A/N: Due to popular demand (at least I hope so there's one for this), I present the continuation of the Dublin Cycle. If you didn't read that, that's okay–basically, Skye and Ward had several rounds of great sex in the hotel in Dublin, and this story is picking up just as they get back to the Bus in the beginning of Repairs. If everything goes well–at least that's what I have planned–this will be a five chapter long story, mostly smut, with just a bit of actual plot, all exploring the early days of the relationship of these two in my Haylie/Ada/Ellie Verse. Note: for narrative reasons, the timeline of Repairs was slightly changed in this story. I hope you'll forgive me this much artistic license :) So, without further fanfare, I present the first chapter. Enjoy!

Word Count: 6250
Rated: M
Disclaimer: [Insert witty text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]

Part I: Insecurity

Stepping on the Bus after the night spent in Dublin felt almost surreal, almost like entering an alternative reality, where everything was exactly the same–only she had banged her S.O.

Repeatedly. In various positions.

Which, by the way, she most certainly had done (she had a dull, pleasant ache between her legs to prove it), and totally planned doing it again.

Because those cards were on the table, that much seemed pretty clear to her after the previous night and that morning, after all of their awkward confessions (Look, I'm not… I don't do relationships… I don't know how–so you'll have to teach me, alright?) and shared moments. However, the morning had also left her with a seed of doubt–because no matter how well it had started (there was something amazing about having sex first thing in the morning), what came after their phones had rung, calling them back to the Bus, made her conviction waver about his intentions.

"Shirt," she called, tossing Grant his Henley over the bed, which he caught effortlessly, with a quick swipe of his hand.

"Thanks." He offered her a small, almost awkward smile, then quickly pulled the shirt on, even though his pants were still yet to be found.

The room was a mess, she noted as she slipped into the hotel-provided bathrobe and started gathering up her clothes. She knew that they were a tiny bit hurried and… passionate the night before, but she hadn't realized what a mess they had made until she saw the room in daylight. Their clothes were all over the place (even in corners of the room she hadn't even remembered going close to), turned inside-out and wrinkled way beyond acceptable-for-wear level after they spent the night on the floor… or the curtain rod, in the case of her shirt (she didn't even want to know), the bed looked like a family of ferrets wrestled in it, and the stuff that had been neatly placed on the table the night before was now strewn all over the carpet.

All the signs of a night spent well, if you ask her.

The only problem was that they were supposed to tidy up at least a tiny bit–just to the degree so the place wouldn't look like an earthquake-stricken area–in the thirty minutes before they were supposed to leave. Because, crushing all of her dreams of a lazy morning, they had just been assigned to a new mission that required them to return to the States immediately (which was kind of a bummer, really).

"Skye," he called to her softly, but it was enough to draw her from her thoughts and turn her attention to him. With her roughly folded pants in her hands, he turned towards Grant, eyes wide, waiting for him to continue. "Could we…" he paused, clearing his throat. "Could we keep this on the down low for a bit?"

She blinked. "On the down-low?"

"Yes. I mean," he ran his hand through his hair and took a step towards her, "could we keep this between us? Just for a little bit?"

She hesitated before answering, just looking at him, turning his words around in her head, trying to make sense of them.

"You're asking me to lie about us?" she said at last. She tried to keep the hurt and the fear that were fighting their way the surface at bay, but she wasn't sure she succeeded.

"No, not like that!" he rushed out, reaching for her elbow, his thumb caressing her almost absent-mindedly even through the material of her robe. "Not like that… I'd never ask you to lie, not for me. It's just…" He let out a long breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. It was strange seeing him this indecisive and almost vulnerable, but then again, after the day they had had, it should have come as no surprise. "It's just that this, what we have," he slid his hand down her forearm, slipping his fingers between hers, "it's going to change things, complicate things. And I think… I need some time to figure things out and to spend with you, just the two of us, before that happens."

Pushing all her unease to the back of her mind, she offered him a smile that she hoped was flirty and flippant, and squeezed his hand.

"Then let's sneak around for a bit, Romeo."

He left her room about two minutes and a long kiss after that, going back to his own, unslept-in room for a quick shower, and she hadn't seen him since that, but her mind kept going back to his words again and again.

The rational part of her knew that he was right–she was pretty sure the S.H.I.E.L.D. top brass frowned upon fellow agents, let alone an S.O./rookie duo dating, since that could lead to pretty damn big conflicts of interest. Skye wasn't really afraid of how Coulson would react (after all, he did let a bunch of stuff slide), but she had some ideas about what would happen if someone else–like, say, Victoria Hand–stumbled upon them. Scandal. Lots of angry agents. Coulson's leadership skills questioned. Grant reassigned. Her kicked out. The two of them separated. The team separated. So yes, from this point view, the best route they could take was to keep their–she was careful to use this word–relationship a secret, at least until they knew where they were headed and/or found a loophole in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s rules that would spare them the drama.

Still, the less rational, but decidedly more creative part of her was not so kindly entertaining her with various, terrible explanations for why he could have asked her to "keep it on the down-low." Basically, all centered around the idea that Grant wasn't really being serious about having had wanted her for a long time and wanting a relationship with her, that he only wanted to fuck her and possibly keep doing that, while also pursuing other women, like, for example May (ugh, that'd be weird) without the fear of her talking.

Needless to say, she tried to focus on the rational part of her mind, or, better yet, simply on the night before. Which was actually pretty easy, considering that her mind kept turning back to all the steamy details of what happened in that room without being asked to–actually, she was starting to realize, the harder task was not to think of all the things they had done in that room. Which was, to be honest, already proving to be a problem around the time the Bus took off.

The plane's wheels had barely lifted from the tarmac when Coulson called her to his office for some one-on-one briefing about their newest case. He did that from time to time, to bring her up to speed and to assign her some tasks. And she appreciated it, she really did–it was nice to know that A.C. took time and effort to work with her and to teach her about the inner workings of S.H.I.E.L.D, even after her fiasco with Miles–, but no matter how freaking cool this new assignment seemed, Skye just couldn't will her mind to be on the job.

She had a hard time processing what Coulson was saying about their person of interest–who might have been a telekinetic, something that would have sent her excitement levels through the roof any other day–as she sat in the plush armchair in his office, trying to act normal and… well, non-guilty. Still, she kept fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing her legs as pictures of the previous night flashed in her mind (Grant's mouth on her breast, his hand between her legs…), making her heart quicken ever so slightly. She avoided Coulson's gaze, training her eyes on the file in front of her, but barely seeing the words on the page, as he talked about the Index. She made her trademark quips, but in an almost hurried, nervous fashion, adjusting her hair and collar almost obsessively all the time–she was afraid he'd catch a hickey and ask her about it, and then she'd have to–

"Skye?" Coulson said in a tone that made her think he must have noticed her spacing out. "Are you alright?" His question was laced with concern.

She offered him a small, hopefully innocent smile. "Yeah, no worries. I just didn't sleep much last night." Which was technically not a lie.

Coulson's expression softened as he leaned back in his chair. "Of course, we all had a stressful day." He checked his wristwatch before adjusting his sleeve. "It'll be a couple of hours before we reach Utah. I'll need you to dig into Ms. Hutchinson's digital footprint a bit, but that can wait. Go, have some rest."

Nodding in thanks, she got up from the chair–careful so that her hair stayed in place to hide any potentially visible love bites–, hugging the file to her chest. "Thanks, A.C. See you before we land," she said as she left the office, sliding the door closed behind herself.

Truthfully, despite the hours spent not with sleeping last night, she wasn't feeling tired at all–actually, she felt surprisingly invigorated, as if she could… well, not run a marathon, but do a couple of rounds at the punching bag that would make Grant proud. So napping wasn't exactly what she planned for the next couple of hours, and to be honest, she contemplated as she walked down the spiral staircase, she wasn't so eager to get started on the Hutchinson-assignment either. She knew very well what she really wanted to do–she hadn't seen him since he had left the hotel room, and although that was mere hours ago, she had this incessant nagging feeling inside of her that told her to seek him out–, only she wasn't sure if it would have been a good idea–if he had wanted her to do it. They were keeping it "on the down low," after all.

But before her mind could have gone down on this lane again–making her possibly-likely overthink things–, life solved this problem for her.

Grant was there in the lounge as she reached the bottom of the stairs, apparently having just come up from the lower deck himself, standing a good ten spaces from her. Their eyes met, and then there was this terrible, romance movie-cliché moment when time seemed to stand still, the world ceased to exist, and she forgot how to breathe for a moment.

"FitzSimmons are down in the lab," he said ever so casually, his face unreadable, breaking the moment and sucking her back to the now. "May's in the cockpit. Coulson?"

"Up in the office," she nodded towards the upper level, one hand still on the railing, one foot still on lowest step. "Doing paperwork."

"Great." And then he smiled–it was one of his rare, subdued smiles that somehow still made the corners of his eyes crinkle, the kind that, she found, was amazing and capable of making her heart race (she was deep, deep, wasn't she?). Then, before she could have realized what was happening, he was already on his way to her, closing the distance between them with long, confident strides. She stepped away from the stairs as well and met him halfway, looking up at him with a smile on her lips as well as he cupped her face in his hands, leaned in, and kissed her.

It was an innocent kiss, definitely more chaste than anything they had shared the night before–he barely brushed his lips against hers, gently, tenderly, making her whole body tingle, before resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, their noses touching. He stayed like that for a moment, taking a deep breath, while her hands, almost timidly, found their way to his waist.

"Hello," he said softly when he opened his eyes, still not withdrawing from her.

"Hi," she replied, feeling strangely giddy.

He pressed another quick peck to her lips. "I've missed you."

There was something almost painfully genuine and honest in that sentence, and it made her breath hitch.

"It's been only, like, two hours," she tried to joke, her eyes fluttering closed as she almost absent-mindedly caressed his sides.

"I don't care," he said, then kissed her again, deeper this time. His mouth was hard, insistent against hers and she yielded, parting her lips; the tip her tongue sneaked out, and she ran it along the seam of his lips, teasingly inviting him deeper. He groaned, then delved into her mouth, his hands sliding down from her face first to her neck, then down her back, yanking her to him when she bit into his lower lip.

His hands roaming up and down her back, sending shivers through her body, her own hands wandered to the small of his back, fisting the material of his shirt and yanking it free from the waist of his pants, unconsciously wanting to feel more of his skin against hers.

And then he suddenly pulled away.

"We shouldn't do this," he said between heavy breaths, alarming her for a moment before he continued. "We're too much in the open."

Well, he was right, she noted to herself. They–she–had taken it too far, even though they said they'd keep a low profile, keep whatever they had hidden for now. So, reluctantly, she let her hands fall from his waist and took a step back (although she couldn't not notice how his face was flushed, his pupils dilated, his lips ever so slightly swollen; he didn't look like a man wanting to stop.)

"Of course, you're–"

She didn't get to finish the sentence. His mouth was on hers once again before she could have gotten out the next word, hands sliding down to her ass to lift her. She obliged, snaking her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist as he lifted her.

He kissed her even more fervently than before, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and rubbing his tongue against hers, while he unabashedly palmed her ass, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"I thought… ah…" she said when he moved to her neck (his mouth now surely leaving hickies in its wake). "I thought it was too risky."

He bit into the junction of her neck with just enough force to be on the pleasant side of painful, making her core throb.

"It is," he agreed, although he made no moves to untangle himself from her. "Bunk?"

It was like a band-aid to a bullet hole–it wasn't as if the bunks were that secure or anything–, but she couldn't care less, at least not until he kept kissing her like that. "Yours is closer."

Hiking her a little higher–heaven forbid he put her down–, he made his way towards his bunk confidently, never stumbling once (she just had to admire his strength), then, somewhat awkwardly, slid the door open with one hand, stepped in, then placed her on the bed with surprising carefulness before closing the door.

She barely had a moment to take in his bunk (it had just dawned upon her she had never been inside before)–the crisp sheets, the bare walls, the neat, uncluttered shelves–, before he was on her again, as if he couldn't go on for another moment without kissing her. He knelt before her as she sat on the edge of the bed, his hands on her sides, slipping beneath her shirt, his thumbs rubbing circles against her hips. She slid her own hands into his hair, blunt nails scraping his scalp, pulling him closer–anchoring him to herself–, as she tried to lean back, pulling him above her, only he wouldn't let her.

"Wait," he mumbled between kisses as his lips trailed down her neck, a hand sliding down her thigh, past her knee, down to… the zipper of her boot.

An unintentional chuckle bubbled from her mouth. "What, no shoes on the bed?"

He sat back on his heels and looked up at her all serious, just a touch of a smirk on his lips. "Absolutely no shoes on the bed."

It was so unfitting for the moment, so unpassionate–yet so painfully him–that she could couldn't help herself–a hand flying to her mouth, she fell back on the mattress, her whole body rocking with poorly suppressed laughter.

Quickly, but carefully, he slipped her boots and socks off her feet, first the left, then the right, sliding his fingers along her soles–maybe looking for ticklish spots–, before sitting on the bed to get rid of his own shoes as well. Feeling the mattress dip right beside her, Skye stopped chuckling and, pulling her legs under her, she knelt on the bed and slipped her arms around his neck from behind, dipping her head to his neck. She kissed his warm skin, feeling the tendons tense under her lips as he moved upwards, while her hands slowly slipped down his chest, fingers stretched out, mapping the hard contours of his body.

His shoes off, he suddenly grabbed her wrist, but instead of pulling her wandering hand away from his abdomen, he stilled her and slipped his fingers between hers. "Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

She grinned, her lips only a hairbreadth away from his ear. "Maybe."

She expected some kind of a retort, a continuation of their easy banter, but then the next moment he moved–with the same grace and speed and unbelievable accuracy she'd seen so many times on the field–, and before she could have realized what was happening, she found herself on her back, her breath leaving her in a surprised puff, with him above her, his hands on her ribcage, his mouth hard against hers.

"Wow," she breathed when his lips trailed down her neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on her skin. "You'll have to teach me this move."

He stopped, then raised his head to look at her, his smirk decidedly devilish. "Maybe."

His message was clear: two can play this game.

"Nice," she chuckled, her hands slipping into his hair and pushing his head down, "but now get back to work!"

He needed no more encouragement–in a blink of an eye he was back on her, hands slipping down her waist then back up, now under her shirt, fingertips teasing the band of her bra. His lips pressed hungry kisses on the column of her throat, going down, down, his tongue drawing circles in the small dip where her collarbones met, then trailing a path down her sternum, while deft fingers reached up to unbutton her shirt–just the top few buttons, just to give him better access. He pushed the material aside, then pulled down the cup of her bra, freeing her breast. He massaged the soft mound, then fastened his lips around her nipple, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak, leaving her a dazed, panting mess.

She felt as if liquid fire was rushing through her veins and the only thought in her mind was him, him, his lips and hands and how she needed more. Slipping her hands to the back of his head, she pulled him back to her mouth and took his lower lip between her teeth, making him growl and angle his hips so he could push himself against her core. Even with the layers of clothing still between them, she could feel him, hard and hot and throbbing, which made her center ache to have him inside of her.

"Please," she breathed against his lips, fisting her hands in the material of his shirt and pulling it up. "I need to feel you…"

She felt his smirk against her skin. "Eager, are we?" he asked as their eyes met, something almost dangerous flashing in his irises. That bastard.

"Oh, I'll give you-" she started, but he didn't let her finish; he silenced her with a well-timed and borderline dirty kiss mid-sentence (he was a great tactician, after all), his lips moving hard against hers, making all coherent thought abandon her.

Still, it seemed like he'd taken her request to the heart, because when the kiss ended (all too soon, but hey, even they needed to breath), he rose to his knees (eliciting a disappointed groan from her), and first shook off his button down, then pulled his undershirt over his head in one swift move, dropping the garment on the floor next to the bed. Her pulse quickening still at the sight of his bare chest–all the ridges and valleys and the soft indentations of his ribs on his sides–she reached for him, ready pull him down on her, let their bodies press against each other, let her feel his heartbeat against her chest, but before she could have reached him, he was already standing up from the bed and reaching for the waistband of his pants.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched him as he pushed the black denim down his hips. She had a witty quip on the tip of her tongue, a little teasing about him already giving her a trip tease, but she was so enthralled by the sight of him that she remained silent, biting into her lower lip in anticipation. Everything about him was different, more enhanced, in broad daylight, and those tiny details she had missed the night before–a freckle on his side, that faint scar on his hip from Peru, the way his penis, erect and exciting, stood proud as he pushed his boxers down, the head glistening with a drop of milky white precum–completely held her attention captive.

So much that it took her a moment too long to realize she was supposed to get rid of her clothes as well. Really, it only registered for her when their eyes met and Grant smirked down at her. "See something you like?"

Oh, she saw plenty she liked, and she wanted to tell him this in detail (stroking his ego be damned), but first she needed him on her, in her, so instead she only said, "And you?" And with that she reached for–with hands slightly trembling in anticipation–for the buttons of her shirt he hadn't yet undone.

He didn't need to answer her; she saw everything in his eyes–yearning and passion and adoration and so many other things (it almost frightened her). He stood above her for a fraction of a second longer, just as long as she got one button undone, and then he was climbing back on the bed, settling between her legs and pulling her hands away. "Let me," he said almost in a whisper.

She didn't protest, but simply lay back, letting him take the lead. He lowered his head to her chest and kissed her between her breasts, while his hands reached for the front of her shirt, seeking out the buttons that still held the garment closed. He popped the top one open while his lips moved downwards–with every button undone and more of her skin unveiled, he kissed her lower and lower, just under her sternum, on her abdomen, teasing her navel, until he could open the shirt completely. He didn't stop there, but kept moving even lower, drawing a line with the tip of his tongue along the waistband of her pants, making her shiver. By the time he undid her jeans and the pulled the zipper down, she was ready to combust and it took all of her willpower not to moan out loud. She raised her hips slightly to help him divest her of her pants, while she, needing more friction, pushed the cups of her bra down and started fondling her breasts, pinching the erect nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

He pulled her pants and underwear down agonizingly slow, kissing along her leg, down her thigh, past her knee up to the arch of her foot, his lips leaving goosebumps in their wake. Once her jeans were finally off, he took his sweet time going up as well (weren't they kind of supposed to… hurry?), clearly intent on torturing her until her breaking point–until she downright begged him to take her.

Once reaching the apex of her thighs, he spread her wide and, teasingly, drew a fingertip along her slit, applying the slightest of pressure to her clit. Then, before she could've told him to quit playing around, that she wanted more, he lowered his head between her legs and tasted her, flattening his tongue against her core. She took a sharp breath in surprise, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to shout out in ecstasy as he lapped at her, her body going rigid and her hips shooting up from the mattress so he had to push her down as he teased her clit with the tip of his tongue.

She closed her eyes and fisted the sheets at the intensity of the sensation of his mouth on her, his lips expertly mapping out every sweet spot. Next to all the things they had done the previous night, this, him going down on her, had been somehow left out, which she hadn't minded then, but now, oh, now she cursed herself for not pushing him down there at the first chance she got. He had barely started working on her, and she was already whimpering and feeling her body tightening, like the string of a bow being pulled back, ready to shoot the arrow. She could feel her climax near, just a little bit more, just a little more pressure…

Then, as suddenly as he started it, he was rising from between her legs, making her groan in disappointment. Feebly, she tried to push him back, sliding her fingers into his hair, but he just pulled her hands away, kissing her wrist, then climbed over her, his hips cradled between her thighs, his erection pressing deliciously against her hot, throbbing center. Supporting himself on one hand, he caressed her face with the other, then kissed her, deep and dirty, letting her taste herself on his lips.

"One day," he whispered into her ear before pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her jaw, "I'll do this for hours." He moved downwards, sucking at her neck. "I'll spend hours between your legs, making you come again and again," he bit into her shoulder, "until you just can't take it anymore."

She wanted to tease him; talk back to him; tell him that he's all talk and no action or that he should start doing that now, but she couldn't find the words, so instead she grabbed his face and pulled it back to hers, fusing their mouths together. He responded to her right away, tangling his tongue with hers as she looped her arms around his neck, anchoring him to her.

When they finally had to come up for air, he rested his forehead against hers and sneaked a hand down between their bodies, seeking out her core; she inhaled sharply as he dipped a single finger into her. "Are you ready?" he asked, stroking her walls.

She almost groaned in impatience. He was going to be the death of her if he kept doing this. "Ready to hit you if you don't do something in the next… oh… two seconds," she said, opening her legs even wider in invitation.

She more like felt than saw his smirk as gave her a quick kiss, then she felt him withdraw his finger from her to take himself into his hand. He slid his hard, swollen member along her slit once, twice, to coat himself in her juices–she was dripping–and just to torture her, then, angling his hips, he pushed into her agonizingly slowly.

It was still a tight fit, and she was still slightly sore from the previous day, but it was still a feeling she wouldn't have exchanged for anything. Reaching deep inside of her, he filled her in a way no-one had ever filled her before, making her feel as if she'd found a piece of her she'd lost long ago.

Once completely sheathed in her, he stilled for a moment with a low groan tearing free from the depth of his throat, then started moving, slowly, barely pulling out before sliding back in. Nuzzling her face against his neck to smother any of her pleasured moans against his skin, she hooked her legs around his waist and started to move with him, encouraging him to go faster. She needed him to go faster, harder. After all the foreplay and due to the pure thrill of the situation, she was already so close–she knew it wouldn't take her long to reach her climax, but for that to happen she needed just a little bit more.

So, digging her fingers into his back, no doubt leaving red half-moons on his skin, she slightly turned her head to the side and pressed her lips against his neck, sucking and lapping at his pulse point. This worked like a charm to spur him on, as the moment her mouth was on him, he moaned, then, grabbing her thigh to hike her leg higher, he started going faster, pounding into her with abandon, pulling almost completely out before plunging back in.

She would have loved to freeze time and live in this moment forever, have their bodies eternally joined, but soon she could already feel the telltale tingling along her spine and tightening in her body, making her aware that she was close to fall over the edge.

"I'm… ah… I'm…" she tried to tell him, but she was way past of using coherent words, and with each thrust of his hips she was slipping further away from reality. Thankfully, he seemed to understand her anyway.

"Yes," he breathed as he dug his fingers into her thigh almost painfully. "Come for me."

Three more pumps; that's how much she needed before she exploded around him, her toes curling and her back arching and her walls spasming, trapping his members inside of her and making her forget about the outside world beyond this bed and beyond his arms. In the midst of stars dancing behind her closed eyelids, she felt him first tremble, then still completely, then warmth erupted within her as he came inside of her, filling her up with his hot seed, drawing out her own orgasm.

She was not exactly aware of herself, or the things around her–only of her pounding heart and the pleasure running in her veins–, in the couple of seconds that followed their climax. The next thing that she registered was that he'd pulled out of her and somehow had managed to arrange their bodies that now they were laying in their sides, legs tangled together, with him spooning her from behind, one arm under her neck, the other around her waist.

At first, she only felt contentment.

Then reality came crashing down on her.

The last night… Dublin… that was like a dream, something that does not belong to reality; everything that had happened there, she could justify, but now that dream was over and they were back in reality, back on the Bus with its familiar walls and sounds and written and unwritten rules, and she just couldn't help but feeling–lying in his arms, practically naked, their mixed juices dripping from her, probably ruining his sheets–that she is doing something wrong.

The fact that he had asked her to keep their affair a secret did not help a bit.

Suddenly, there was nothing she wanted more than to be away from him, so she could think clearly. (And maybe to run away and hide, because, damn, she had practice in that.)

Legs still weak and shaky, she slipped from his arms and started to get up. "I should go," she said in a quick, clipped voice, avoiding his eyes. "If someone-"

Strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her back. "Just five minutes more," he murmured, settling her against his chest. "Five minutes won't hurt anyone." (It was almost as if he was a different person when he was with her; or was he just dropping a mask?)

She didn't protest–she didn't know exactly why–, just let him pull her close and then lay there almost rigidly, ready to bolt once the five minutes were up.

But of course he noticed that something was amiss.

First the hand caressing her back stilled; then she could feel his breathing change; then he asked, in a voice eerily similar to the one he used with her during their training sessions, "Is everything alright?"

She closed her eyes for a moment before answering. "Sure."

"Skye," he pressed, "talk to me."

"Drop it, will ya?" She fisted the sheets without meaning to.

"You're scaring me," he went on, turning her around in his arms and sitting up with her so he could look at her, "sweetheart, please…"

It was too much; being so close to him, having to look at his face–now she just couldn't look away–, it was too much, so she just blurted out, "Do you have somebody else?"

There was a moment of complete silence and stillness as he processed her words; she could actually see his expression change from puzzlement to bewilderment in a fraction of a second. "Somebody else?"

"Are you sleeping with someone else?" she asked, stubborn tears pricking her eyes. "Like May?"

He gulped; but it wasn't a "guilty" kind of gulp, more one to suppress coming laughter. "May?" he echoed, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"Don't you dare to be amused, or…" she didn't know how to finish, but, for emphasis, she did raise her fisted hands, as if to punch him, only he grabbed her wrists and pressed calming kisses to her knuckles.

"Sorry, it's just…" He let go of her hands and cupped her face, wiping away a stray tear or two with his thumbs. "There's no-one else. Especially not May," he assured her in a gentle voice as he leaned in and kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her nose. "Only you." He kissed her lips. "Why would you think otherwise?"

Suddenly, she felt downright stupid–because, of course, these were just words, and he was a super spy, after all, a master of deception, but he did sound so sincere and seemed honestly befuddled by the idea of him sleeping with someone else, and damn, she believed him.

She cast her eyes down. "It's just… you were so adamant that we kept it under wraps… I just thought–I know it's crazy–I just thought you wanted me to keep quiet about it so you could… score elsewhere, too."

He actually let out a light chuckle at that.

"Hey," he took her chin in his hands and gently coaxed her to look at him, "as long as I have you, I don't need–or want–anybody else, okay? The only reason I asked you to keep it a secret–"

"Yeah, I know," she interrupted him, "so we don't get into trouble with the boss," she said, nodding towards the upper deck and Coulson's office.

He smiled slightly. "Exactly." Pulling her towards him, he kissed her again, then, looking deep into her eyes, he continued, "But if you want to–if it's too much–, just tell me, any time, and I'll go to Coulson right away and confess everything."

Now this made her smile too (she refused to think about what it would actually mean to come clean about their… yeah, relationship). She raised her hand and traced the contours of his face with her fingertips; he leaned into her touch. "And what would you tell him exactly?"

He shrugged, almost imperceptibly. "I don't know. I'll improvise. I'm good at that," he said with a cheeky smirk.

Their mission in Belarus coming to her mind, she chuckled. "Yeah, you might want to rethink that." She let out a sigh. "I'm afraid you'll need a different strategy for that, Agent Ward."

"Thankfully, I have you to work that out." His hand slipping to the back of her neck, he rested his forehead against her. "Are we okay now?"

"Of course," she answered, letting her eyes drift closed. "I'm sorry. I was-"

"Don't be. I'm actually glad we discussed this." He kissed her again, then started to pull her back down. "So… five more minutes?" he asked as he settled on his back, drawing her on top of him, her head pillowed on his chest.

"Okay, five more minutes," she smiled against her skin. "But after that, I'm going back to my bunk." She lay an arm across his stomach, anchoring herself to his side. "I'm totally planning on taking that nap Coulson advised me. You kinda wore me out."

"Or you could nap here," he suggested almost playfully. "So, once you're rested, I could wore you out again."

"And what about being careful, stud?" she smirked.

"Some risks are worth taking."

That's for sure, she thought, closing her eyes and knowing that, yes, this was going to be an exciting ride.