I saw T.R.A.C.K.S. and this popped into my head. I am as baffled as you are.

Enjoy...I guess?

It was hard and unexpected the first time.

Clothes shoved open, shallow breathing and bodies quickly joining together and hands gripping with equal parts pain and pleasure. Lips between teeth and eyes squeezed shut and silent vows that this would not happen again. It couldn't happen again.

But even as the sweat cooled and the garments are rearranged he knows she'll return and they'll be in the same positions with the same broken promises being spoken as they chase the same highs. Because they've seen a way to cope with the losses, the only way.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, it wasn't supposed be a near rape of the man she loved. It should have been an expression of desire and adoration from the woman he loved.

It was meant to be slow and tender and all the soft mushy things that meant love.

He was supposed to whisper sweet nothings, not tell her that it was okay and that it wasn't her fault.

She'd come back from the dead but she'd come back damaged. She'd come back broken and there had been so many pieces missing that it all but guaranteed that he'd be unable to put her back together.

She made advances on Leo and Ward but both had resisted, both had fought her and told her that sex would not sustain her.

Coulson had given what he'd thought she'd needed, what he'd arrogantly assumed only he could give.

He'd given her his mutually scarred body hoping that would quench the terrible ache that developed after each and every mission.

It had been a series of simple kisses that exploded into a violent frenzy of pulling and yanking off his jacket and tie. Sets of caresses that her raising her skirts or dragging down her pants and pulling him onto her uncaring of the scattering of papers on his desk.

He'd fallen prey to her enchanting darkness and he was unable to escape it now.

She was being consumed by it and knowing that his light was disappearing into her made her reckless and bold. Made her want every little bit of his soul regardless of what it did to him and he'd been too happy to oblige.

May had tried to stop it, had tried to make Skye see reason but it had been Coulson who told her to back off. He was too caught up in it, in them to get out.

He was helpless to stop her needs, unwilling to let her suffer alone.

He endures the scratches and bites and scathing words she flings at him in her rage. The kisses filled with salty tears and the apologies for his ruined clothes and the hurt feelings that come after.

He softens her animalistic cravings as much as he can but she begs for more the nicer he becomes.

He's too deeply invested in her and she eating him up from the inside but he doesn't care.

She strips him to the bone, breaks through the sardonic smiles. She clutches the heart that beats an unsteady rhythm every time she gets that gleam in her eyes that ends with her draped on his lap and full of him until she leaves on unsteady legs.

He had nothing but this job before and he'd been content. That was not the case now. He needs her more than breathing, needs her to get past this, needs her with him not against him.

He's trying to save her without destroying himself and in those brief moments when her face shines with peace and their voices blend, Phillip Coulson feels like her hero, her avenger.

He's dying and coming back from the dead every time she reaches for him but he'll keep doing it. He'll take the abuse; let her dictate when and where and how as long as she holds onto him.

He will sacrifice it all if it means he can regain the old Skye, the one that gave him hope when his was lost. The one he never confessed to but always loved.

It was an imperfect solution but it was the only one he had.