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Published:
2018-06-02
Completed:
2018-06-29
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4,487
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7/7
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girls/girls/boys

Summary:

Series of drabbles for Pride 2018.

Chapter 1: does it bother you (platonic quakingbird)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Does it ever bother you?” Daisy asks without preamble, jumping onto the sofa Bobbi’s sitting on.

Bobbi closes her book, staring at the other agent. There’s no context to her question whatsoever, unless Daisy’s asking if her book bothered her – and for the record, it didn’t, because it’s a murder mystery with lesbians, and that’s pretty dope.

“Does what ever bother me?” She asks, since Daisy isn’t forthcoming with more details. Daisy’s just looking at Bobbi with wide eyes like she’s expecting Bobbi to burst into tears at any moment.

The younger agent blinks once, and then starts to speak again. “That people think you’re straight.” She answers, as if it should be obvious.

Bobbi lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “I mean, sometimes, I guess. I don’t really think about it.”

Daisy is incredulous. “How can you not think about it?”

Bobbi wants to be patient and explain it the same way she’s explained everything else to Daisy – with an even, warm voice – but this is the one thing that she thought Daisy would get, and it makes it hard to stay calm. “Part of what being bi means to me is that I love women and men. And if I love a man, why should I not date him just because people might think that I’m straight?”

Daisy’s face drops. “I mean… I guess you shouldn’t. But –” She struggles to find a counterargument and fails.

“But I should be proud of who I am?” Bobbi asks, suppressing an eyeroll. “Yeah, and I am. If someone asks me, I’m not going to pretend I don’t have ex-girlfriends, Daisy. But I’m also not going to ogle other people while I’m with someone. That’s just rude.” Not to mention it played into a bunch of other stereotypes that Bobbi isn’t going to get into.

“Hunter does it.” Daisy mutters mutinously.

“That’s because Hunter’s an asshole.” Bobbi responds, smirking. “But he’s my asshole, so what am I going to do about it?”

“You could always –”

“For the last time, Daisy, I’m not going to break up with Hunter just to have a foursome with you and Fitzsimmons.” Bobbi says.

“Hunter could come too!”

And that’s the end of that conversation.

Notes:

Happy Pride, y'all!

If you'll excuse my brief digression into personal matters; I'm LGBTQ+ (bi & slightly genderqueer) and this is the first Pride I'm going to be experiencing out of the closet!!! Obvs this is cause for celebration for me, so for the next 30 days I'm going to be posting a drabble a day to this fic featuring different LGBTQ+ relationships or conversations about queerness.

Obviously, this chapter falls into the latter category. I think there's a certain amount of irony in starting my Pride drabbles featuring a couple in a heterosexual relationship, but bi erasure is something that is horribly common and very personal to me. (Also, in this interview, around the 25-second mark, Adrianne Palicki [who plays Bobbi] makes a comment about Bobbi making her way around all the girls on the team, so I'm considering it canon that Bobbi is bi, fight me.) I wanted this to be longer, but it felt preachy and un-Bobbi-like to make it so, so oh well!

If you have suggestions for relationships (including poly triads/quads/what-have-you!) to feature, please feel free to let me know in the comments or on tumblr. Any prompt is a good prompt, as long as it's gayyyy. :P

Chapter 2: welcome to the club (skimmons)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Skye’s in quarantine, which is not a fun experience. Bobbi just dropped by, leaving behind a bag of items that Skye still hasn’t entirely sifted through. She’s opened the cactus cooler, only because she’s curious as to what cactus juice tastes like (not anything like she’s imagined, actually), but otherwise Skye is kind of… staring into space. Because that’s what Skye does when she’s a little overwhelmed by the world; she stares.

And sure, it would be easy to pretend that she’s just overwhelmed by the fact that Trip’s dead (which sucks) and Raina’s alive (which sucks) and she’s probably broken (which sucks, too). But that’s not the whole truth. She’s also overwhelmed by the way Bobbi’s hair looked under the fluorescent lights, and the little sparklers that lit themselves in her stomach when Bobbi called her a Rockstar.

Well, fuck.

It wasn’t exactly new (liking girls, not liking Bobbi), but Skye’s been doing a pretty good job of ignoring it, since no one on the team seems to talk about it. They’re all horribly, horribly straight, Skye thinks, and there’s never really a good time to come out of the closet when you’re a secret agent, she’s found out.

“Ah.” Jemma says, stepping into the lab space. “Bobbi visited?”

Skye nods at the question, barely paying attention to Jemma.

Jemma knows that face, though – the stunned, not-quite-there stare of Skye deep in thought. “Penny for them?” She asks as she begins to don the hazmat suit that she has to wear every time she comes into contact with Skye.

“Bobbi is really pretty and also I’m bisexual.” Smooth, Skye. She thinks to herself. Because there’s no good time to come out when you’re a secret agent but coming out to your best friend when you’re in quarantine because you’ve been exposed to an alien virus is definitely more than not good.

“Welcome to the club.” Jemma says with a sigh. Skye furrows her brow, because that’s not anywhere near the reaction she expected from Jemma.

“The… club…?” She stutters, confused.

“The club of people who find Bobbi Morse unfairly attractive.” Jemma says with another forlorn sigh.

Holy shit. “I thought you’re –” Skye actually doesn’t know how to finish that sentence, because duh, Jemma’s attracted to Bobbi. She had been so flustered when their team had picked the pair of them up from HDYRA, and at first Skye had just attributed it to hero worship, but – Skye turns to bang her head against the glass wall because she is so, so stupid. “I’m an idiot.” Skye mutters.

Jemma’s finished putting on the suit, and she comes into the quarantine room with a smile on her face. “I don’t make it a point to advertise how much I like her.” She says comfortingly.

“So, you’re…?” Skye leave the end of her sentence dangling again.

“Demisexual. Ish.” Jemma says with a shrug, gesturing for Skye to sit on the exam table so she can begin to draw blood.

“That actually… that explains a lot.” Skye says with a breathy chuckle, offering her arm to Jemma.

“If it makes you feel any better, now the only people on this team who don’t find Bobbi unfairly attractive are May and Coulson.” Jemma offers. Skye snorts, because she’s pretty sure the only reason May and Coulson aren’t in love with Bobbi is because they’re too busy ogling each other. “And Bobbi herself, I suppose. I’ve never asked her.”

Skye chuckles, and for the first time in days, she feels lighter.

“This is going to make our Friday night sleepovers a lot more interesting.” Skye says with a mischievous smile.

“Oh?” There’s a glare on the mask of the hazmat suit, but Skye swears she sees Jemma blush.

“Spin the Bottle!” Skye says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Unless you’re afraid to kiss me, Jem?”

“I’m not.” Jemma says, and Skye can hear the strain in her voice. There’s a long, long pause.

“Jemma?” Skye asks. “I think that’s enough blood.”

“Right!” The scientist exclaims, capping the blood vial and placing a wad of cotton against the vein she had been drawing from. “I’ll go… run these to the lab, then!”

Jemma hurries to exit the quarantine room, and by the time she’s gone, Skye has completely and utterly forgotten about Bobbi Morse.

Holy shit, she’s in love with Jemma Simmons.

Notes:

This was originally supposed to be a lot more about Skye/Bobbi, but... here were are. I'm Skimmons trash now, apparently.

Hit me up on tumblr or in the comments if you have more prompts!

Chapter 3: have you lost your mind? (skimmons)

Notes:

For the prompt "have you lost your mind?" + skimmons

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Have you lost your mind!?” Jemma storms into the room and Daisy jumps. She looks like a kid who’s gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and rightly so.

“Hi, Daisy, how are you, Daisy? Your hair looks great, Daisy.” She says in an attempt to distract Jemma from her anger, running her hands through her newly-colored hair.

“Your hair looks lovely, Daisy.” Jemma sighs, acquiescing. “It’s more what led to that hair that I’m concerned about.” She’s working herself up again and Daisy desperately searches for something to continue to distract her.

Of course, her mind goes blank in that moment, and all Daisy manages to get out is, “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Our bathroom is a warzone!” Jemma rages. “It looks like – like a rainbow vomited or something!”

“Rainbows can’t vomit, Jem.” Daisy says, giving her girlfriend a shit-eating grin. Jemma’s always correcting her about stupid things like that, so any time she gets the opportunity to do the same, she takes it.

“I’m well aware of that, Daisy.” Jemma puts her hands on her hips. “But the point stands that I’m not sure any amount of bleach will remove the stains!” The scientist huffs. “How did you get purple hair dye on the ceiling, Daisy?”

Daisy has the decency to look chastised. “There, uh, might have been quaking involved?” She says, blushing. By the time she had gotten to the purple hair dye, the last of the six colors she had put in her hair, she had been more than a little frustrated by the whole process. She hadn’t realized at first that six colors meant it was going to take six times as long. “Just be glad you didn’t see where the green dye went.” Daisy says with a shudder. That was almost a disaster.

Jemma gives her a withering look. “I am in love with a child.” She finally declares.

“A child with dope hair!” Daisy insists with a wide smile.

“Yes, your hair is beautiful, as I said.” Jemma replies. She leans forward and kisses Daisy lightly on the lips, pointedly ignoring the triumphant look on her girlfriend’s face. “But you’re cleaning the bathroom.”

That’s enough to erase any sort of triumph. “Aw, Jem!” Daisy whines. She knows she’s already lost the fight, though, because she was the one to make the mess. It’s only common decency that she cleans it up.

“The next time you want to do something crazy to your hair, just borrow someone else’s bathroom.” Jemma says, ever the sensible one.

That brings the smile back to Daisy’s face. “I bet you Bobbi and Hunter will let me use their bathroom, and then if it gets to be a mess, Hunter’ll have to clean it!” Daisy smirks. “Can you imagine him trying to reach the ceiling?”  She laughs. Jemma joins in, and honestly, it is really funny to imagine all the ways Hunter would attempt to scrub the bathroom ceiling. Soon, they’re both rolling on the bedroom floor, cheeks flushed with happiness.

Daisy reaches over and pulls Jemma in to kiss her again. “Thank you for putting up with your crazy girlfriend and her crazy ideas.”

Jemma lets out a melodramatic sigh. “It’s a burden that somebody must bear.” Daisy pinches her, and Jemma yelps. “It’s a joke!” Jemma insists between kisses to Daisy’s face. Daisy makes a soft grumbling noise but accepts the kisses.

Daisy begins to slide her hand up Jemma’s shirt, but Jemma bats her hand away. “No sex until the bathroom is clean.” Jemma says smugly.

“Guess I better get scrubbing, them.” Daisy says, clambering up off the ground.

“Scrub brush is under the sink!” Jemma informs her.

“Yeah, about that…” Daisy says, scratching the back of her neck. “I may have, uh, relocated the cleaning supplies so I could have more space for all the hair dye stuff.” Jemma pinches the bridge of her nose. “Remember when you said you loved me?” Daisy reminds her. “I’m going to ask you to keep that in the front of your mind right now.”

“What did you do, Daisy?” Jemma asks, voice flat.

Daisy answers, and Jemma goes white.

“Have you lost your mind!?”

Notes:

Guys, I'm officially Skimmons trash. Idk where I've been all these years but I have seen the light!

I'm still accepting prompts on tumblr and in the comments! :)

Chapter 4: football (fitzhunter)

Notes:

For the prompt "Fitzhunter, fluff, argument over soccer ⚽️"

I... don't know anything about soccer. I literally googled "how to play soccer" to write this drabble, so apologies in advance for any inaccuracies.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The worst thing about his boyfriend, Hunter thinks, is his taste in football.

Fitz is great. Fitz is easily the smartest person Hunter’s ever met (though that’s not saying much), and he’s kind in the sort of ways that confound Hunter entirely, because no one should remember that he likes strawberry syrup on pancakes, but Fitz does. When Fitz laughs, Hunter wonders if maybe, just maybe, someone else’s happiness can heal him.

But his football opinions? Nope. Definitely not. His mum would be rolling in her grave if she knew that her son was dating a ManU fan. So would his dad, probably, but Hunter doesn’t give a flying shit what his dad thinks, so there’s that.

Hunter’s pretty sure if he and Fitz are ever going to break up, it will be today, because today is the day they’ve both been waiting for: the day their teams play each other. Even though Fitz and Hunter have been waiting for this moment since they started going out, Hunter’s pretty sure everyone else on the team is dreading it. They don’t seem to realize that talking about football is basically bizarre foreplay for them. (Or they do realize this and choose to ignore it. Either way is fine with Hunter.)

Thanks to the time difference between the Playground and England, it’s just after lunch when the game comes on. They’ve just eaten, so it’s probably silly to have snacks, but Hunter is pretty sure it’s an international crime not to eat while watching football, so he fishes a pack of pistachios out the pantry. When he returns to the common area, he’s surprised that there’s actually other people there.

“We have to make sure this doesn’t get ugly.” Mack deadpans from his spot in the armchair.

“This would be a horrible way for one of you to die.” Daisy agrees. Beside her, Jemma giggles.

The only open seat is next to Fitz. Honestly, Hunter’s not sure that’s the best idea, but he does love being close to his boyfriend, so he’s not going to complain. He plops down and Fitz curls into his side instinctively.

The coin toss happens, and it goes to ManU. Hunter scowls while Fitz cheers.

The game goes by in a blur, and Hunter and Fitz are never both happy in the same moment. It’s like a toggle switch; one or the other, but not both.

The game ends in a tie, and then neither of them is happy.

“I will never understand this sport.” Daisy says as she levers herself off the sofa. “How can it end in a tie!? That doesn’t make sense.” Hunter and Fitz both open their mouths to defend their precious football, but Daisy holds up a hand. “Don’t wanna know.” She says before walking out, dragging along with her.

“Sucks to be you guys, I guess.” Mack adds unsympathetically. The rest of the team trickles out behind Mack, leaving just Fitz and Hunter on the couch.

“Well, we both know who really deserved to win.” Hunter says into the silence.

“ManU.” Fitz answers.

“Liverpool.” Hunter retorts.

“ManU!” Fitz unhooks himself from around Hunter so he can give his boyfriend a shove.

“Liverpool!” Hunter shoves him back.

“ManU!” Fitz is surprisingly strong when he wants to be, and Hunter isn’t braced for how strong the push is. Hunter topples over onto the sofa and doesn’t bother propping himself back up. Instead, he wraps his hands around Fitz’s forearms, pulling his boyfriend down on top of him. No one else is there, so it’s not like anyone can act scandalized at the position

“Liverpool.” Hunter growls.

“I hate you.” Fitz says, but he doesn’t move off of Hunter.

“That hurts, Fitzy.” Hunter says, smoothing his hands through Fitz’s curls. “And here I thought we had something.” He cracks a grin, and Fitz smiles back.

“I’ll take it back if you admit ManU is better than Liverpool.” Fitz says, looking right pleased with himself.

“I’d rather die.” Hunter replies.

“See you in the afterlife then.” Fitz smirks, finally rolling off of Hunter. He stands up and begins to make his way out of the room.

“Wait!” Hunter yelps, chasing after his boyfriend. “I thought you were kidding!”

(He was. Kind of.)

Notes:

Prompt me in a comment or on tumblr!

Chapter 5: do we really need so many? (simmorse)

Notes:

For the prompt "Pride prompt: Simmorse + "Do we really need so many?""

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Today is just really, really confusing for Bobbi.

The first confusing thing: Coulson sent them off base… just to buy candles.

The second confusing thing: He decided Bobbi and Jemma were the only two capable of buying candles.

The third confusing thing: Jemma actually really likes candles?

Bobbi would have thought after years of working in a lab, Jemma would have some things to say about repeatedly sticking her nose into what’s essentially a vat of chemicals, but apparently her girlfriend really, really, really likes candle shopping. Like, a lot.

They already have seventeen candles, and they’re not even five feet into the Yankee Candle store. Bobbi’s not even sure why they’re at the Yankee Candle store, because she was more envisioning getting the paraffin-only candles that are used in emergencies. That seemed more what Coulson would approve of spending S.H.I.E.L.D.’s budget on.

But nope, they’re buying candles that smell like…

“Honey, why do we have a candle named City Lights? What do city lights even smell like?” Bobbi asks, turning over one of the candles in her palm.

“Balsam and patchouli!” Jemma chirps, as if it should be obvious. Bobbi kind of wants to shake her, because lights do not have a smell, Jemma! But Jemma’s already busy sticking her nose in the next candle, and she looks so cute when her nose wrinkles like that. “Smell this one!” Jemma says, slapping a peachy-colored candle in Bobbi’s open hand.

She squints at the label. “Sun Drenched Apricot Rose?” Bobbi asks dubiously, not even bothering to open the candle. She can guess what it’ll smell like. Jemma nods vigorously, settling two more candles in the basket they picked up at the entrance of the store.

“Do we really need so many?” Bobbi asks. The basket’s already getting heavy, and again, they’re barely even in the store.

“Bobbi.” Jemma says. Bobbi knows she’s in trouble because Jemma is busting out her very best pleading face. It’s either extremely effective, or Bobbi is going soft. Probably a little bit of both. “How can I choose!?”

“We do not need Autumn Dusk, Autumn in the Park, Autumn Leaves, and Autumn Wreath.” Bobbi says flatly. “I love you, but that’s insane.”

“Autumn is May’s favorite season.” Jemma says, making her eyes go even bigger than before. “I’m just trying to make May happy.”

“Uh huh.” Bobbi says, putting her hands on her hips. She hates having to play the bad guy, but she doesn’t know where her over-rational girlfriend is hiding beneath this candle-crazed demon. Bobbi’s certain that when they leave the overly-aromatic, slightly-stifling store, Jemma will go back to normal and then reprimand Bobbi for allowing such frivolous purchases. With all of the candles they’re buying – and at thirty bucks a pop! What the hell? – they could get a new piece of lab equipment, or something that Jemma will actually use more than once before forgetting the existence of.

Jemma seems to realize she’s not going to win this argument and picks up one of the autumn-themed candles to place it back on the shelf. When Bobbi raises an eyebrow at her, she sighs and then lifts two more out of the basket.

“Thank you.” Bobbi says, frowning when Jemma doesn’t brighten up whatsoever. “What’s wrong?”

“I just really love candles.” Jemma whines. “They smell so good, and –”

Oh no. That’s Jemma’s idea face. Normally those ideas are brilliant ones, but considering the context, Bobbi’s a little worried.

“We need to get back to the base.” Jemma announces.

“Dare I ask why?” Bobbi’s actually, legitimately afraid of the answer.

Jemma’s tugging on her arm to get her to go to the checkout, though, and doesn’t answer the question until they’re out of the Yankee Candle store and in the car on the way back to the base.

“Picture this.” Jemma begins. Any thought Bobbi had of the candle demon being left in the candle store evaporate. “A candle that smells… like you!”

“I can’t decide if that’s creepy or cute.” Jemma flushes. “Cute.” Bobbi decides.

“Good.” Jemma says, reaching over to grab Bobbi’s hand. The blonde starts steering one handed so she can give Jemma a squeeze.

“Someday, you’re going to have to tell me how your candle obsession began.” Bobbi says with a smile.

“Well, it’s a funny story, actually…”

Notes:

I thought of things that someone could purchase in excess, and for some reason, literally the only thought I had was candles. I'm dumb. :)

This is the obligatory mention that I'm accepting prompts on tumblr.

Chapter 6: kinsey (platonic team)

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Coulson doesn’t consider himself old or grossly uninformed… but he has no idea what the heck his team is talking about in the common room.

He’d only dropped in to tell them that they had a new mission that would have them leave in the morning, but he’s so enraptured by the conversation that he knows he can’t leave until he’s figured out why they’re all talking about numbers.

“I’m a two. Or maybe a three.” Hunter says. Bobbi’s head is in his lap, and she smirks up at him from her vantage point. “Okay, definitely a three.” He acquiesces.

“Hey, I’m a three!” Skye chirps from her position on the floor. Her back is resting against Trip’s knees and she looks more relaxed than Coulson’s seen her in a long time. He still has no context for these numbers, though, and the fact that Skye and Hunter are the same number is… troubling, since Coulson doesn’t see much in common between the pair. Except for the fact that they can both be stubborn as hell, but he doesn’t think that they’re rating their stubbornness (and the only way the two of them would be threes would be on a three-point scale).

“Can there be halves?” Jemma asks from her position next to Skye. “I think halves should be allowed.”

“Jemma Simmons ignoring the parameters of a measurement tool? Never thought I’d see the day.” Mack chuckles warmly as Jemma flushes.  So they are talking about measuring something, even though Coulson has no idea what that is. No one’s noticed him standing (okay, maybe he’s lurking more than standing, but dark shadows are so much fun!) in the doorway, so he just keeps listening, hoping that maybe with more information he’ll be able

“I just think that it could be more accurate.” Jemma mumbles. “It already has some flaws, such as –”

“Shhhh.” Trip says, reaching a hand down to run his fingers through Jemma’s hair. “Girl, we all know it’s flawed, but it’s the best we’ve got.”

“I like the numbers better than labels.” Bobbi offers, turning over so she’s resting on her side. She’s in a position where she could easily see Coulson if she tilted her chin just a little, but he’s fairly certain that she’s not going to do that. Bobbi is a good agent, but she’s also obviously comfortable right now. Coulson’s glad that she can relax every once in a while. “More… specific, I guess?” Bobbi half-says, half-asks.

“Funny, I always thought the opposite.” Mack stretches and settled his arm around Fitz’s shoulders. That’s new, and Coulson’s momentarily distracted from the number game as he tries to figure out if all of his team are going to end up falling in love with each other. There’s paperwork for that. (Not that anyone’s filled it out…)

“H-hello, s-sir.” It’s not Bobbi who sees him, but Fitz, who had twisted his body ever so slightly to adjust to the new weight of Mack’s arm, and thus caught a glimpse of Coulson. The director ducks out of his position in the doorway, strolling to the center of the room. Bobbi sits up and Trip removes his hand from Jemma’s head. Mack looks like he’s considering moving his arm but doesn’t.

“We’ve got a lead on Ward. We’re leaving in the morning.” Coulson hesitates, wondering if it’s inappropriate to ask what they were talking about before. There’s a mild tension in the room that wasn’t there before Fitz saw him, and he doesn’t want to make anything awkward for anyone.

“Do you need something, sir?” Bobbi asks. Right. He’s just standing awkwardly now. He needs to make a decision.

“Why are you all talking about numbers?” Coulson asks. There’s a fair bit of squirming, and no one other than Bobbi and Hunter are making eye contact with him. Bobbi, he expects, because she’s very much into duty and question-answering, but Hunter is a surprise.

They both look around the room, and Coulson assumes there’s a sort of silent understanding that’s reached, because Hunter answers his question. “Look up the Kinsey scale sometime, mate.”

Coulson furrows his eyebrows, but nods once. “Will do. Have a nice night.”

Hunter gives him a mock salute and Bobbi nods back at him. The rest of the agents give some variation of a parting gesture before he ducks out of the room, mind swimming with numbers.

Before he looks up what Hunter told him, though, Coulson needs to carve. Skye doesn’t need to be there, though.

(It’s not until the morning that Coulson remembers to Google the Kinsey Scale.

He agrees with Jemma: there needs to be halves.

(He’s a 1.5.))

Notes:

Send me a prompt on tumblr!

Apologies to people who have prompted and are waiting on responses; I'm working on them but I was on a time crunch to get this up (it's almost midnight! ah!) and didn't want to rush anything. :)

Chapter 7: is that my shirt (fitzhunter)

Notes:

For the prompt FitzHunter + “Is that my shirt?”

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Is that my shirt?” Fitz walks into the common area and looks at Hunter like he’s grown a second head.

“No, Fitz. I own several cardigans, actually, and all of them are half a size too small.” Hunter replies, turning back to Fitz and pulling the cardigan in question tightly across his body.

“Let me rephrase: why are you wearing my shirt?” The Scot asks. It’s not that he minds - Hunter looks surprisingly attractive in cardigans! - but Fitz can’t think of a good reason why his boyfriend would be wearing something of his. Especially given, like Hunter had so helpfully pointed out, the cardigan was too small on him, the sleeves stopping awkwardly short of his wrists and the fabric stretching strangely across his shoulders.

“A cardigan isn’t a shirt.” Hunter’s dodging the question, which is never a good thing.

“Answer.” Fitz insists, taking a step closer to his boyfriend. It’s meant to be an intimidation tactic, but Fitz has a habit of conveniently forgetting he is, indeed, shorter than his boyfriend and significantly less muscled.

“Have you ever noticed I don’t own anything with long sleeves?” Hunter asks, stepping backwards. That sets off more alarm bells than the question he had asked, and Fitz matches the backward step with a forward one of his own.

“Are you sweating?” Fitz frowns.

“No!” Hunter yelps, much too quickly to be real.

“Lance.” Fitz says. His boyfriend stiffens at that - they only use each other’s first names in extremely serious situations, so it’s something of an ace in the hole.

“I may have a fever.” Hunter admits. “A small one!” He insists before Fitz can start fussing. “It’s like, 38 C. Maybe 39.”

“That doesn’t sound small.” Fitz says, bridging the last of the gap between them so he can press the back of his hand against his boyfriend’s forehead. As expected, he’s burning up.

“Why are you up? Shouldn’t you be resting?” Fitz scolded.

“A cardigan is basically the same thing as a bed!” Hunter grimaces as Fitz face palms.

“No, it’s really not!”

“Yes it is!”

“No, it’s not!”

“Yes!” 

“I’m not having this argument with you.” Fitz begins massaging his temples. He takes a moment more to collect himself before grabbing Hunter’s elbow.

“Come.” 

“Well, if you insist,” Hunter grins. Fitz is so thoroughly distracted by frogmarching his boyfriend to their bunk that he doesn’t even blush.

Hunter is soon tucked into the bed, looking more miserable than before as he curls himself into a ball. Fitz sits on the edge of the bed, pushing the sweaty hair back from his boyfriend’s forehead.

“It’s just a fever.” Hunter’s protests are perfunctory, at best.

“If you stay in bed, you can keep the cardigan,” Fitz suggests.

Hunter considers it a moment. “Deal.”

Fitz kisses Hunter’s forehead and shuts out the light - a stolen cardigan is hardly a high price to pay for a healthy boyfriend.

 

 

Notes:

hahaha remember when i said i was updating this every day? good times