Chapter Text
"You’re sure you’re okay?" Ward asked, stepping out of the cab from the airport, and taking Jemma’s bag from her with ease.
"Of course, why wouldn’t I be? I agreed to join up in order to be out in the field." Jemma answered, a thought screaming in her head that going undercover as Ward’s trophy girl during a weapons exchange with his contacts wasn’t at all what she had in mind.
"So your complete inability to lie isn’t going to be a problem?" He teased as they checked in, looking far too at ease knowing that they were being watched.
"I’ll do what I can to be a perfect partner, now will you please leave off!" Jemma grouched, scowling up at him as they got in the elevator.
"Corrigan Riley doesn’t just leave off, Simmons. Didn’t you read the report I gave you?"
"Yes, you made sure to note exactly how unlike you he is. I suppose I should thank you for that, as I can’t quite see myself in these clothes if I weren’t to play the part of his lover." Jemma blushed, the 30 page file on Corrigan Riley was everything she could have hoped for, though this being Ward, it was also meticulously detailed in ways she wouldn’t have considered.
"Maeve Teague isn’t exactly a lady, so I thought the clothes might help." Ward coughed, he’d been doing his best not to stare at the very exposed, beautifully smooth legs Maeve possessed. Any dreams he’d had about Jemma paled in the reality of how gorgeous she was.
"They will. Now can we please unpack so I can have a proper shower, and a very large drink?" Jemma asked, done fighting with the black canvas shorts Maeve favoured, and swiped the key card at the door.
"Oh…" One bed. Two agents, one bed.
"On second thought I’ll skip the drink." Jemma said, throwing her clothes into two of the drawers and immediately retreating into the bathroom to panic in private.
"Simmons, hey. It’s fine. The couch is a pull out. I’ll take it. You don’t snore do you?" Ward called through the door, his voice warm, and soothing in the way it was only for her.
"No I most certainly do not! What about you, 007? Any night time habits I should be aware of?" Jemma asked, feeling her composure return enough to crack open the door to look at her co-worker.
"I sleep naked. Kidding, kidding. Wow, you really are nervous. I promise, as soon as we’re in this room I will be on my best Agent Grant Ward behavior." Ward deadpanned, laughing as Jemma rolled her eyes at him and shut the door again.
"Good, because I doubt I need to remind you that this exchange involves an aerosolized biochemical compound not dissimilar to Hantavirus?" Jemma called, turning on the shower to a near scalding temperature and stepping in; checking at least three times to see that she had locked the door, even if it wouldn’t be any deterrent at all to her roommate.
Whatever Ward replied with was mercifully drowned out by the sound of the running water, and not for the first time Jemma wondered why she’d been so eager for more field work. Clean, and slightly more relaxed, Jemma wrapped herself in a towel and called out for Ward to either leave or keep his eyes closed as she collected a new outfit.
"Still Agent Grant Ward, perfect and consummate gentleman. I’ll be at the bar on the 6th floor as Corrigan. You’re welcome to join me, I want to run you through some interactions in an uncontrolled setting." he called, the sound of the door opening and closing again signaling his departure.
Sure enough, he was gone, and the pullout had been assembled, Ward’s necessities up to and including more firepower than they could possibly need all laid out and disassembled for cleaning. Jemma couldn’t help but notice that he’d moved into the other two drawers, and taken the liberty of hanging the dresses Maeve would need in the closet.
"I’m Agent Grant Ward, perfect gentlemen, perfect specimen, and complete bastard." Jemma muttered, pulling out underthings and one of the less expensive items from Maeve’s wardrobe. Unfortunately, less expensive didn’t mean more conservative and she had to wonder if he’d actually enjoyed doing the shopping for her, and if he’d had help.
A deep purple bandage dress with cutouts at the waist and sternum were the current order of the day, a pair of mercifully comfortable heels paired with it. Laboring over makeup, stopping to reassure herself, and finally dressing, Jemma looked at herself in the mirror.
"Maeve Teague and Jemma Simmons are one and the same once i’m outside that door. Right. You’re going to be saving lives, and in character or not, Ward will keep an eye out. Just breathe." Jemma said, inhaling slowly and exhaling, willing her nerves to steady. Grabbing a clutch, stuffing her phone, a small pack of single dose sedative syringes, and lipstick in, Jemma left. Ward had damn well better hurry this along smoothly so they could make the grab and leave, this dress was just not her.
Clearly the bar patrons didn’t agree, several sets of male eyes instantly working her over as she made her way to a very friendly, very in character Ward.
"Hello darling, I see you’ve started your fun without me." Jemma called, moving to slide onto a barstool next to him only to be smoothly pulled against his chest, lips brushing her ear, hands skimming down her back.
"Hardly, you’re here and now it’s fun." Corrigan said, slurring slightly and planting a light kiss on her bare shoulder.
"If it’s too much, Parachute is the safe word." Ward whispered, slipping out of character to reassure her. Jemma wondered briefly where he’d picked up such a crisp RP accent.
Jemma responded in a way she imagined Maeve would, willing herself not to blush as she stepped on the foot bar and used it to sit herself in Ward’s lap; hands twining around his neck, one foot running up and down his calfs.
"I can tell, love. I’m happy to see you too." Jemma trilled, aware that they now had most of the room’s attention, and clearly implying that any happiness Corrigan was experiencing was physically evident as well as verbally.
"Oh? How happy?"
"More than enough, be a good boy and i’ll show you later, I believe your friends have arrived." Jemma drawled, doing her best to make sex drip off of every syllable and feeling beyond ridiculous. Ward’s hands did tighten around her though, burning palm prints into her skin.
"Riley, glad you could join us on this most auspicious occasion. Who might your lady friend be, and is she available?" A terrifying figure called, all bespoke suit, charm, and steel as he took the seat Jemma had intended to occupy
"Duquesne, this is Maeve Teague. Marbury, Thompson, and Young, human resources division. I picked her up at the Savoy, liked her so much I thought i’d bring her along for a ride or two.” Corrigan said, hands sliding further down to park themselves on Jemma’s ass, a leer in his eyes. There it was, the least amusing aspect of this mission, Maeve was a 7 figure per weekend escort from a highly reputable, yet discreet service out of London
Jemma dug her heel into Ward’s ankle, but Maeve responded with a flirtatious giggle and nuzzled into her companion’s shoulder.
"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Teague. I hope to get to know you better over the course of your stay with Mr. Riley. Onto business, our friends in Odessa have come through on their end. The quarterly numbers are higher than expected, and all shipments will be ready by the deadline. I have a small sample of the product if you wish to verify it’s quality." The man Ward referred to as Duquesne said. Scum with a sharp eye for business, and a pathological desire to gain wealth through the suffering of others.
"I’ve no need to verify right at present, perhaps tomorrow over lunch, should you be amenable?" Corrigan bargained, hissing as Maeve shifted in his lap to make herself more comfortable.
"Of course, I have a 9:00 tee time that you’re welcome to join me on, i’m currently short a player. We can go into details then." Duquesne offered, a smile on his lean, almost gaunt face.
"Sounds wonderful, now, if you’ll excuse me. I promised my guest that we would take a walk around the resort before dinner." Corrigan said, finally removing a hand from Maeve’s hindquarters to guide her face up to his in a very rough kiss.
"Who am I to deny you the obvious pleasure of her company, have a good evening." Duquesne departed, four previously unnoticed patrons getting up and leaving with him.
Jemma moved to climb out of Ward’s increasingly comfortable lap but he held her fast, whispering for her to stay where she was. It took Jemma a moment to realize that there were still two men with eyes on them. Russian, builds similar to Ward’s own, and settled in such a way as to look relaxed while concealing what were probably heavily modified Beretta 92fs.
"You, gorgeous are going to stay right here while the bartender gets us drinks." Corrigan drawled, signaling a member of the bar staff to pull a bottle of whiskey down from the top shelf.
"So, we aren’t going for a walk? You promised." Maeve whined, sliding her glass closer to the edge of the bar top.
"I did, but I think once we’re done here, my new plans for the evening won’t involve you doing a whole lot of walking. Sound good?" He ended the sentence by wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing his lips to hers again.
The kiss was gentler this time, warm, tasting of whiskey, and sending a flood of warmth down Jemma’s spine. She could forgive the dress, and the shoes, just for this. She knew if they looked at each other, she'd see the twin of her own affection for him, love, fondness, and a violent, repressed, but urgent need. Here, they could give in a little, let themselves have moments they couldn't bring themselves to share in their normal lives just yet.
"Mhm…" Maeve agreed, pulling back slightly to down her drink in one go, then leaning back in to graze her teeth along her lover’s lower lip, hips rocking gently as she moved.
A part of Jemma’s brain that sounded a lot like Skye was currently telling her that she would never hear the end of it if she had her way with Ward, strangely though, Jemma really didn’t care. She cared even less when she felt a rather distinct, and very non-gun barrel resembling protrusion pressing into her thigh through her dress, and the apparently thin fabric of her partner’s slacks. The part of her brain that was an oh so deprived Jemma very much approved, not at all unsatisfied with what she'd found. Maeve was giving Jemma all the excuses she'd need to get a little relief, and from what she could tell Corrigan was all the break Ward needed to allow him to be close to her. If they were to play at being lovers, they’d best be convincing, and it was a natural reaction so any embarrassment from either of them could theoretically be brushed aside.
Of course though, that was the opposite of how things went, someone she couldn’t call Corrigan, but didn’t feel like her Ward slapped a few bills on the counter, picked up the bottle, and carried her out of the bar into the hallway.
"Anyone on my six?" Ward growled, pressing a now very confused Jemma firmly into a less than discreet corner of the hallway and nipping at her clavicle, whiskey still clutched in his unoccupied hand.
"Yes, the fellow with the rather atrocious tie. About 6’3, 20 stone, pronounced limp in his left leg." Jemma breathed, a hand curving up into Ward’s hair, and raking through it. Pulling a little and shivering as he growled in response, grinding up against her and leaving patches of red, love bitten skin all down her neck.
He was entirely too good at knowing what she wanted for her to give him anymore information than that, she almost wished this wasn’t the first time they’d gotten this close. She would have loved for it to have been in the lab, if only for the nostalgia value. Instinctively, Jemma felt her legs wrapping firmly around him, her dress riding up on her thighs, the cause for their sudden departure still evident but not at all unpleasant against her.
"I have sedative rounds, but i’d rather not use them just yet. You good with playing rough?" Ward rasped, hissing as his knuckles scraped against the wall.
Jemma took the bottle from him, took a sip, and nodded.
"Let me down if you’re able, and hopefully he’ll be put off." Ward didn’t so much drop her as he did let her down agonizingly slowly, leaving her feeling cold, and disheveled. Still sandwiched between a seriously compromised Grant Ward, and a wall that probably had scuff marks on it, Jemma improvised.
She tore Ward’s shirt open, surprised to note that he was wearing an undershirt, and not surprised to note healing bruises. She kissed every inch of skin within reach, heels off now and in Ward’s hands. He’d turned them so he could scan the hallway, a moan from low in his throat indicating exactly how good at her job Jemma was.
"Sorry, she just couldn’t wait." Corrigan shrugged, flashing a lascivious grin at the hit man, pulling Maeve’s face up to his and kissing her hungrily.
"So I can see." Their tail murmured, disgust evident in his voice. They somehow managed to make their way to the elevator, shoes, whiskey, and accoutrements all present. Finally, Ward released her, handing her back her shoes, and taking the bottle for himself.
"I am so sorry." He said, hair mussed, eyes overbright, and cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Nonsense, it’s a byproduct of adrenal gland stimulation. Nothing to be ashamed of at all. Besides, it helped get our friend out of the picture." Jemma mumbled, very much in need of a very cold shower, or a lot of alone time.
"I know, but still. I can be a little too aggressive. If you want, I can take another room." He said, still shame faced but looking as though he’d calmed down.
"It’s fine, and Maeve definitely wasn’t complaining. She likes aggressive." Jemma said, forcing lightness back into her voice as the elevator doors opened. She took his hand again, and dragged him back to their door, pulling him down by his open shirt for a vicious, and deeply satisfying kiss.
Stumbling inside, they broke apart again. Ward bolting to the bathroom, the sound of running water almost immediately following the sound of the closing door.
Jemma, confused, horrified, and well and truly aroused changed, threw her hair up in a bun, and curled up on her bed waiting for the ache in her stomach to subside. They still had to get through dinner without being made, killed, tortured, or poisoned.
"I’m coming out." Ward said, voice muffled through the doorway. Jemma swore quietly, recalling that he didn’t bring clothing in with him, and would thus be coming out in a towel. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen before, and spent time thinking about, but it was very different when she had a better idea of why she would loathe said towel. She closed her eyes, and slapped a hand over them, knowing it wasn’t necessary but feeling slightly better for it.
"You’re fine, i’m staying on my side of the room, you can open your eyes." Ward insisted, gathering appropriate dinner attire and slipping back into the bathroom to dress.,/p>
"I forgot to tell you, that dress looks stunning. Really just incredible, the shoes too, and I was worried about those." Ward said, coming back out dressed, and smiling, hair still damp. He looked younger than he would normally, she attributed it to him not being in a traditional work environment, or with perfectly combed hair.
"Yes, about the shoes. Why these? I thought i’d turn an ankle." Jemma complained, in reality being perfectly happy with them but feeling rather sore about how not herself she needed to be.
"I probably should have asked, but I didn’t want you to worry any more than you already were." He said, walking back over to his bed and stretching out on it.
He’d put on aftershave, and it wasn’t the kind he normally used, the smell subtly wafting over as he breezed by. She liked it, but wasn’t so sure that telling him would be a good idea. She liked him, but there was a bar full of people who could attest to that fact for her.
"So how much detail do you normally put into your reports for undercover missions?" Jemma asked tentatively, curling her knees closer to her chest.
"Meaning are we going to have to disclose the fact that we came dangerously close to breaking frat regs in a world class Monaco hotel bar?" Ward said, sounding amused and looking far too fondly over at her than Jemma normally would have liked.
"Yes, not that frat regs really apply to our band of misfits. Not that I’d break them, or consider it…" Jemma trailed off, eyeing the scratches she’d left on his chest, and the slight swelling of his lower lip.
She would very much like to, here, now, all over any surface they could find. Then again on the Bus, at the Playground, possibly even on the flight back stateside. It was rather freeing to have an excuse to be able to act on her very neglected attraction to him. Recalling how hard he’d been as she wiggled in his lap only served to fuel her desire to melt away in a puddle of misery and sexual frustration.
"Of course not. We can order in, go eat downstairs, or pick a restaurant by the water. Corrigan Riley has an embarrassing amount of influence over the nightlife here."
“Does he? In that case, there was a rather charming café I found while looking up possible escape routes.” Jemma replied, sincerely hoping they would at least be able to eat before running off.
“Café de Paris, I’ve been there. Reasonably secure, the establishment regularly sweeps for bugs. We should be okay there. Also, excellent wine list. Before we go, , I think it’s probably okay to call me Grant. I did majorly infringe upon your decency in pretty much every way, that definitely entitles you to shaming me by my first name.” Grant joked, standing up, and offering a hand to Jemma to help her off the bed. Eyes darkening as he stood over her, Jemma hoping in no small way that he’d just break, and climb on top of her.
“Well, Grant, as you did just completely blow away any expectations I may have had of myself doing undercover work, you’re free to call me Jemma. Also, I’m really not that decent…” she teased, slipping back into character for a moment to trail a finger down his bicep.
“Noted, I’d like to eat before we get shot at. Pretty sure we’ll have at least one tail. You good with getting back into Maeve’s shoes?”
“Yes, I think I am. It’s getting out of them I’m not sure about.”