Phil Coulson (![]() ![]() @ 2014-11-21 15:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | !type: log, character: melinda may, character: phil coulson |
This isn't my first rodeo
WHO: Melinda & Coulson
WHAT: A Director and his Second meet for a strategy planning meeting. And a bit of distraction.
WHEN: Thurs, Nov 20
WHERE: Coulson's quarters, Avengers Tower
RATING: PG-13/R but it fades to black
STATUS: Completed Scene
Nine o’clock, May deemed, was a suitable amount of time to wait after dinner. Another aspect she to which she had to adjust. On a plane, no matter how spacious, they inevitably lived on top of each other. Meetings barely needed to be set because they simply happened as the by-product of nearly running into each other at all hours of the day.
This time, Phil’s door was unlocked, and out of habit, she glanced to the hallway behind her before slipping soundlessly in. There was, thankfully, no sight of more wall carvings to greet her, no Phil caught up in the oppressive compulsion to etch them. At least not yet.
“I brought the camera. You should remove your tie this time. It’d be more comfortable.”
The tie was loosened but still on as Phil raised an eyebrow. "It's not that kind of visit," Phil explained - at least, he hoped not. He wanted at least one night this week that he didn't spend carving into the wall. "We might have to work on your seduction skills. I think Fury might have more game than you right now."
He leaned against the antique wooden desk - big enough to sacrifice an elephant on, he'd joked - and sighed. "Tomorrow will be fine. Public place, she won't try anything."
"You don't know that."
There were very few times in her life when she could be taken so off-guard, but Phil could claim a majority of them. She set down the camera on the desk beside him, took a fraction of a moment to compose herself, before glancing up at him. "I was going to write your journal declarations off as a by-product of spending too much time with Stark, but if that's what you were going for, then you have even worse game than me."
Phil laughed, but it wasn't quite genuine. "Well, Tony does sort of grow on you. Like a barnacle," he admitted with a shrug. He'd always been straight with Melinda, as much as he could, from their days as partners to now. She didn't need to be coddled, especially not from him.
He ran a hand over his hair. "We never know anything. Missions can always go wrong, but we need answers, May. That takes precedence."
"I still think there are better ways than through Raina." Because still the thought of the girl in the flower dress made her wish she had simply let Coulson take her down that day. She took a moment to assess his condition, as if she could peer into his mind and pinpoint when, just when, it would start. “Ones that don’t require payment somewhere down the line.”
"When you propose one, I'll consider it." He picked up a knickknack, turning over the antique model airplane in his hands. "Option A - she tells me everything she knows, and I let her go. Option B - she tries to double cross me, I bring her in and we get the information another way. Simple."
“Simple,” she repeated with a healthy dose of skepticism.
"Simpler than this," Phil said, putting down the model airplane and crossing the room, putting his hand low on her back.
It felt familiar to curl into him, the way her body easily felt into all the lines and grooves of his, her hands automatically coming up to splay across his chest and shoulder. Her gazed turned up to him, half-questioning, half-wary. "Phil."
There was a fraction of a hesitation when her hand rested on his chest, over the scar hidden beneath the button up shirt. "It's your call. No questions asked. No strings either way. But I know something you need something besides meditation."
Was it fear? She didn’t know, only that each passing day seemed to march inexorably to one conclusion, and May didn’t believe in miracles. Her answer was to slide her hand along the back of his neck, bend him towards her to slot his lips against hers.
There was a sigh of relief in Coulson as his lips met hers, a relaxing of the tension in his body as he pulled her close, running a hand through her hair. Even after all these years, her body was still familiar and right now, May was the only one Coulson could trust, fully trust, with his secrets and what they caused him. Oh, he was honest with medical and everyone else, but with May, he didn't have to be the director.
"Did you lock the door?" he asked, breaking the kiss eventually.
She arched a brow -- "This isn't my first rodeo." -- as her hands moved to his tie, stripping it from his neck.
The last time, years ago now, it had been desperate and frantic. She had been nothing but shattered pieces and Phil knew better than to try and piece them back together. He had simply held them close and given her a secure place in which to be broken. She could, would, do the same.
"No, but last time there was no office," he said. Things had been so different. Or had they? Melinda had been about to break, and Phil had sworn he wouldn't let that happen. He'd thought he'd failed when she disappeared. But now, he was the one afraid of disappearing. Or worse. He needed May to keep him grounded, to have hope when all he could manage was pessimistic realism. His hand tugged at the hem of May's shirt. "Are you okay with this?"
Her only response was to give him an unimpressed look before she grabbed the fabric out of his hands and pulled off her own shirt, dropping it on the floor. The lines of her body were forged through years of equally brutal training and experience -- despite her slight frame and stature, there wasn't a fragile thing to her, not anymore, equal parts muscle, bone, and battle scars. "I guess there's a good reason for this ridiculous desk after all."
"It's not ridiculous," Phil said, his mouth finding Melinda's neck, while his hands skimmed over her torso, tracing the scars, recalling the missions she'd been sent on. "It's sturdy." He kissed her again before pulling back to undo the buttons on his shirt.
"Good," she said, reaching out to grip his belt buckle and deftly unnotching it, eyes ever drawn to the scar down his chest when it was revealed -- a sobering reminder of what had started it all. She thought to herself, I will fix this, and leaned down to press a kiss against the thick tissue.
Phil froze at that, licking his lips and looking down at her. Maybe this was a bad idea. He didn't need to compromise her or make her more vulnerable. He needed her to be able to make the call. He studied her, his eyes betraying nothing. But he wasn't sure if he'd convince Melinda. "Maybe this is a mistake…"
For a fraction of a second, the vulnerability flashed across her eyes before they darkened, mouth forming a line of firm resolve.
"Shut up."
She pressed him back onto the desk, a steady but unstoppable force.
He opened his mouth to say something more but then shut it again, sitting down on the edge out the desk and pulling Melinda close by the waistband, kissing her instead of saying something that would earn him one of those looks from May.
"I owe you one," he said, kissing her again.
"Seriously, stop talking," she breathed between kisses, first pushing his shirt from his shoulders and then moving to divest the rest of their clothing in almost brutally efficient precision. With a gracefulness that spoke to her physical training, she curled a leg up around his waist and swung herself up onto the desk, pulling him towards her, skin pressed against skin.
For a moment, she savored rush of sensation, the way the insides of her thighs skirted over his hips, the hardness of him against her as she held his gaze as if in challenge. "And put your mouth to better use."
"Yes, ma'am," Phil smirked, giving her his cheekiest grin as he pulled her hips against his. His hands slid up her sides and then to her back, undoing her bra with one hand and then sliding it off, letting it drop to the floor. Ducking his head down, he moved his mouth down to her breasts, taking one into his mouth. Tonight, he was content to let her take charge.