“Fitz, how would you describe Ward’s abs?” Jemma asked over lunch.
“Wha— um… what?”
“His abs, Fitz. I need a creative way to describe his abdominal muscles,” Jemma repeated, her eyes trained on her computer.
“I just— why would you ask me? It’s not like I stare at Ward’s abs that often. Ever. I never. Uh.”
Simmons rolled her eyes again. “Washboard is just too, I don’t know, cliché. Godly, maybe? Lickable? Oh, that one might work,” she smiled.
Fitz barely stuttered a “why” in response.
“Revenge. Two can play this game, my dear Watson. She is going to rue the day she started this little scheme,” Simmons said, turning her attention back to her laptop. “What do you think of the line: ‘She trailed her hand across his lickable abs, lower and lower, imagining other areas she could touch… and taste’?”
Fitz spluttered his tea all over the table. Simmons took that as a good sign and continued writing.