thelockpickingvictorian asked:

How about Ballroom dancing as a FitzSimmons prompt? Which they are surprisingly good at? Like a foxtrot or just your traditional Waltz? xx


Thanks so much for the prompt!!


"What do you mean you can’t dance?"

Jemma sat down in one of the conference room chairs, watching with some degree of amusement, as Agent Triplett shrunk before Skye.

"I just-"

"That’s impossible! You’re the most suave guy I know. Suave guys dance!"

Antoine sat down and ran a hand over his face, revealing a pained smile and reddened cheeks.

"I’m sure I’m not the only one in this team who can’t dance."

Skye scoffed, “I can dance, buddy, *I’ve* got moves. But now I don’t have a dance partner for the only invitation I’ll probably ever get to one of Tony Stark’s famous galas.”

The last word came out a cry. Fitz let out a snort.

"You can dance with Coulson." Antoine said looking around Skye and appealing to their more-or-less-unperturbed-looking leader.

Coulson straightened up, a smile in his voice, “I won’t have time to dance. I’m going to be busy talking to some old friends. And this time it won’t be with a hole in my chest.”

Skye groaned, “Fabulous. Now I have nobody to fall back on during the gala, and Coulson’s going to be out there hogging the Avengers to himself.”

Fitz cleared his throat in a rather hurt way.

"You can always dance with me you know. Simmons won’t mind, she hates high heels anyways, she’ll be grateful for the break."

Skye blinked, her mouth curving into a confused smile.

"You and Simmons can’t dance."

Jemma frowned, her eyebrows coming together in indignation, “We can too!”

Fitz scoffed, “When have you *ever* seen one of us dance?

Skye gave a little apologetic grin, “You two can’t dance. You all are- no offense- some of the most uncoordinated people I know outside of the lab. Fitz, you trip over your own shoes on your way to the bathroom-” “HEY!” “-and Simmons that one time you offered to get the flour from the highest rack in the stock closet, you broke your leg.”

Simmons got to her feet.

"Nobody told me the sack of flour weighed over six kilos!"

"Coulson had to carry you to the infirmary! You passed out after seeing the weird angle of your leg!"

Simmons spluttered, “As if you’re the epitome of hand-eye coordination!”

"I am!"

"I highly doubt that."

Fitz’s fingers ghosted her back, and when she looked around she saw Agent May hiding a smile behind her hand, and Coulson looked like he was fighting hard to keep a straight face. Trip grinned openly.

She blushed.

Fitz waved at the rest of the team, “You all believe us, right?”

There was a series of awkward shiftings and uncomfortable half-confirmations that said all the words they needed to hear.

"Fine," Jemma said, standing up and linking arms with Fitz, "We’ll prove it."


Fitz tugged somewhat nervously on his left suspender, rehashing the dance steps again and again in his head as Tony Stark himself clambered up to the microphone and began speaking.

"Now," he boomed, "For a dance requested by Agent Leo Fitz and his drop dead gorgeous- call me-genius of a lab partner Agent Jemma Simmons- Ladies and gentleman: the foxtrot!"

Jemma’s fingers laced through his. She shot him a jittery but reassuring smile.

His heart fluttered as her thumb rubbed up and down his.

They touched so often in the lab, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose, but rarely in front of so many others, and never in the way he knew a small part of him still desired.

As they walked onto the floor he thought of how they’d never talked about it.

It. How he felt. What he’d said in the pod.

It was one of those subjects he didn’t think they’d ever be able to explore. The outcome would probably be too painful for both of them.

He took a deep breath and let go of her hand.

They stood a few feet apart from each other, their postures relaxed.

Jemma smiled at him again, and in that moment she was so beautiful. More than beautiful. She was a supernova, a flash of colored lightning, the sun.

The music began, and then they were dancing.


"I can’t believe they’re doing this," Skye said, hanging loosely onto Trip’s arm from the edge of the dance floor.

She watched the two lab geniuses walk confidently onto the floor, and heard the band start an old jazzy number with a steady, quick beat.

Their bodies came together in one step, Fitz pulling Simmons in so close that their stomachs brushed.

They started with two long, languid steps, Fitz moving forward; Simmons, back. One-two quick steps back. Sway-to. Sway-fro. A breathless turn. A dip.

Skye watched mesmerized as they floated over the dance floor, their bodies moving together in such an intimate, synchronized way that she almost felt the need to look away.

The way they were dancing, it looked as though Simmons weighed nothing, and that somehow Fitz was her tether to the ground.

The music crescendoed, Simmons spun away, and with one quick, fluid movement, Fitz pulled her in, holding her close. They remained together, cheek against cheek, torso against torso, leg against leg, until applause broke out and slowly, they pulled apart.

She saw Fitz’s lips move, his fingers now tracing small patterns on her bare back.

Simmons beamed at him, and from where Skye was standing, she saw her lean in and press a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"They’ve sure got moves."

Trip’s voice at her ear made her jump. Her nails dug into his dress shirt.

"Watch those claws, girl."

"Zip it, Triplett," she said.

He laughed, “It looks like they proved all of us wrong.”

Skye tensed, and a second later relaxed, leaning into him and letting a smile take over her face, “I’m kinda glad they did. Now it’s just a matter of getting Fitz to show you some of his moves.”

"One miracle at a time, Skye."

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