Over Gabby’s shoulder, she locked eyes with Kelly and gave him a small smile, but he just averted his eyes and walked away. “What's his deal?”

“Who?” Gabby wondered, turning around just in time to see Kelly disappear down the hall. “Oh. Brittany showed up to the scene today, all hysterical and shit because he wasn't answering her calls and texts,” she explained.

“Wow. That's… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Gabby agreed.

“Alright,” Beth said a little louder. “I'm gonna get out of your hair,” she announced as she started backing out of the room.

“You’re not gonna eat with us?” Mills asked.

“Nah. I have a bar to open. Since my bosses are all busy saving the day and shit,” she said with a chuckle.

Goodbyes were mumbled through mouthfuls of food as Beth walked away. She had no intentions of looking for Kelly, but she saw him sitting in his office and her feet just walked themselves over there and she knocked on the open door. “Hey,” she said softly.

“This really isn't a good time,” he said in an annoyed tone. It wasn't Beth he was angry at, he knew that, but he couldn't help the annoyance in his voice.

“Just wanted to say I'm glad you’re okay. I saw the news earlier and I just… I'm glad you made it back in one piece,” she offered.

Kelly sighed. “Thanks, Beth,” he said with half a smile.

“I'll leave you to it.”

He followed her with her eyes as she walked away, but his mind was on his wife and the inevitable fight that would come later. Beth would never have showed up at a scene like that.

***

“Haagen Dazs and beer.” Those were the first words out of Gabby’s mouth when Beth opened the door. “I need a girls night.”

“You know I'm not gonna say no to that,” Beth said, taking the tub of ice cream from Gabby and letting her inside her apartment.

Things had been kind of rough between Gabby and Matt since she had started working on truck 81 and Matt became her Lieutenant. It was a difficult situation for the both of them and definitely something that would take some time to get used to and to find their new pace.

They both fell onto Beth's couch with deep sighs. “You first,” Beth ordered.

“It's this whole candidate/lieutenant thing,” she said twisting open a beer. “It's not working at home and it's not working at work.”

“I'm sorry,” Beth offered. “You'll find a way to make it work. I'm sure of it,” she tried to assure her friend. Gabby and Matt were strong, solid, so there was no doubt in her mind that they would make it through, one way or the other.

“Thanks. Got any advice?” Gabby asked through a mouthful of ice cream.

“Dude. I literally drove the guy I like all the way to Vegas where he married a stripper,” she noted with a humorless laugh. “Not sure I'm the best to give out relationship advice.”

“Graphic designer,” Gabby corrected, pointing her spoon at Beth.

“Allegedly,” Beth countered, making them both chuckle. “You know what?” She suddenly said.

“What?”

Beth got to her feet, Gabby watching her with furrowed brows. “It's Friday night. We shouldn't be in here eating and drinking our feelings. We should be out in some club, getting our dance on. We’re young and half of us are single… let's go paint the town.”

Gabby mulled it over for a quick second and then jumped on the bandwagon. “You go get dressed right now, and then we’ll stop by my place on our way downtown.”

Beth hesitated for a second. “I'll just wait in the car while you get ready,” she said, not wanting to run into a certain roommate.

“Kelly isn't home. He and Brittany had a date night planned. You’re safe.”

Ten minutes later, Beth reappeared from the bathroom, a short black dress hugging her body, completed with teal accessories to give it a pop of color. “Yay or nay?” she asked

“Definitely yay,” Gabby replied. “Now let's hustle.”

Beth stood in Gabby’s kitchen with Matt and waited for her friend to get ready. The longer she stayed there, the greater the chance she'd run into Kelly, and that was the last thing she needed right now.

“Want a beer?” Matt asked, but Beth shook her head. “You can relax, they’re not here,” he assured.

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” Beth lied, making Matt chuckle.

He was just about to call her out on it when they heard the front door and Beth went stiff.

“Casey, have you seen my wallet?” Kelly called out.

Beth was hidden from his view and she would really like to keep it that way, but then a sly grin appeared on Matt’s face and Beth noticed the little black walled on the kitchen counter. She looked up at Matt with big, pleading eyes, shaking her head vigorously.

“Yeah, it's in here,” Matt called out, still smiling.

“Thanks man,” Kelly said, not noticing Beth at first. “Got all the way across town before I noti…” his words trailed off there as his eyes finally found Beth. She looked amazing, so much so that he had a hard time getting words out. “You look… wow.”

“Thank’s,” she said shyly. Luckily, Gabby was just done getting ready and walked in to interrupt the awkward scene that was unfolding. “I'll wait for you in the car,” Beth said to her friend before she turned on her heel and started walking away, praying to some higher power that she wouldn't trip on her high heels and fall on her ass.

“Don't wait up, babe,” Gabby said before kissing Matt on the cheek. “And you might want to wipe that drool from your chin before you get back to your wife,” she said with a coy smile to Kelly.

***

Couple of hours at a loud club was more than either Beth or Gabby could manage before they hopped in a cab and headed for Molly’s. It was great to be out and about and Beth was definitely taking advantage of her evening off, pouring ‘em down like it was her last hurrah. Gabby held back a little, but she didn't want to be a buzz kill, so she just kept an eye on her friend. It wasn't often that Beth got out and it was great to see her in such a good mood for once.

Molly’s was packed, but Gabby found them a couple of seats while Beth went to get drinks.

“One beer and one Mojhito, please,” she requested from Otis with a huge smile, leaning on the bar counter. “Oh, and don't make it too sweet,” she added.

“Coming right up,” Otis said and got to work.

“You look really nice today,” Kelly complimented from her right.

Honestly, she hadn't even noticed him sitting there. “Thank you. Girls night,” she explained.

“I can see that,” he noted with a smile. She was clearly inebriated, but it was nice to see her relax and enjoy herself. “Don't think I’ve ever seen you all dolled up,” he noted.

“Well, that's because you never took me out,” she countered, no accusation in her voice. “Thank you, barkeep,” she chirped as Otis returned with her order. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse me.”

And with that, she went to search for Gabby, who she found at a table with a bunch of people from CPD.

It was a fun night, lots of laughter, good conversation, and alcohol. The crowd gradually thinned out and about half an hour before closing, Gabby too called it quits, leaving Beth and Halstead behind as the last two of their group. Herrmann and Otis were getting ready for closing while Kelly sat at the bar and nursed his drink still.

“This has been a really fun evening,” Jay noted, taking a swing from his beer.

“I agree. Nice to be on the other side of the bar for a change,” Beth said, stirring her drink with a straw. Now that things were quieting down around her, some of the sadness she had been carrying around returned. “Think I'm ready to call it, though,” she added as an afterthought.

“Alright,” Jay dragged. “Let me call you a cab,” he offered.

“I literally live 3 houses down from here. But thanks for the offer.”

“Okay. Can I walk you home then?” he pushed.

It was pretty obvious what he was getting at, and Beth wasn't completely opposed to the idea, just the circumstances. “Alright. Just know that I have a pretty strict rule. No hookups after three drinks, and I’m definitely more than three drinks in this evening.” She really hoped she didn't come across as conceited, but she was pretty sure that this was where things were heading.

“Why? I can assure you that I'll be just as devilishly handsome in the morning,” he joked making her laugh. “My intentions are honorable, I promise. Just want to make sure you get home in one piece.” he assured.

“Meet me outside? I'm just gonna say goodnight.”

Jay headed outside and Beth made her way over to the bar, as far from where Kelly was sitting as was possible. “Thanks again for covering my shift tonight, Otis. I owe you one.”

“Don't mention it,” he said, barely looking up from the paperwork he was getting ready before closing.

“Alright,” she said a little louder. “Night fellas.”

“Hey,” Kelly called out, jumping off his chair to catch up to her before she left. He had spent the last hour and a half watching her and Halstead get all cozy and he didn't like it one bit. “Let me walk you home?” he asked in a kind voice, not knowing that there was already someone waiting for her outside.

“Uhm…. no thanks,” she said simply.

“Come on. Just want to make sure you get back safe,” he told her.

She looked into those beautiful blue eyes of his and for some reason she felt herself get angry. “No, Kelly. You promised me some space, remember?”

“You didn't seem so concerned about your space when you came looking for me at the station the other day,” he retorted.

“I wasn't there for you. I was there to make sure my friends were all safe and in one piece,” she defended.

Before Kelly could say anything else, Jay stuck his head through the door. “You coming?” he asked and Beth just gave him a reassuring nod and then he was out the door again.

“Unbelievable,” Kelly snorted. “Halstead?”

“Go home to your wife, Lieutenant,” she spat before she turned on her heel and made her way out of there.

“You okay?” Jay asked as they started their little walk back to her apartment, seeing the change in her mood.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” she assured, looking up at him. “I have a question for you, Detective.”

“Hit me.”

“Those intentions of yours,” she started, referring to the conversation they had a few minutes ago. “Still honorable?”

“As honorable as you want them to be.”

Beth looked up at him with a coy smile as she slipped her hand into his, lacing their fingers together. That way she was telling him without words what she was thinking. It was probably a bitch move on her part, using him like that, but right then she didn't care. She just wanted to forget.

Tags: @campingmonkey @deansgirl215 @thevelvetseries

#Chicago Fire #chicago fire fanfic #chicago fire fanfiction #Kelly Severide #kelly severide fanfic #kelly severide x reader #kelly severide fanfiction #kelly severide series

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leapyearkisses · 3 years ago

Note

For the director’s cut: Orbs Are Bad News, please? Part 2 (or both, if you’re willing!) It’s one of my favorites 💗

One of my favorites, too! Thanks for the ask! :D I'll do both parts, with Part 2 to follow this a bit later.

Director's cut comments in bold below the cut! MESS, m/m, holding a handkerchief, etc.

This story came from a prompt on a writing meme about a character losing the use of their hands while having to deal with snz. I can't remember at the moment if the prompt was D&D-flavored or if I just picked that setting myself because I was really into playing the game at the time (still am!). Also I'm incredibly sleep-deprived, so I hope these comments don't ramble overmuch.

"Okay, we don't know what we're dealing with here, so let's be careful." Gerrit pushed open the heavy wooden door and lifted his torch to illuminate the room inside. The firelight played over several tables covered in intriguing objects and glinted teasingly off of more than one hint of gold. Gerrit himself spotted a stolid wooden chest in the corner and his heart rate quickened.

When I was a kid, my mom gave me the Dragonlance books and I fell in love with them, although it was a long time before I was able to play D&D myself. I attribute my love of the very traditional fantasy realm to these books and my enduring love of sickly mages to Raistlin (Soulforge was like an EXPERIENCE for me). Gerrit has his origins in Tanis Half-Elven - he's a good guy, kind of a normal/default fighter build. "Jackpot," breathed Remembrance, the party's resident ne'er-do-well. She rubbed her hands together, sharp nails clicking. Gerrit was sure she was assigning price tags to the lot of it, except for whatever she hid in her bags for herself, of course. "I know a guy in the capitol who'll pay through the nose for that pervy little statue there." "That is a religious object," chastised Cordes with a haughty tsk. "It's used in rituals of worship for the goddess Fortuna." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be worshipping," cackled Remembrance, and she slipped past Gerrit into the vault. "Few hundred gold and he'll be rubbing out a grand ol' prayer." Her pointed tail waved with greedy delight. "Hey! The proper course of action would be to bring it back to a temple!" Cordes went after her, pushing Gerrit aside.

Remembrance and Cordes are here to be the beta couple and provide background color. Their development was based on a few factors: A) a D&D party should have ~4 people with different abilities (fighter, sorcerer, cleric, rogue), B) a priest and a devil is never not a fun/ny dynamic, C) I'm not into F snz but I feel bad that most of my OCs are not women, and D) given that Gerrit is a "default" archetype, there needed to be differing characters to contrast his personality with (or he would seem to have none). Also I like dirty jokes, so Remembrance can be my humorous id for this purpose lol The half-elf grumbled but wasn't surprised. "At least TRY not to touch anything cursed," he called. He'd been the one to organize this little band, but although he was the one who reported to their patron, he had precious little influence over what they did. They were happy to point to him when some upstart had a problem with the party, though. Ingrates. He turned to the last member of the group. "What about you, Llewellyn? I thought I saw some books on the far table." "Lead the way," replied the sorcerer, and his usually mellifluous voice sounded strained. Purple shadowed the hollows under his faintly luminous silver eyes, and he had his nose tucked into his handkerchief again. Gerrit hadn't spent much time around full elves, but he'd always believed they couldn't get sick, at least not like a human or dwarf. Llewellyn had been dragging since Saints' Day, though, and seemed to have come down with a flu. His skin, where visible under his fitted robes, was wan.

Fuck up that slender, haughty elf man is an endlessly running subroutine in my head. "Sure," said Gerrit, and he stepped into the room, holding the door out so that Llewellyn could join him. "You, uh, you don't look like you're feeling any better." "Oh," said the sorcerer, "I'm not. I ran out of tonics." He entered the vault and walked over to one of the tables, investigating a strangely shaped glass bowl. "But as we were already down here, I'm not sure what you want me to say. There's no inn at which I might rest my weary bones." "Cordes could make you an herbal remedy," Gerrit grumped. He went over to the chest he'd seen earlier and smashed the lock off with the pommel of his dagger. He didn't need any fancy lockpicking tools like Remembrance's. And hitting something felt good when his companions were all intent to be annoying, acerbic, or both. "I suppose," Llewellyn replied, sounding uncertain as his voice wavered. Gerrit tried to ignore the way his ears heated at that. That was the tone that overtook the elf when he was preparing to sneeze. It wasn't any of Gerrit's concern. His occasional roll in the hay (literal and figurative) with Llewellyn did not make it easier or more appropriate to acknowledge his odd attractions, especially since they were currently ransacking a dungeon with a priest and a psychopath. He focused his attention on searching the chest, and he was rewarded with a heavy coin purse, a stack of calfskin-bound journals, and a ruby the size of a robin's egg. He whistled.

Gerrit and Llewellyn are the dynamic opposite of Eliseo and Padgett. Gerrit is the less-privileged, more personable, "low class" character and Llewellyn is the high-born, fussier, sarcastic noble; however, in this story Gerrit is the voyeur character with the fetish and the POV window while Llewellyn is tortured for everyone's amusement. Narratively it's more fun and easier for me to describe the non-fetish-having character because I also like the power of the narrator to be that voyeuristic eye. Llewellyn gasped. "Hah- hahttsch-ow!"

I made myself laugh while writing this hahah "'Ow'?" Cordes appeared from behind a bookshelf, one arm wrapped tightly around a thick rug, the other reaching for his pack of salves. "What is it? Cut? Burn?" When Gerrit looked, their sorcerer was rubbing his nose with his left hand. "Bruise," Llewellyn said. He lifted his right hand, in which he held a blue crystal orb that was knotted inside a thin lattice of gold chain. "I got my hand caught." He'd apparently run the thing into his nose when trying to cover his sneeze. Llewellyn's thin face was already dusted pink from the embarrassment. Gerrit couldn't help but laugh. "Very graceful," he chuckled. "I will thank you for keeping it to yourself," Llewellyn replied, and that was elvish dialect for "fuck you." Gerrit laughed again.

Embarrassment is a huge part of my enjoyment of this kink because of the ensuing power dynamics. The victim is thrown into disequilibrium by something (snz) that is inherently seen as socially inappropriate, disgusting, or at least uncomfortable. Almost always their reaction is outsized to what it would probably be outside of a fet context (most people can sneeze in public without feeling shame - which is the typical mode, lol. It's a normal bodily function). However, then the other character, motivated by their BF's anxiety and potential humiliation is prompted to caretake and comfort them, "approve" of the "shameful" act, and deepen the intimacy of the couple. They can also enjoy the embarrassment and the act voyeuristically while feeling their own discomfort about watching, then deal with either having to divulge the kink or be found out by their partner later (because consent is the sexiest thing, really). But I love my characters and I'm not into hardcore stuff so much, so there are almost never any consequences of the "humiliation" - the characters do not get caught out, they do not get shamed by society, they do not actually lose face or have to explain their sexual preferences to anyone who should not know them.

Now you know way too much about my psychology but also the basic formula for any kink story I have written or will write in my entire life. Yay! Cordes had leaned over to see the orb better in the firelight. He was the only one among them whose vision was hindered by the dim light. "What kind of artifact is this?" he asked. "It doesn't resemble anything I've studied."

Lol humans don't have darkvision. "I'm not sure." Llewellyn held it up to the torch. The orb lit up like a lamp, but otherwise nothing happened. "Whatever this chain is, though, it's very prone to tangling." He tried to shake it off his wrist and failed. This was a task for both hands, and he set to freeing himself. And kept trying. And trying. Gerrit frowned. "What are you doing? Cordes, would you get that off of him?" "Sure." The priest reached out to help, but Llewellyn suddenly backed away out of reach. "Uh... I'm not trying to steal it, elf." "Oh, I would let you take it," Llewellyn said, scowling. "But I have a feeling we would be in for some trouble if you touch it now." He held up both hands. His palms were wrapped around the crystal and bound with the ball in that thin gold chain. "I am... I'm stuck."

---

"STUCK," hooted Remembrance again. She was crouched at the entrance to the dungeon - a root-cellar-like set of doors they'd found in a small bandit settlement - and hauling out a heavy pack stuffed with loot. In the daylight, she looked menacing and out of place, her horns, dusky maroon skin tone, and black eyes setting her apart from this land's primarily human residents. "And you even said not to touch any curses!"

Jump cuts are funny! I love this kind of thing, honestly. It's some of my favorite humor - that and dramatic irony, which is also often depicted in visual media with a funny jump cut. "I recall you said so as well," said Cordes, who looked exactly like a run-of-the-mill human resident except for the star-like scar on his left temple. He reached down and grabbed Gerrit's hand, steadying the half-elf as he climbed out of the hole. Llewellyn was hanging uncomfortably on Gerrit's back, arms looped around the other man's neck. They'd tried to find a more dignified way to get him out of the dungeon, but he couldn't manage the ladder well enough without the use of his hands. "The artifact didn't react to my detection spell," sniffed Llewellyn disdainfully, and Gerrit was quick to set him down before that sniffing could become another sneeze. He didn't want to blush in front of the others.

Blushing is very appealing to me, so everyone blushes all of the time. "There must be someone in Veigh who can help you," Gerrit said. "We'll just swing by on our way to the capitol." The city was three days out of their way, but they couldn't have Llewellyn stuck this way for the two week trip back to their patron. With his hands bound, he couldn't cast any spells that required him to gesture, and that was almost all of them. He'd effectively rendered himself completely useless in combat. Veigh had a chapter of the Mages Guild in residence, though, and if no one there could help, they might at least be able to send Llewellyn on ahead via a transportation spell.

Let's go on a short tangent about names. Usually I name my characters using Babynames.com or similar sites and I pick based on the look, sound, and meaning of the names. For this little group, things were slightly more haphazard. Llewellyn is a Welsh name meaning "leader." I just happen to like this name already, but it also has a visual beauty and difficulty to pronounce on sight that lent it well to an elf character without me having to look up specifically elven names. When I make elf characters in D&D, I tend to give them a nickname or alias that is easy to remember and pronounce so that the name isn't a hindrance while playing the game.

Gerrit's name was picked based on sound. It is similar to the Welsh name Gareth ("spear ruler"), which is on purpose, but it was altered to make it a bit more fantastical/removed. It's appropriate for a fighter in meaning but also suits his more familiar/pedestrian half-elven experience vs. that of a noble elf.

Cordes was given a short name because he is a no-nonsense human, but I chose it to resemble that of conquistador Hernan Cortes because of the "holy invasion" and "treasure hunter" associations. Remembrance is named using the PHB's suggestion that tieflings often pick "ideal" names for themselves, and she has a complicated past (like most tieflings). "I will hope there is." Llewellyn looked pale and worn, though his fine features still exuded the otherworldly beauty of the high elves. His hair was a silky black, although mostly covered by his hood, and the contrast made his silver eyes look even more curious. He fumbled for a minute at his waist before scowling heavily. "I can't get into any of my bags, of course..." "What do you need?" asked Gerrit. Remembrance had started off through the trees, humming, her bulging pack swaying with her sinuous movements. Gerrit really didn't want to let her get too far ahead, not least because she was scary good at concealing herself in the foliage and might slip the party completely. However, Cordes was with her, and Llewellyn couldn't exactly fend for himself right now. "My handkerchief..." The elf's voice had gone wavery again, and Gerrit watched as his nostrils flared. Fuck.

Oho! Here is the plot and the kink conceit. Gerrit hurriedly patted his pockets until he produced his own handkerchief, or what he bothered with when necessary. It was a large square of flannel, rough around the edges. It wasn't embroidered or monogrammed like Llewellyn's, but he figured by now the flannel was a hell of a lot cleaner, and it was soft for an irritated nose. "Here, take mine."

Characters' belongings are also a good way to contrast their situations and personalities. I don't consider handkerchiefs particularly vital to my enjoyment of this kink, but they are a useful visual and I like to describe things. Small details like this are how you can worldbuild without having to do too much extra research. Llewellyn held out his hands plus the orb for it, breath hitching, but no matter how Gerrit tried to drape the cloth, it kept slipping off of the artifact. He supposed he could try to tie it around the-

This is just so funny to me XD Llewellyn made a desperate sound and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. His breath was coming in soft pants now. And he was raising the orb reflexively. Gerrit couldn't let him whack himself in the face again, so he did the only other thing he could think of. With one hand he reached out and took Llewellyn by the shoulder. With the other, he lifted the handkerchief and pressed it over the elf's nose. His fingers settled firmly on either side of Llewellyn's nostrils, and none too soon. After another half-hitch, Llewellyn ducked forward again with a quiet but insistent sneeze. "Happtsch!

One of the most pleasing sneeze sounds, tbh. Gerrit was sure he was beet red. “Bless you,” he mumbled. Through the cloth, Llewelyn’s nose felt hot, and any gentle pressure resulted in a bit of a squish. “Let me just…” "Whh- wait-" Llewellyn leaned into the handkerchief. "I'm nh- I'm not done hhH-" His eyes slipped shut and he gasped again. Gerrit swallowed and tried to ignore the tenting of his breeches. "R-roger that." He could feel Llewellyn's nostrils twitching against his fingers. "Hh...Haah- Hapttschuh! Snrk... Aptschiu!" His body rocked, and he took a half-step forward. Gerrit could hear the thick sound of congestion in the elf's nose as he tried to stave off another sneeze.

The desperation, talking through the sneezing, and congestion are all vital parts of this scenario. Unavoidable embarrassment + disgust factor + need for caretaking/mitigation. "Blow your nose," he said. "It will help." Llewellyn hesitated, but in the end, he had to comply. There was nowhere for the mucus to go except out. He started to blow with a gurgle.

I used to be really against mess, but the taboo/disgust part of the brain turns off psychologically a LOT during arousal and now I really do not find snz interesting without it. Snz without mess isn't embarrassing enough or visually exciting. Gerrit moved the hand from his shoulder to start rubbing Llewellyn's back. The handkerchief and his fingers were rapidly growing damp, but he really didn't mind. "There you go." He held the handkerchief to Llewellyn's nose until the elf moved back on his own. His nose was red and tender looking, and his cheeks were flushed rosy. He didn't seem to want to meet Gerrit's eyes. Gerrit didn't mention it. He didn't really want to look at Llewellyn either right now. It had been a while since the elf had looked so very fuckable.

Potentially due to my propensity to write fanfic about established ships, all of my OCs apparently have a history or mutual attraction out of the gate. On one hand, it's difficult just mechanically to write a scenario about a romantic or sexual encounter without there being chemistry and an excuse for them to already want to rub bits (obviously), especially in short stories, but I also cannot stand the thin veneer of situational causality that underlies porn (to borrow from Cards Against Humanity). If I can't care about my characters' lives outside of the one random fetish scenario, I can't care enough to write about them at all. He put the handkerchief in an easily-accessible outside pocket of his vest. "Ready to go?" Llewellyn coughed lightly. "Yes." "Excellent." Gerrit gestured for Llewellyn to precede him, and the two of them headed out through the trees, following the sounds of Cordes negotiating the underbrush and swearing about it. --- Travel proved easy enough once they made it to the road. They were fortunate not to meet anyone else along the way. The party could handle a group of bandits without their sorcerer, but they had their treasure to worry about, and Remembrance always drew stares, and sometimes aggression, even from normal travelers. Gerrit thought her skills more than made up for the extra negative attention they drew. And anyway, Remembrance was crazy but she wasn't evil. She did better out on the road than in town, but that was probably true of all of them. Llewellyn kept up with her pace, but it was clearly a struggle. He was usually fairly quiet, but he didn't speak at all as they walked, focusing on breathing and not devolving into coughing or more sneezing. There were a few times when Gerrit hastily reached into his pocket, at the ready, but Llewellyn fought back the itch with admirable determination. He kept his nose from running by sniffling heavily, which sounded somewhere between awful and revolting. Cordes commented on it multiple times with disgust, but nothing could be done. Llewellyn held his tongue, and Gerrit was reluctant in this case to offer the handkerchief without being asked.

Cordes is here providing the societal reaction and voice of reason lol, but there still aren't any consequences or shaming from them. I just imagine how fricking uncomfortable it would be if people acknowledged this porn scenario happening in-world and so that is never part of the story development. They found a place to camp about half an hour outside the small village of Tewks. Remembrance cleared out some brush to make a flat area for the bedrolls and then promptly decided she'd rather sleep in a tree with everything she owned. She found a good, solid oak a few yards from the camp and ensconced herself in the crux of its branches. She had a good view of the road in either direction and volunteered to take the second watch in the middle of the night, which was her favorite time. Gerrit agreed to take the first watch as Cordes started to set up his tent. The priest refused to sleep on the ground and always took an extra fifteen minutes to erect a curious one-person canvas canopy. It wasn't even large enough to sit up inside, but whatever. The priest never asked anyone else to haul it along, so Gerrit wouldn't complain.

Remembrance and Cordes are thus handwaved away from the sexual center of the plot and they will neither see nor hear anything they aren't invited to. These arrangements left him and Llewellyn alone together on one side of the fire, and he supposed that was preferable during the orb situation anyway. Llewellyn couldn't handle his own bedroll, help with the fire, or unpack any of their supplies. Gerrit realized he would probably have to help the elf eat, too. And... Well, when he noticed Llewellyn fidgeting uncomfortably, Gerrit took him out into a thicker copse to see to his other needs. They didn't talk about it... Llewellyn could hardly undo his own buttons, though, and it wasn't the first time Gerrit had taken over.

I am very into watersports, so it creeps in, although I don't think there's a friendly community out there for that like there is for snz, so I haven't developed any kind of presence for it. It appeals to me for pretty much all of the same reasons as described above. Maybe someday I will start writing those kinds of stories on this account as well, but I don't know if they would find an audience, so maybe not. By the time the fire was hot enough to cook over, Llewellyn had tucked himself up to sit on a tree stump, exuding an aura of furious self-reproach. Cordes took some jerky into his tiny tent with him - for some reason. Gerrit made up two bowls of pottage and sat himself on the ground at the roots of the stump. He put one bowl on the ground for himself and then held up the other. "Hungry?" "Not particularly," Llewellyn replied, voice blunted with congestion. He coughed. "But you're going to make me eat something, aren't you." "I'd prefer you do it willingly." Gerrit tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl. "Come on. It's hot. You'll feel better." Llewellyn growled in a manner more suited to orcs than elves. "I feel like an invalid." Gerrit sighed. "Well, if it makes you feel better, we can pretend you lost your arms in an owlbear attack very tragically." He could feel Llewellyn's fiery glare on him and smiled a little. "Look, we've all done stupid things while adventuring. I'm sure you remember when I tripped and knocked myself out on that knight's shield during the tournament." "I remember," replied the elf, begrudgingly. "Besides, you're sick on top of the whole orb thing. Maybe your detection spell wasn't sensitive enough. Maybe the thing's not even cursed! Maybe it's supposed to do this, and we just don't know why." "I have a hard time believing that. What possible purpose could this serve?"

Porn! Gerrit shrugged. "Don't ask me. Dad says my mother was a druid, but I haven't got a magical bone in my body." He tilted his head. "We could always try smashing it?" Llewellyn's rejection was forceful. "Do you want to explode?!" Gerrit chuckled. "Not really." Llewellyn sighed. Gerrit held out a spoonful of pottage. Feeding both Llewellyn and himself was a bit difficult, but Gerrit did well enough when he could alternate. It would be better if he could use both hands equally like Cordes, but he couldn't, and so he didn't. He just thought about it wistfully as he worked. Llewellyn ended up eating most of his bowl, then went back to sitting quietly and sniffling. Gerrit finished the rest and put the utensils aside to deal with later. And... Even though Llewellyn hadn't asked, he drew out his handkerchief again.

More caretaking, more intimacy. Gerrit is a kind and loving person even though he's a fighter by trade. "Hey," he began, trying not to sound awkward. "You wanna blow your nose?" No one else was paying attention and Llewellyn didn't need to inhale any more of that crap. The elf gave him a shitty side-eye. "Come on," said Gerrit. "Don't be like this." He patted the ground in front of him encouragingly as if Llewellyn was a recalcitrant cat. "I'm fine," said Llewellyn, and then betrayed himself with a quick breath. "Hah--" "Come on," Gerrit repeated, "before you make a mess."

He is also pretty comfortable talking about a lot of things that people with the fetish have generally admitted difficulty acknowledging. This is because even though he's the one with the fetish in this, he is also the "Padgett" character and practical and not caught up in the anxiety prison. Llewellyn came down off the stump to sit in front of him, legs tucked underneath, and rested the orb on Gerrit's thigh to balance himself. His eyes were pinched with reluctance, but Gerrit could see that the elf's nostrils were already damp. "Hah- hh- hurry," Llewellyn gasped.

People should sit in each other's laps. It's good. Again, Gerrit reached out with the handkerchief, enfolding his companion's nose. He could feel Llewellyn's breath fluttering against his hand through the fabric and hear quite clearly how it kept catching on congestion. "Hah-hngk- Hahgkttscht!" Llewellyn ducked forward with the force of it and Gerrit steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Ngkttsch! Hnggktxch!!"

The sneezes now involve nasal consonants because of congestion. Sometimes people tend to have a certain way their sneezes always sound, and I try to maintain that, but these details are important to show a change in the severity of the cold (and evidence of sniffling for hours). Gerrit bit his lip sharply to keep from saying anything, but his body was singing with arousal. Llewellyn hiccupped a short gasp and Gerrit pulled the handkerchief away to present a clean corner. The current spot had become soaked and silvery. "Bless," he managed after a moment, and he carefully readjusted the cloth. "Are you going to sneeze again?"

Hiccupping is also sexy and cute. Also I spelled that wrong in the original, gdi... Llewellyn nodded, eyes teary with the effort of the first bunch. Gerrit wasn't surprised; the elf had been holding back since they left the dungeon. He couldn't imagine it had been comfortable, but Llewellyn had his pride. He never would let Gerrit give him love bites either. Annnd Gerrit was going to have to stop thinking about that. "Haptsch!" Easier said than done. Really. But Llewellyn's comfort came first.

Voyeur with a heart of gold. "Hahkptsch!" The sorcerer groaned softly. "Hah- hh- Hgnaptscxhx!" Gerrit did his best to assist Llewellyn through the fit. He kept the handkerchief secure, moving it when necessary to keep it dry enough. He steadied the elf when the sneezes bent his body or when he felt faint from lack of breath. He even massaged Llewellyn's nose for him when he was trying to blow it and the congestion was stubbornly refusing to move. By the time he felt finished enough to lean back, Llewellyn was flushed and light-headed, swaying where he sat. Gerrit was sweating and needed a towel. "........Thanks," murmured Llewellyn, eventually.

Sometimes kink authors tend to just write out like twenty sneezes in a row and I hate that, honestly. (No shade - I don't even have an example in mind because I don't read a lot of stories anymore and everyone has their preferences.) I just think that the kink should support the storyline and not the other way around. The story should be enjoyable and sexy but have a narrative structure and coherent rising and falling action. Even if a fit is a sexy scenario (it is), trying to make your eyeballs power through a repetitive series of nonsense syllables is counterproductive and takes the reader out of the story and into the realm of annoyance, which disrupts arousal as well. "Yeah," said Gerrit. "Sure." He swallowed. "Let's wash up." He helped Llewellyn to his feet and they went a little way to a creek (generously; it was little more than a ditch through the woods). Gerrit gently washed Llewellyn's face, careful of his tender eyes and nose, and sent him back to camp to lay down for the night. He lingered at the water's edge to wash the handkerchief and, well, to take other matters in hand.

If ya know what I mean. Llewellyn was completely out when he returned, and Gerrit was grateful. He smoothed the elf's bangs back and then settled beside the fire to take watch. The woods in the dark were full of the sounds of insects and small animals moving in the undergrowth. And Llewellyn snoring and sniffling in his sleep. Safe sounds. Gerrit rested his chin on his hand and looked toward the road. Damn orb. It was going to be a long way to Veigh.

And this was getting long, so this is where I cut it to make part 2, which I will also commentate in a bit (hopefully after a nap =___=). Thanks!

#lyk writes #snz #llewellyn mistwalker #gerrit truestride #gerwellyn #director's cut commentary exercise

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besidemethewholedamntime · 5 years ago

Text

and i will always love you ~ chapter 6

Fic Summary:

“He feels sorry for her. It’s hard not to. Except it doesn’t change the fact that she’s still the child of an eminent politician, using her wealth and status to arm herself in ways that others in her situation couldn’t. Fitz has protected all kinds of people who’ve done the same thing, and every last one has been a complete and utter wanker.”

When an accidental discovery causes nationwide outrage at Dr. Jemma Simmons, Protection Officer Leopold Fitz is the one called upon to be her bodyguard. It starts off as one thing and ends quite another. A bodyguard au.

Chapter Summary:

A chapter that contains:

The moment that has finally arrived.

{Read chapter 6}

{Read from the beginning}

or read chapter 6 below!

She says it casually one morning while she’s busy report writing and he’s busy sketching.

“Oh, Fitz! We could go to the beach!”

He screws up his face and keeps on drawing. “What? Today?”

“Not today,” she draws out. “But the weekend? You’re working this weekend, aren’t you?”

He thinks back to his schedule, hastily written on a post-it note. “Unless anything major happens then yeah, I am.”

“Excellent!” She actually claps her hands together and he wonders how bored she is. Her last running experiment finished days ago and, still banned from anything new, she’s grown restless.

“Well yeah, maybe for you it is,” he mumbles.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Fitz closes over the sketchbook and looks at her. “Why’d you want to go to the beach?”

“A few of my friends have made this whole plan to go, as long as the nice weather holds up, of course, and I’d just… well I’d really like to do something that’s not here, for once.”

Jemma Simmons wanting to escape the lab? It must be serious. “I can’t stop you from going to the beach. If you want to go then I’ve got to come.”

She huffs a little bit. “You could act a bit more excited than that.”

“Yay beach day!” He adopts a falsetto whilst clapping his hands as Jemma’s frown only deepens. “What? Was that not good enough?”

“Ugh, Fitz,” she says, going back to her report writing. “You really are insufferable.”

-x-

It’s been a long time since Fitz has been to the beach. He’s never been a fan of them. When the weather’s nice enough to actually visit one it’s usually far too hot for his fair complexion and he ends up spending the whole time underneath a parasol slathered in factor fifty, fanning himself with the tinfoil from the sandwiches. As the weekend looms closer, he finds himself looking out the window in the morning and hoping against hope that it will rain.

Except it doesn’t, of course it’s doesn’t because the universe is spectacularly against him like always, and on Saturday morning when he opens the dingy off-white curtains in the hotel room the sun shines straight into his eyes and blinds him for a minute.

He could have said no, citing some unreasonable security breach that Jemma wouldn’t have believed for a second but might have gone along with anyway. He could have phoned in sick, but considering that Jemma’s been sharing a room with him for the past five days she might have noticed that. He could have simply told her that he doesn’t want to go, but the look on her face in the lab now causes such an ache in his chest, a yearning to do something that he knows he never could have said anything against it.

They go to Jemma’s flat first to pick up some beach attire that she neatly packs into a bag in two seconds flat. She then turns to Fitz and asks, “What are you wearing?”

“Eh,” he frowns, looking down at his jeans and t-shirt. “This.”

“Oh, Fitz,” she gasps. “You can’t go to the beach in those. You’ll melt!”

Well now she tells him. “Well I didn’t have any else with me now, did I? Not like we planned to go to the beach.”

“Why do you have to be such a child all the time? We’ll simply go to yours and pick up some things.”

Which would be all fine and well except Fitz doesn’t really own any beachwear, but it seems a little bit too late now to say such a thing. Which is how they end up at Fitz’s flat, with Fitz raiding Hunter’s wardrobe for some shorts while Jemma waits in the living room. He eventually finds some that don’t make his legs look too skinny and pale and, after a minor fight about who gets to drive (which Jemma wins) they are on their way.

It’s all so stupidly domestic that he has to physically remind himself that this isn’t some couple’s day out at the beach. This is a job. It’s all part of the job. The longer the job goes on, though, the more everything that came before seems to fade. This has become his life. Day in and day out with Jemma Simmons. It’s as bizarre as it is true, and he only finds himself falling further and further, entangling himself more. Fitz thinks of Bobbi’s advice, wonders what could be the worst that could happen if he told her?

Everytime he gets close to wondering, his heart rate accelerates, a headache builds behind his eyes and he finds himself terribly afraid. If that’s what he’s like with what’s in his head, then how would he react if the actual situation arose? He leans back in his seat and tries not to think about it anymore.

“So?” He asks, checking the road the same time as Jemma as she joins the motorway. “Who are these friends of yours we’re meeting anyway?”

“Oh, you know, friends,” she waves a hand before realising that it’s meant to be on the steering wheel. “I suppose you could say the equivalent of what you have with Hunter, only with less beer.”

He frowns. “That worries me, you know.”

“You really shouldn’t worry, Fitz,” she laughs, before going on to describe the friends from her university days that are closer to her than her own family. There’s Mack and Elena, who sounds lovely from all accounts but not Hunter-esque. Then she gets to Daisy and Fitz goes ah.

Daisy this and Daisy that, Jemma speaks of her so much that she becomes almost a legend, making Fitz nervous to meet her. Which is ridiculous, really, because what kind of bodyguard gets nervous meeting friends? But those little butterflies are there, making their presence known, and he almost wants to ask her to open the window as they speed along at exactly 70mph so he can stick his head out of it in case he needs to be sick.

But eventually Jemma moves on from Daisy’s highlights into some other, questionable territory, and while the butterflies still flutter, he feels decidedly less nauseous.

“Is Daisy by any chance the one who destroyed your bed the time you left for a work conference?”

Jemma peers at him for a second, surprise on her face. “Yes, she is. How did you know?”

“Just a feeling I had.”

He must look nervous, face betraying his thoughts, for she tells him, “Don’t worry about meeting them. They’ll like you.”

“Pft,” he scoffs. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I like you.”

It hangs in the air, stops his heart, and for a moment he cannot breathe. Except it shouldn’t be a surprise. Of course she likes him, just as he likes her. He’s been protecting her for a while, the longest job he’s had. They work together, practically live together… by each other’s side the whole damn time. They click. Of course she would like him… just as a friend.

“Well,” he tries to grin, hoping it doesn’t look like a grimace. “At least that’s something.”

If he gets nothing else, at least he has this.

-x-

They eventually make it to the beach and Fitz’s stomach settles considerably once he gets introduced to the whole gang. He’s warmly greeted by Elena, clapped on the shoulder by Mack. Daisy smiles at him and says hello nicely enough, but there’s a glint in her eyes that’s not quite dangerous but close enough.

Jemma, after applying sun cream, makes straight for the water followed by Mack and Elena, leaving Fitz and Daisy with the bags and towels on the sand. Fitz fidgets awkwardly, wondering what he should say. He’s here in a professional capacity, but nobody else on the beach is paying much attention to Jemma on this busy day, and without the need to be on high alert his thoughts are whizzing around his head. Conversation would distract him and he turns to Daisy to try and make friends. It seems she has other ideas.

“So, what are your intentions with our friend Jemma?”

He feels like a deer trapped in headlights, and he tries to stumble out an answer. “Eh, well, I’m her protection officer so my intentions are just that. To protect her.”

Daisy rolls her eyes, reaching into one of the bags for a drink. “Please, cut the crap.”

“Hey! It’s not crap. That is what I want to do.”

“Fine. But it’s not all you want to do now, is it?”

It’s a hot day and his face is already pinkening with the sun so he hopes the heat rushing to it for an entirely different reason isn’t too obvious. Daisy’s right, of course, but it’s not like he’s going to admit it.

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” he says, turning away from Daisy and looking to the sea where there’s a competition between Jemma and the others to make the biggest wave. This is a different Jemma, one different to the one in the lab and the moments when it’s just the two of them. He’s learned that there’s probably countless different Jemma’s, each slightly different parts to the one enchanting whole.

“Oh, come on. Even the way you’re looking at her just now,” Daisy huffs. “You’re so into her I’m surprised she can’t see it.”

“So she doesn’t – she doesn’t know?”

“Aha! I knew I’d get you to admit it eventually!” Daisy cheers triumphantly, raising her can of juice to him.

A trained officer falling for such a trap, he wonders if this would be grounds for dismissal. “Alright, fine. Maybe there are feelings there, but I know it could never happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s bloody unprofessional, that’s why. People should be protected without wondering if their protection officer fancies them. Would taint the whole profession, give us a bad name.”

Daisy sighs. “Alright, drama queen. Chill.” She turns to look at her friends as well. “It’s not creepy if she feels the same way about you.”

“She doesn’t,” Fitz says automatically. “I would know if she did.”

“Oh really?” Daisy raises an eyebrow. “Just like she totally knows how you feel about her.” When he doesn’t answer she groans. “God, the two of you, for being such accomplished adults, are actual kids.”

He starts to half-heartedly protest but Daisy stops him with a hand and, chastised, he has to admit that maybe she’s right. This game that he’s been playing with himself, the burying his head in the sand, would have been fine if he were still in school. Except he’s not. He supposes this is what Bobbi and Hunter were trying to tell him. Maybe he just needed it to be from a stranger to finally get it to sink in.

“Look, Fitz,” Daisy turns back to him, eyes soft. “I know I’m just some stranger you met like half an hour ago but I do know what I’m talking about. Jemma Simmons is a good friend, one of the best I’ve got. She’s a good person who deserves the world and I can tell that you two would be so freaking cute together I would probably vomit.”

Fitz drops his eyes to the sand. “I’d love to have your confidence,” he mumbles.

“Jemma and I go all the way back to our boarding school days. I’ve known her a long time and I know when I’m right about her. She doesn’t do things without a reason, she doesn’t leap into the void she… she doesn’t take chances! It’s not been easy for her, then or now.” Something in Daisy’s voice makes Fitz meet her eyes again, finds a determination in them burning like a flame. “She deserves something good.”

“And what? You think that’s me?”

“I think it’s what you two could have, what you’ll make together. That’ll be something pretty amazing.”

At first, he felt affronted, but now he feels that maybe it could be possible. Airing the thoughts in his head, giving them room to breathe, has changed his outlook. It doesn’t feel so unreachable anymore.

“You don’t even know me,” he says. “How can you be so sure?”

Daisy shrugs. “Jemma doesn’t shut up about you, which is one thing, but also Mack’s friends with a certain Bobbi Morse and well….” She smiles. “We all know how chatty that ex-husband-slash-boyfriend of hers can be.”

“God, Hunter,” Fits groans, cradling his head in his hands. “Probably half the stuff he’s said are lies, right. I promise.”

Daisy just smirks and says nothing, taking a sip of her drink.

They talk mindlessly for a while, which is nice after the emotionally-intensive start they had. Fitz learns a lot about Daisy; she’s a genius with computers, has a wicked sense of humour, ran away from boarding school three times, and once lived in a van. Daisy share stories about Jemma, about how she was never quite as supportive of her ‘bad girl shenanigans’ and lectured her constantly, but was always there to pick her up when she fell.

“You’ve known her a long time,” Fitz says, more thinking out loud than talking directly.

“Yeah, I told you that at the start,” Daisy laughs. “But yeah, we’ve been though it all together. We’re each other’s family at this point, you know?”

Fitz nods, knowing the feeling acutely. “I get the feeling her mum and dad are a bit…”

“Not there? Yup. I can relate. Her dad’s alright, really. A bit closed off, a bit absent, but nothing traumatising. It’s her mom you have to watch out for. I met her once when Jemma let me stay for Easter break and she was chilling. Like seriously, I’ve been in front of freezers that have given off warmer air than her.”

“Oh?” Fitz listens on in surprise. Jemma’s few mentions of her mother have never been favourable, but they’ve never gone into a depth such as this.

“Oh yeah. She’s the calculating one in the marriage, the political sniffer dog. Got her claws in everything and chasing every opportunity. Dangerously high standards, too. Jemma’s never admitted it, but I think it hurts her that her mom doesn’t care what she’s achieved as opposed to what she’s yet to achieve.”

Fitz sees how that could be so, knows something himself of dangerously high standards. Only his dad walked out when he was ten, and his mum has always been careful to be proud of him, to make up for what happened in his early childhood. To still be living with it now, on the cusp of thirty… Jemma Simmons is a stronger person than him.

“She’s achieved so much, though. She made such an amazing discovery!”

“You know it, and I know it, but the rest of the world and her parents just can’t see it.” Daisy shakes her head. “Parents eh?”

“Parents,” he agrees. You can’t live with them, can’t live without them. Sometimes it seems like all they’re good for is screwing up their children. Then he remembers his mum; his sweet, sweet mum who looked after him in those first few weeks after his car accident. Some, not all. A lesson he’s learned already during this assignment.

“You’re a good friend,” he says to Daisy. “Rounding on a man you don’t know for the sake of your friend and all that. It’s admirable.”

“I’ll do a lot worse to you if you hurt her,” Daisy warns. “But thanks, Fitz. You’re a good guy, and I think you and my best-friend will be awesome together.”

He only manages a shy smile before Jemma comes bounding back up to their spot, shaking the sea out of her hair as she grabs for a towel. Clad only in a bikini, she reaches over Fitz who coughs and looks away. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Daisy roll her eyes. Mack and Elena aren’t far behind Jemma, and when they catch up Mack throws Daisy a questioning look which she responds to with a nod.

“So,” Jemma begins, and Fitz notices straight away how different her voice sounds, much lighter and carefree. He’s glad he came. “What have you both been chatting about?”

Fitz laughs awkwardly. What to say? He settles for some version of the truth. “Everything.”

Jemma cocks her head, raising an eyebrow. “Everything?”

“Nothing,” Daisy clarifies, shooting him a dark look. “Just chatting about stupid stuff, you know? Movies and snacks and that kind of thing.” She jumps up, clapping her hands together. “Now who wants ice-cream? If I’m not mistaken, I think it’s Mack’s turn to buy.”

-x-

It’s late when they get back to the hotel.

They’d all stayed out late, having a barbeque and watching the sun go down. It was like being a teenager again and for those few hours he had felt invincible, like nothing in the world could trouble him at all. Drunk on sea air and the idea of love, Fitz has come up with what he’s been trying to all along – courage.

“I should probably go for a shower,” Jemma says as she flops backwards onto her bed, “but I’m just so tired. I had such a good day.” She props herself up on one elbow, eyes glowing as she looks at Fitz. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” he says, finding that he means it. “It was great.”

He flicks on the bedside lamp, half listening to Jemma as she says how good it was to just have fun for a change, to relax, to see her friends again. Now that he’s back indoors, the spell has worn off somewhat but there’s still enough magic running in is veins to convince him that this is a good idea. So what if he doesn’t have a good plan? Does anybody ever have one when they feel like this? He can’t quit, can’t move on and this is all that’s left. Tonight is the night; he can feel it in his bones.

“Fitz?” Jemma’s voice breaks through his thoughts and grand plans, reminding him that the moment is here and now. “Are you alright?”

“Yup.” His voice is shaky, though, betraying the nerves that are of course still there. “I just… can we talk?”

Jemma laughs. “It’s what we’re doing right now, aren’t we?”

Being by the sea all day has made them silly. This carefree version of themselves, momentarily unburdened from their responsibilities, is refreshing. Unsustainable, of course, but refreshing nonetheless.

He laughs in spire of himself. “I suppose we are, but a… different kind of talking.”

“Oh.” Jemma sits up. “That kind.”

Unlike the night that she stayed at his flat, the bravery hasn’t deserted Fitz yet. His heart is thumping underneath his t-shirt and his cheeks feel hot for a different reason other than the sunburn, but he is not so afraid as to throw the chance away.

He sits down next to her on the bed, looking down at his hands as he tries to put the words together in his head. “So, I was, ah, talking to Daisy today…”

“Oh,” Jemma says again. “I kind of thought, I mean, I saw you two talking and your face did that funny thing when you’re talking about something you don’t really want to talk about and I just knew she’d pester you.” She looks up at him through long lashes. “I’m sorry, Fitz.”

“No, no,” he hurries to say. “Don’t be. She helped me realise things.”

“Really?” Jemma’s voice sounds odd and he can’t tell if it’s nerves or excitement driving the change. “What sort of things?”

“All sorts of things,” he says. “But mostly that you’re, well you’re pretty amazing, Jemma, and I know we’ve only been working together for a short time but I just, I can’t imagine going back to a life without you in it. And I know that you said that you wanted to be friends after this ends but I don’t want to be just friends… I’d like to have something more than that.”

He’s finally able to meet her eyes, breathless at the end of so many words that he didn’t rehearse at all. Jemma looks at him for one second, then two, and it’s three seconds later before she smiles and says in a voice that sounds unlike any other voice he’s heard her use, “So what are you saying?”

What is he saying? He doesn’t know, not really. Just getting to this part is the only achievement he considered without getting laughed off. Any further and he is completely in uncharted territory. “I’m saying…” he says, taking a deep breath. “Well, asking, really, is if you would like to go to dinner with me. Dinner that’s in someplace nice.”

Jemma’s moved closer and he didn’t even realise. “I would love to,” she grins, eyes bright. His heart thumps in victory. “Only…”

Oh no. There’s no way to survive this fall. He regrets his entire life in this moment, only managing to squeak out a, “What?”

“I just don’t think I can wait that long,” she says, inching ever closer. “Who knows when this will be over?”

His breath comes easier into his lungs and he takes back all those thoughts he thought only a moment ago. “So – so what do you think we should do about that?”

“I think,” she murmurs, so close now, the closest they’ve ever been to one another, “that we should stop thinking and that we should just do,” and kisses him.

It’s a little clumsy because it’s late and because they’re silly, but it’s also familiar. She tastes of salt and hope and love and they move with each other with an imperfect synchronicity that they’ve had from the start. In this moment he feels invincible. It feels exactly right.

When they break apart, foreheads touching, he already misses her. It’s gone to his head already; this feeling has made him drunk.

“That was…” Jemma begins.

“Nice,” Fitz finishes.

Jemma raises an eyebrow. “Nice?”

It’s like his brain has just taken a back seat, letting his mouth just have free reign. “Very nice,” he assures her. “Very, very nice.”

She shakes her head, unable to hide her smile from him. “I think it was very nice, too.”

They both smile, suddenly shy, and for a moment neither of them speak, overcome with the implications of it all.

Fitz goes first.

“So does this mean that we’re just not doing dinner or?”

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma sighs. “Shut up.” And she kisses him again.

#aosficnet2 #fitzsimmons #aos #fitzsimmons fic #aos fic #fanfic by moi #and i will always love you #i hope you enjoy!!#and that i did it justice!#we're coming to the end i feel a little bit emotional about it!

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