Izzy here, with my fanfic, “Everything Can Wait But Now,” a Fitzsimmons piece taking place literally right after “Afterlife,” written for the Merry Month of Masturbation. Will probably also touch on some other Simmons pairings as well. They all belong to Marvel.

Everything Can Wait But Now

By Izzy

Jemma’s hands still smelt of mozzarella and pesto aioli. She dined that night on protein bars because she really didn’t feel like going anywhere in the Playground to eat, and didn’t wash her hands afterwards, even though that usually made her feel gross. The scent would probably still be gone by morning, but she wanted to hold onto it as long as possible, a much-needed reminder that she wasn’t doing what she was pretending to be doing, and, far more importantly to her sanity at the moment, she and Fitz were currently in things together, even if they’d had to part ways again.

The sandwich had been a ploy, of course, an excuse for her to take Fitz’s backpack somewhere where she could be alone with it and put the cube in. But even all that aside, she’d been happy when making that sandwich, thinking about the look that would be on Fitz’s face when he saw it, wondering if he’d gobble it up quickly, or make himself savor it. When she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to do something to make Fitz happy, knowing she was doing something now had been even better-even if she’d thought about it too long while in the kitchen and starting crying.

That was the state she’d been in when Bobbi had showed up. “I want to surprise him,” Jemma had said to her through her tears, the words she’d said to Mack already, and she’d been prepared to say to anyone else who asked. But Bobbi had just said she was sorry it had come to this, and when Jemma had broken down completely at hearing her say such things, she’d held her, thinking she was offering comfort, of course, not knowing she was making Jemma feel even more guilty.

This new undercover assignment was both easier and harder than the last one had been. Easier, because she didn’t have to fake too much. She could miss very obviously Fitz all she wanted, and no one would see anything strange in that at all. She didn’t have to be too nice to the people she wasn’t familiar with, and she didn’t have to hide her resentment entirely. In fact, she thought not showing some might make those who knew her better suspicious. And if there was anything she could possibly do to keep them from hurting Skye, Jemma had already decided she would do it openly, and tell them that her support had limits. That might get her kicked out, but it wouldn’t keep her from getting away with what she was doing right now.

But it was also much harder to lie to people and trick them when they weren’t Hydra. Most of the people she’d worked with in that organization she’d loathed, and whenever her main emotion hadn’t been fear of getting caught, she’d been full of anger and an icy satisfaction at being able to fool them. She had felt a little guilty about the bloke she’d doomed to a probably horrible fate, but she had solidly reminded herself of what he’d said to her earlier, and by the time she was back in the Playground she’d been over that. Now, however, she was lying to Bobbi, even when her feelings for her hadn’t changed, not really, and to Mack, whom she did have some respect for, especially when he’d saved Fitz’s life, and to too many other people she couldn’t even bring herself to dislike.

Also, at least when she’d been infiltrating Hydra, she’d only been there during work hours, and afterwards had been able to retreat to an apartment they hadn’t known the location of, and there feel safe, and meet with Coulson without the neighbors really thinking much of it. Now, she was in her disguise 24/7, her only retreat a sleeping quarters on ground they controlled, and where they could intrude at any time.

She locked the door as she readied for bed, although she supposed the lock could probably be overridden. Then she stripped down to her panties, and, on a vague impulse, lay down on the bed without going to change into her pajamas. If anyone came in now, she thought, hopefully they would back out stammering an apology, and not intrude into her room again.

She needed to breathe, really, to just lay there almost naked and allow herself at least a few minutes of not thinking about it all. Her hands absently stroked down her sides, then up as she brought them to her nose to inhale.

It was only a minute or so before she could stop herself from thinking about Fitz, wondering where he was right at that moment. She’d also slipped more money into his bag than she thought Gonzales would’ve been happy to see him leave with (although she wasn’t sure if Bobbi hadn’t guessed she’d done that particular piece of smuggling, and allowed it), so as long as none of their enemies, or anyone else for that matter, had any real idea where he was, he ought to be all right. He’d like to find Coulson, she supposed, but she doubted he had any real idea where he was, unless the cube somehow had the ability to tell him-that he’d break into it sooner or later she had no doubt, but surely it wasn’t prescient.

But was he, at this moment, feeling as isolated and lonely and scared as she was?

This was familiar longing, familiar from the time he’d lain comatose and she’d started the long stretch of time she’d no longer had him at her side, but now worse than ever.

For the millionth time she longed for Trip. Trip, who had shared her bed three times, but all three of them long ago, when he’d just been an acquaintance she worked with sometimes. That had been allowable, the way it hadn’t been after he’d joined them on the plane. But she might have changed her mind about that and begged for him to come to bed with her again, had he still been alive.

Although, she thought, if he had still been alive, he probably would’ve left too; he hadn’t been the sort of man who was good at extended subterfuge. Maybe he would’ve accompanied Fitz out, as his protection. She supposed he would’ve been mad at her, because she couldn’t have told him what was going on, but at least that would’ve been over once Fitz had gotten the cube out. Maybe she could’ve made him a sandwich too, and they could’ve eaten them together, and tonight, they would both sleep easier knowing no one would hurt Fitz when Trip was near him.

Jemma suddenly had to roll over and press her face into the pillow to muffle her sob of pain.

The bedclothes were new; she’d changed after Fitz’s departure, welcoming the distraction. The sheets smelled and felt like the ones found in a cheap but clean motel, the kind she hoped Fitz would be sleeping in that night. She pictured him, his belly full from her sandwich, probably just in his boxers because when the day had been long she knew he often didn’t bother finding and putting on anything else, turning down the lights and clutching the blankets close.

She remembered a story he’d told her once about how after his father had walked out on him and his mother, and she’d had to work late and leave him alone most of the time, he’d taken to singing himself to sleep at night with the same lullaby. The two of them had sung it together in the box at the bottom of the sea. She wondered if he was whispering the words to himself now, maybe pausing as he had to wait for some of them to come to him.

She suddenly wanted to be there with him, to sing it to him, to hold him in the dark and lonely night, to not be alone herself. She didn’t even know if things between them now were such he would even want her to do that, but she found herself fantasizing about it even so. She spread her arms across the blanket, and tried to imagine Fitz within them.

Would he be crying? She wouldn’t want him to be, but it seemed very possible. She would hold him close then, she thought, tell him it was okay. Maybe also how brave and strong he’d been. She longed to tell him that anyway, and she was determined to when she next got a chance. She hoped he’d believe her.

At she shivered from her tears and her prolonged exposure to the air, she also found herself thinking she wouldn’t mind having him hold her either. She drew her arms and legs together until she was almost in the fetal position, and imagined the warmth of him pressed against her back, his breathing in her ear, his hands coming up to hers even as they shook. She wanted it so badly she felt her body literally ache with it, clench itself together and draw itself further in, in protest of having nothing but air against her skin.

She hadn’t really thought about what Fitz would be wearing when on top of the bed with her, but then she thought perhaps he should remain just in those boxers, just so they could share maximum body heat between themselves. She ran one of her hands down her side, to her hip and then along her thigh, wishing it was bigger.

Jemma…she could hear his whisper of her name; she’d heard it say it so many times that to hear it again in her head could be done without even thinking about it. Even if it made her breath shorten, and a whole new feeling run through her, one that left her heart hammering and her body feel flushed and aroused.

Aroused in more ways than one, she realized after a moment.

She nearly dove under the covers then, thinking she should bury herself in their warmth and not let herself think or feel anything further that night. But she was still thinking about the full implications of having Fitz be with her and put his hands on her body in even a nonsexual way, and there was a heat starting to build in her loins.

Well, she thought, it wasn’t the first time she’d had sexual thoughts or even masturbated while thinking about Fitz. They'd met when they were both still teenagers, after all. Also, during her time with Hydra, safe in her apartment in the night, she had thought about just about everyone she’d known, even Coulson, which was kind of disturbing, fantasized about them being there to hold her and tell her she was doing good, and sometimes do more for her than that.

Besides, since coming back, the main object of her fantasies had been Bobbi Morse, and Jemma Simmons absolutely did not want to think about her in that way right now; that hurt for more than one reason. Thinking about Fitz might bring its own issues, but he was still preferable to that.

She rolled over, groaning as her legs rubbed themselves together, the pressure between them now really making itself felt. Part of it was also that she was still tense from the day itself-she’d known already that sooner or later she was going to really need this. When she closed her eyes, she could see Fitz above her, looking down with hungry, adoring eyes, and her hips without command moved themselves up towards the phantom of him.

She didn’t take the panties off, at least not yet. Instead she went back to running her hands over herself, but now it was with purpose, heading towards the spots of her body where she knew she was sensitive, and her touch was light and teasing, almost ghosting over the join of her neck and shoulders, the top of her breasts, down around her hips and over the tops of her thighs. She could hear Fitz’ Jemma in her ear again, and it was getting hard to breathe.

Was he doing this, she wondered? At this very moment, in that hotel room, was he out of even the boxers and jerking off, thinking about her?

That was one aspect of Fitz she certainly had never thought about before; what thoughts she had had about him had been a bit more self-centered. But now that idea sent her loins so on fire she nearly ripped the panties off in her need for touch down there.

It was a struggle to stay silent when her fingers stroked her clit, her labia, down near her cunt. In her mind’s eye she could see Fitz struggling to stay silent too, maybe covering himself completely with the covers to keep the sound in, pressing his head into the mattress. Maybe his hips too, maybe instead of his hand he was desperately fucking the bed, and at the thought of his body moving like that, thrusting away with tiny cries escaping his mouth, Jemma’s legs fell wide open, and she found herself turning to her bedside table and desperately groping for the drawer with her vibrator.

Somehow she got the right drawer open and the device and the batteries out. A thought crossed her head she’d have to go out of the room to wash it after this, but she was officially too far gone to care. Her hands fumbled, way too sweaty already, as she tried to get the batteries in.

But then they were in and the vibrator was ready to go. The urgency had faded slightly, and as Jemma lay back down on the bed, she took a moment to tease herself, circling her mound with her fingers, wishing someone was there to see her do it. That wasn’t even about Fitz specifically, she thought, she just wanted someone. Not Bobbi, though, she stubbornly told herself. Someone else. She supposed this was not something Fitz was imagining, though.

What was he thinking about anyway, if right this moment he was doing the same thing she was doing? He might not be getting that specific, she supposed, but it would be more fun if he was. Was he thinking about fucking her, or touching her, or her touching him, or all of those things?

If he was thinking about her, of course. Lately Jemma had even wondered if he wasn’t anymore, especially after the words he’d said to her that had left her crying into her pillow that night, telling her just what he thought of what she’d become. She had been aware then that she could not say she knew herself to be in love with him, which made it wrong that he wanted his feelings for her to stay as they had been, but all the same she’d wanted that.

She wanted it now, when she no longer had any idea at all how she felt about him, or how he felt about her, or anything. She went back to that earlier image, of him hovering over her, maybe talking about how much he’d dreamed of this.

Yet she then found herself thinking back to over a year ago, the first of the three times she’d had sex with Trip. That had been easy, light and carefree, full of the relief that Skye was going to live. They’d even both been giggling as they’d gotten naked, and he’d enveloped her in his arms, so big and strong and safe.

Would that she and Fitz could be so easy together again. She had the sudden thought of him snuggling against her, hands teasing her breasts and stomach and thighs, and her own hands moved like she thought his would. Although she was sure he’d get excited doing that, his breathes turning into pants, his cock moved and maybe prodding into her hip, and she found her body arching and her legs falling apart, as if he was really there for her to invite him in.

Oddly enough, as she took hold of the vibrator, turned it on, and took it down to her clit, she thought she heard Trip’s voice in her ear, his murmur of “That’s right, girl, just like that.” Well, it was her fantasy. She could have him alive and well and happy to watch Fitz fuck her, and Fitz happy to have him there. Maybe he could even tell Fitz what she liked, telling him to hold her hips in place as he thrust into her hard, and as she moaned a little too loudly they could look at each other as if to say we got this.

It didn’t take too long for her to get close; she’d been waiting for this for so long. She thought of what Fitz’s breaths would sound like in her ear as he lost himself in pleasure, Trip still giving encouraging words to them both. Though she was thinking less of him now than just of Fitz, of what it might like to really have him inside her, to feel his hands and how tightly they’d grip her, wanting to never let go, his slender body on top of hers, his hips moving between her legs.

She was hearing him chant her name when she finally came apart, spasms bursting forth and flooding her until she was thrashing around on the bend, unable to keep a short cry from escaping her mouth, though she clamped down on any further noises, just continued to work herself, riding the pleasure sharp between her legs until it got to be a little too much and her arms slumped down, the vibrator rolling off the bed and clattering to the floor.

For a minute or so after that she couldn’t do anything but pant, and be besieged by the implications of what she’d just done. She supposed she should be bothered she’d gotten herself off partly by thinking about a dead man. But that was nothing compared to the whole business over getting herself off thinking about Fitz, and in this level of detail. Fitz, who she might see again any day now, and desperately wanted to be friends with again, and even if she’d done it before, now that she was actually thinking about what she had just done, she knew this had just been the wrong time for it.

It was enough to make her feel like she was doing a walk of shame to the bathroom, and when she usually didn’t feel any shame when it came to sex. Luckily she ran into no one either getting there or then going back to her room, both her body and her vibrator scrubbed over.

She finally did turn down the sheets when she got back, and she was glad for their warmth. But it was a long while yet after that before she finally feel asleep, longing, more than anything else, to just have Fitz there with her, same as she had since he'd walked out of the base.