#tfsn

\\“Jemma,” he groaned, for well on the sixth time that weekend, as she sauntered over to make her next move.

It was her extended family’s last night in Perthshire, so everyone of legal age had gathered at the nearby pub – nearby being a half hour drive, in this case; it was the countryside – for a last hurrah. The adults were at a table in the corner, snorting into their drinks at Uncle Robbie’s pantomimes, which were even more elaborate and absurd than normal, even though he as designated driver was drinking only soda water.

Jemma’d promised herself she’d be good, sitting on the other side of the table from Fitz, tucking her feet under the seat so she couldn’t find his to play footsie, focusing on speaking with her aunt rather than becoming hypnotized by the way Fitz’s jawline stood out sharper as he chewed on the free corn nuts. But the tight, loud, raucous, friendly atmosphere of the bar and the heady warmth of the ale she was drinking quickly put her inhibitions at risk. She couldn’t stop glancing at Fitz, her eyes drawn to him even amidst the ample goings-on around them. Her fingers tingled, wanting to spider across the table to him; she kept licking her lips, wondering what he’d taste like tonight, maybe of wheat and hops with an undertone of lime and salt.

Eventually, it’d been nearly too much, and she’d needed to distract herself from drinking and from her failing efforts to play it cool. She’d put the notion of billiards out to the table at large, to maintain appearances, but the adults waved them off.

Now, with them both well towards tipsy and prowling around the pool table, brimming with competitiveness and denied desire and the strain of the clandestine, the tiny bit of Jemma still capable of worry wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to remain at the table with the others, or perhaps to have taken a walk to clear their heads.

Mostly, though, she was alight with the reality of playing and flirting and drinking with her gorgeous, brilliant, cocky, easily-embarrassed, secret boyfriend.

Jemma eked out the win in the end, only using her breasts and sticking out her bum to distract Fitz a few times. She’d never have done it with anyone else, having too much pride in her abilities and a need to prove herself, but Fitz already knew she was damn intelligent and manipulating him a bit wouldn’t change that. Besides, she thought, as she brushed behind him as he set up a shot and saw the back of his neck redden, she didn’t think he minded that much.

As agreed before the start of the game, Fitz, as the loser, bought them both shots. They linked elbows and threw back the gin, which they chased with a local, fruity soda.

“Wish we could go to a movie theater or something,” Fitz sighed as they lounged at the bar, letting other patrons use the pool table for a bit.

“Mmm?” Jemma traced the condensation on the wood of the bar, pretending to be watching the game but really studying the curve from his forehead to his eyebrow, down his cheek, into his lips— “Is there something good out? One of those superhero summer hits?”

“What? Oh—” Fitz blushed again; she really enjoyed making that happen. Her loosened animal brain wondered if his cock and balls would show the same rapidity of blood flow. “I didn’t actually mean – I just thought, where do kids go when they’re trying to snog but can’t do it in front of their parents? And that’d be the movies.”

“There really is nothing out here,” Jemma agreed grimly. “I love it, don’t get me wrong, I’ve always thought you and I could—” Now it was her turn to blush, and she quickly shook her head and avoided Fitz’s searching gaze. “Point is, it’s lovely here, wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, but it’s all fields and trees and wide open spaces with nowhere to be alone.”

Fitz glanced towards the corner, checking that the adults were still fully involved in their conversation, and shifted on the bar stool so his body was mostly obscuring Jemma’s. He slipped his hand over the surface of the bar and under hers, stroking her palm with his fingertips.

“Just another week,” he murmured, eyes focused on the billiards game, though they didn’t move to follow the action, just sort of rested there abstractly. “In another week we’ll be back at Sci-Ops.”

“Alone at last,” Jemma concurred. Following his lead, she slid her free hand into her lap, then over onto his knee and up his thigh. The hand on hers on the bar convulsed at the tracing touches. “One more week.”

Jemma’d been trying to get a rise out of him, letting her fingers drift closer over his jeans towards the crotch, making his leg twitch, but despite the inebriation his gaze was steady, soulful, hungry but controlled. If she was getting a rise out of anyone, touching him like this, it was herself – her chest was getting strangely tight and there was an insistent narrowing of her thoughts and sensations.

“Excuse me, I have to use the loo,” she squeaked suddenly, not trusting herself to stay there a moment longer, and she hopped off the stool and dove through the crowd to the washroom in the corner, hoping Fitz wouldn’t be too put out.

The ladies’ was blessedly empty, so she sat for a moment on a closed toilet, practicing the meditation techniques she’d never really mastered as she stared at the faded red stall door, before she got up and wiped her face down with a wet paper towel. She was as bad as a stereotypical horny teenage boy, for goodness’s sake. She’d always needed porn of some sort, before, to get her going, but now just being near Fitz seemed to be enough. She wondered if she’d be able, from now on, to get herself off just by closing her eyes and imagining his touch—

She glanced at the empty stalls again, considering. It certainly wasn’t the most sanitary of places to masturbate, and she’d have to be quiet in case anyone came in, but she couldn’t very well do it back at the cottage, and it was becoming a rather pressing issue. (Not for the first time, she was glad female arousal didn’t reveal itself quite so… prominently.)

The main door swung open, but Jemma’s initial frustrated disappointment was swept aside as Fitz strode in, as if drawn by her long-distance pheromone call for relief.

“Fitz!” she hissed, suppressing her spike in arousal as he entered in favor of focusing on what was clearly the more important question at hand, “what the hell, this is the ladies’!”

He didn’t answer, but rather strode to her in a few steps, grasped her about the waist, and spun her up against the door, lining their bodies up completely. He flipped the latch next to her hip, locking the door, and brushed her hair from her shoulder so he could mouth at her collarbone. “You were saying?”

She gasped, pure heat rushing from his lips on her skin to her lower abdomen. Satisfied at their privacy, and frankly unable to care about anything but the man against her, she grabbed his face in both hands and dragged him to her, desperate for his kisses.

He did taste of lime, and salt, and gin, now, and Jemma lapped into his mouth a bit messily, chasing the flavors of Fitz. Perhaps it really was best for everyone if they kept their relationship private; this sort of kissing wouldn’t ever be appropriate in public, and she couldn’t imagine kissing him in any other way, she wanted him so badly. Kissing him was just like teasing him at billiards, or their never-ending academic rivalry, or arguments over favorites from their various television obsessions: heated, affectionate, all-in; the moment one of them gained the upper hand, the other would come up with some new, nibbling at the inside of lips or licking the roof of a mouth or drawing away so the other had to chase.

“You know,” Jemma panted, on one such of the latter occasions, dipping her head out of the way so Fitz ended up moaning against her ear in frustration, “this puts me in mind of something I saw on a show once—“

“This is what you want to talk about now?” he growled, stepping his feet outward so his legs bracketed hers.

“I think you’ll find it informative,” she promised, pressing her hips forward so she could feel his erection. Her breath hitched, and she heard Fitz inhale as well; they both glanced down, mesmerized by the contact. Jemma began to swivel her hips, almost imperceptibly, as she went on. “As I was saying, in this show, this man and this woman were engaging in a compelling flirtation, and they were at a bar, separately, and the woman went to the bathroom and the man came in, dropped to his knees, and went down on her, just like that.”

“Went down, as in—”

“Ate her out,” Jemma murmured, letting her hips fall back against the door so Fitz’s stuttered forward in loss. “Licked her until she came. Just like that. Right there in the bathroom.”

Fitz mumbled something hoarsely and dove back in to kiss her. “Do you want me to do that, Jemma?” he whispered, pupils blown wide, obviously getting hard from the idea of licking her pussy. “The door’s locked, after all.”

There was nothing Jemma could imagine wanting – needing – more, at that moment, but someone banged against the door, calling drunkenly for them to open it.

“You’re sweet,” she sighed, kissing Fitz hard, three times quickly. “But we’ve already been in here too long. You run along and I’ll just… take care of things myself. But I’ll hope you’ll keep it in \\mind,” she added, and she slid her hand between his legs and palmed him through his jeans. “For next time.”

“I’ll keep it in mind alright,” Fitz said faintly, stepping back to let her out as he unlocked the door. A woman pushed in, not even noting the presence of a man in the ladies’ as she hurried to urinate. “I’ll keep it in mind tonight, as I’m wanking in the shower. Bloody hell.”

“Good.” Jemma glanced through the open door, but the Simmons party wasn’t in view. She snuck a last bite at his earlobe. “Give you some time to brainstorm. I’ll do the same.”