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“Wait, wait, wait.” Fitz moves apart from the kiss, and Trip tries to not take pride in the way his chest is heaving, but well. He is only human. “I don’t want Jemma to get mad with us.”
Trip pulls on his hand, and Fitz lets himself be dragged once again onto Trip’s lap, which means that his mind is not yet totally made about this. Trip continues his path of kisses from his shoulder to the hollow of his throat. Fitz clutches the back of the chair, and he gives him an appreciative bite when the force of the movement makes their erections rub together.
“Baby, making Jemma mad is at least twenty percent of the fun.”
Fitz moves his chest apart from him, and Trip almost backtracks on what he said. Fitz’s self-esteem is sometimes a fragile thing, and Trip never wants to hurt his susceptibility but especially not now. But instead of taking full offense, Fitz bends his waist backward so his chest is at almost a 45° with Trip’s legs, and aided by that angle, uses the hand he still has on the back of the chair to propel his pelvis back and forward. Trip can only moan in reply, his hands going to Fitz’s lower back to help him in supporting the weight.
“Good to know I get you just to an eighty percent,” he comments, sly, and Trip could eat him with a spoon.
“Thought you were aware of the concept of bonus points, man,” he gasps, and when Fitz makes a particularly good movement and they both wobble in the chair, he circles Fitz’s waist with his left arm, pressing their abdomens together.
“If your total is going to be over a hundred percent, let me warn you: wrong crowd.”
Squinting from the force he is making to not laugh, Trip says nothing and just dips once again his tongue on the fascinating nooks and crannies of Fitz’s chest bone structure.
They both hear when the door opens; Fitz startles a little, but Trip doesn’t loosen his hold on his waist, not allowing him to move apart and pretend like nothing is happening. Like Jemma would ever believe it, with both of them shirtless and hard and a constellation of lovebites starting to bloom on Fitz’s collarbone.
“I told you that I was going to be only half an hour,” Jemma reproaches them, hands on her hips, and Trip gives her an open-mouthed smile as all reply. Despite the pretenses of being mad, she leans over him and kisses the corner of his mouth.
“Try more like an hour and a half,” Fitz retorts. Trip gives him a rewarding squeeze of his hip for that; for all that Fitz acts terrified of upsetting Jemma when she is not there, when she is around he is quite combative with her.
Jemma makes a dismissive hand gesture, and leans to give Fitz his own kiss, her breasts pressing against Trip’s shoulder, and how he wishes for another pair of arms to be able to touch them both more.
“It doesn’t matter. You are in trouble now,” she remarks while unbuttoning her blouse. Her chipper tone gives him shivers. “Was Fitz being good to you, Trip?”
“The best.”
“I am not an inanimate object, you know.”
Jemma ignores Fitz completely and looks at them with hooded eyes while she pops her lips.
“Do you think he will be good for me, too?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Kinda busy here, Jemma.”
Only then Jemma looks at him directly, and Fitz holds her gaze valiantly, both of them too stubborn to be the first one to look away. Trip, in the middle both figuratively and literally, feels like his skin warms up just from the sheer energy of those looks.
“Not that I don’t appreciate a good stare-off, guys, but Fitz is warm and wonderful over my cock and Jemma looks delectable in that bra. So how about we settle our differences with a good old round of aggressive cuddling instead?“