Fandom: Thor (2011), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: R to NC-17
Pairings: Darcy/Clint, Loki/Sif, Natasha/Coulson
Summary: Darcy should have seen it coming. She couldn't hang around the spandex crowd forever and not end up with a great big target painted on her back eventually. She was just surprised it took Loki so long.
Disclaimer: The Avengers and all related elements, characters and indicia © Marvel Studios 2012. All Rights Reserved. All characters and situations—save those created by the authors for use solely on this website—are copyright Marvel Studios 2012.
Please do not archive or distribute without author's permission.
Author's Note: This story is all Lunik's fault. HUGE thanks to my flatmate/betas/cheerleaders/people who couldn't get out of the way fast enough when I started emailing them drafts: Boosette, Celli, Victoria P, Seren, Fringedweller, Aj, the aforementioned Lunik, and everyone on El Jay who cheered me on during the nearly 4 months when this story ATE MY LIFE.
AO3 | LJ
"Wow," Darcy said, her breath fogging up the glass doors.
"Look at the suits," Clint said, fingers pressed up against the keypad.
"Screw that—look at the cars."
Clint tore his eyes away from the Iron Man suits to share at her, eyes comically wide.
"I took shop in high school. Like I was gonna take Home Ec," she pointed out, rolling her eyes.
"You have no idea how much I want to have sex with you right now."
Darcy tapped the glass with a fingernail. "C'mon Jarvis, can't we just—"
"I'm sorry, Miss Lewis, but I have strict instructions not to allow Mr Barton into Mr Stark's workshop. Specifically anywhere near the 1932 Ford roadster. Or the Audi R8 Spyder. Or the Mark III, Mark IV, or Mark V exosuits. In fact, Mr Stark has expressed a firm desire that you stay completely in the designated living areas. Preferably while wearing protective clothing."
"But we won't touch anything—"
"Mr Stark's maintenance 'droids are outfitted with UV lights and I have been instructed to scan the area hourly."
"Wow, thanks for the trust there, buddy," Clint muttered.
"Were it up to me, Mr Barton, I would allow you both to copulate in the passenger section of whatever vehicle you wish."
"Just to piss Tony off?"
"Something like that, Miss Lewis."
"Aw, that's okay, Jarvis. We don't want to get you in trouble with the big man."
"But, Darce, look at the—"
"But that's a prototype—"
"He built a cyclotron in his basement? Seriously?"
"Clint? Me and my boobies are going upstairs, to get out of this dress. What happens next is totally up to you."
"Oh my God, is that a—Wait, boobies? What?"
Darcy giggled and followed the curve of the wall up the stairs to the second floor. The sound of Clint's footsteps gained on her until his arms slid around her waist at the top of the landing. She leaned back against his chest, sighing as his lips roamed her neck.
"Hi," he said, mouth next to her ear before nibbling on the lobe.
"Hi," she responded, pressing her hips back against his. It would have been easier to get the angle she'd wanted if she'd still been wearing the dangerous shoes, but he didn't seem to be complaining.
His hands gripped her hips, roaming over the slick satin. Darcy moaned as he followed the curve of her stomach down, fingertips pressing against her through the layers of fabric. Darcy made a needy sound in the back of her throat, and turned in his arms to drag his mouth down to hers.
Clint walked them backward, on slightly unsteady feet, to the first open doorway they could find.
"Jarvis, is this—" Darcy managed between desperate kisses.
"—one of the guest rooms, Miss Lewis."
"Awesome. If Tony doesn't want me to rock your world in the hot rod, I'm pretty sure he'd like us in his bed even less."
"Plus I don't want to think about what we might catch from his sheets."
"I beg your pardon," Jarvis said, sounding affronted.
"He didn't mean it, Jarvis. I know you regularly change the sheets and I'm sure Pepper made Tony get all his shots."
"Thank you for that vote of confidence, Miss Lewis."
"Okay, this is like trying to have sex on the Enterprise if the Enterprise computer sounded like Alfred Pennyworth," Clint muttered into Darcy's cleavage, and pulled back to speak to the ceiling. "Jarvis, is there a privacy mode in this house?"
"Indeed there is. Excellent choice, Mr Barton. Good-night Miss Lewis, Mr Barton."
"Night, Jarvis!" Darcy said cheerfully as the door fell shut behind them.
Even the spare rooms in Tony's house put a five star hotel to shame. The room was lit by a half-circle of indirect lights set into the high ceiling, and a single lamp that arced gracefully over two black leather chairs. They were the kind of chairs that looked like they should have been fifty bucks at IKEA but actually cost thousands of dollars. Pure Stark, Darcy thought with a smile.
Similar to the ground floor, there was a wall of windows, with the lights of Malibu twinkling in the distance. And across from the crazy-huge bed was a solid mahogany dresser with a built-in head's up display. Two orchids sat in a simple black glass vase.
The bed was enormous, and sat on a simple mahogany base which curved up toward the high ceiling in the middle of a smooth white marble floor that was actually warm beneath Darcy's bare feet as they stumbled toward the bed. Clint's mouth on hers made Darcy light-headed as he teased and nibbled, tongue flicking out to stroke hers until she had to tear herself away to breathe.
Clint's pupils were totally blown, ringed by only a halo of grey-green as she pushed him down on the California King mattress, tugging her skirt up around her waist so she could straddle him. He skimmed his hands up the dress, thumbs tracing the shape of her collarbones while the rough pads of his fingers skimmed the swells of her breasts. Darcy reached behind and started inching the zipper down. One strap slipped off her shoulder just as Clint dropped his hands to her thighs and moved upwards, gathering the slick dark blue satin as he went.
"Jesus, are those—garters?" He blinked for a second, and Darcy was worried he was going to laugh. But instead he tugged the dress over her head and rolled her over onto her back, scattering pillows to the floor. The sudden and dramatic tilt of his pelvis against hers drew a long anguished moan from her lips.
The dress hit the floor, and Darcy had started on the buttons of his shirt before he caught her wrists and pinned her hands above her head.
"Slow down, slow down. Jesus, I want to just look at you for a second. Oh my God."
Darcy swallowed, feeling the heat rush into her cheeks.
"Natasha called it a torsolette," she said as he traced the scalloped edge of the sexy black corset, one nipple already half out of the cup from their wrestling.
"I don't know what that means, but I call it a turn-on." He dropped his head to her waiting breast, and Darcy arched her back with a low muttered "Fuuuuuck," as he sucked hard at the peaked nipple, her hands scrambling to clench around the bedcovers.
"I intend to," he said, swirling his tongue around her nipple before starting on the hooks so he could free her other breast. Darcy wiggled against him, practically riding his thigh as she whimpered at the delicious friction.
When he finally got the corset undone (and oh hey, it was really awesome to be able to breathe again), Darcy lifted her hips so he could pull it out from beneath her.
Clint ran his finger over the symbol etched in dark blue ink over the inside of her hip. It was a circle with spidery lines at the top and bottom that tangled together in the centre.
"I'd always figured you were the butterfly-on-the-ankle type. Or maybe a tramp stamp."
Darcy smacked his thigh, and he rubbed it, pretending it hurt.
"What is it?"
"Okay... don't laugh," Darcy said, murder in her eyes. "It's a stylised tree of life."
"Any particular reason?"
"I saw it on the wall at the tattoo parlour, and just... liked it. I was sixteen." She shrugged, fighting down a blush, which was slightly ridiculous considering they were half naked and he was about to have his wicked way with her—or maybe she was about to have her wicked way with him. Either way worked for her, really. But she felt suddenly self-conscious about the relic of her teen years in a way she hadn't before.
"Cool," Clint said. Then her breath escaped in a laugh as Clint pulled her up into his lap with one arm clamped around her waist, his other hand tangling in her hair.
He cupped the back of her head and kissed her again, sucking on her tongue in a way that made her shiver all the way down to her silk-clad toes. She could feel his skin against hers, and kept working on the buttons of his shirt until she could push it off his shoulders. He broke away from her mouth just long enough for her to lick the salt from his neck, and bite the spot where his neck met his shoulder. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but the way he ground up into her made her bite down again, relishing the way his breathing caught and his hand traced the curve of her spine before he grabbed her ass.
She cried out at the loss of contact as he scrambled backwards across the freaking continent of a bed, his hands on her calves pulled her with him until she was on her back in the middle of the bed, hair streaming out behind her in a tangled mess.
"Jesus, you are such a—" The word tease didn't even get past her lips as he ran his hands up her stocking-clad legs, fingers toying with the clasps of the garters. Just the slightest brush of his thumbs against the skin of her upper thighs made her twitch, and she was suddenly intimately aware of the effect he was having on her as he cupped his hand over the soaked crotch of her panties.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asked, his voice strained and almost a growl as he started to rub tight circles over her clit through the scrap of lace. Darcy bit back a yell, feeling the muscles of her abdomen tighten in anticipation as he nudged her legs further apart, fingers slipping inside the silky edge of the panties to dip into her teasingly.
"Apparently I turn you into a big hot horny mess. Oh wait, that's what you do to me," she panted, her foot sliding up until her knee was level with his shoulder. She arched her back as he pushed one finger into her slowly, and then out again, setting up a rhythm that soon had her incapable of stringing words together into simple sentences as she gripped his sides with her calves.
A second finger joined the first, and Darcy knew she was babbling incoherently, in various combinations of "Clint", "fuck", "Oh God", "Oh sweet Jesus", and "More."
Then the fucker stopped just as she was on the edge, producing a knife from God knows where, and pulled the waistband away from her skin. She felt the cold touch of the flat of the blade for two seconds before he tossed the remains of her sexy new panties over his shoulder.
Darcy propped herself up on her forearms and glared at him. "Fuck you, Barton, those are brand new! They were part of the set! Also, who the hell brings knives to bed?"
"Sorry," he said, right before he got his arms up under her knees, settled her legs over his shoulders, and proceeded to eat her out until she nearly passed out.
Most guys she'd been with were only really interested in oral sex as the briefest of warm-ups to the main event. Clearly, Clint Barton was a cut above any guy she'd done the horizontal tango with before. Just as he kissed with intent, focussed on his goal and doing every damn thing he knew how to achieve it, the man applied the same principles to cunnilingus with amazingly effective results.
As close as she'd been just moments before, he took his time winding her up again until she squirmed against him. Sweat pooled between her breasts and the small of her back as a steady stream of moans, cries, invectives and obscenities pushed their way passed her lips as his tongue darted in and out of her folds, his nose teasing her clit. She ran her fingers through his spiky hair, and raised her hips until he had just the right angle, but no matter how hard she begged, he kept on licking and teasing, lapping at her as slow as he pleased. Seconds before she threatened to tase him when they got back to the New York, he changed his approach and sucked on her clit, flicking it with the tip of his tongue until she came so hard she damn near forgot her own name.
She was still clenching and shivering as he hummed happily against her before he blew a warm stream of air against her over-sensitised clit that had her digging her heels into his back and gasping.
"Apology accepted," she mumbled as the last of the aftershocks rolled through her, and he mouthed wet kisses up over her belly and between her breasts until he reached her mouth.
He wiped his wet lips on the back of his hand before kissing her, but she grabbed his fingers, and took two of them into her mouth, sucking on them hard, while waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
"Later. Otherwise, this is going to be way too quick—and I have plans for you right now." He trailed one hand down the side of her neck, between her breasts, splaying fingers across her hip and gently massaging it as his other hand worked open the fly of his slacks. She felt him straining against the black cotton briefs, hot and needy against her thigh. "Plans that involve this bed, you, and seeing every single way I can make you scream before the sun comes up."
"I support this plan," she said, laughing a little shakily, and moved to unfasten the garter belt, but he pulled her hands away.
"Seriously?" Darcy asked, and Clint's response was decidedly non-verbal and made Darcy suck in a breath that she let out in a low-pitched moan.
"Okay, Cowboy," she said when she had her breath back. "Fetish noted."
Clint laughed, and cupped her jaw in his hand, kissing her deeply while she threw one leg over his.
"So you don't think we're going too fast?" he panted as he broke the kiss.
"Oh my God, will you shut up and take off your damned pants?"
Clint laughed again into her hair. "Pushy."
"You love it."
Clint got up and in one motion stripped off his briefs, trousers, socks and shoes.
Darcy curled on her side, and whistled lowly. She knew Clint was cut, but dayum. He wasn't crazy beefy like Thor or Steve, but that hardly stopped her from wanting to lick his six-pack. His shoulders were broad, his pecs were stunning, narrowing to a tapered waist, hipbones in sharp relief, and she itched to trace them with her tongue. A line of sparse dark hair starting at his navel drew her eye to his cock, jutting out from a nest of dark curling hair.
In short, her boyfriend was super hot, and Darcy couldn't stop smiling.
"I like." She made grabby-hands. He started rifling through the pockets of his slacks before coming up with a handful of foil packets.
She started giggling as she counted out the condoms, raising a single brow at the number. "How much sex are we planning to have?"
"All of it," Clint said with a completely straight face. "We're going to have all the sex."
"Wow. Somebody's optimistic about his refractory period."
"Yeah—and somebody's about to find out exactly why," he shot right back as he sprawled next to her, pulling her against him with one arm. She used the momentum to roll him onto his back in the centre of the bed. She made a big show of tearing open the condom wrapper with her teeth, and then batted his hands away when he tried to take it from her.
"No way—this is my favourite part."
Clint raised an eyebrow, and she flushed crimson.
"One of my favourite—would you just shut up and enjoy the foreplay?"
"Yes, ma'am. Shutting up, ma'am."
She rolled the condom down his length, and then with an absolutely filthy smile, swirled her tongue around the head of his cock. His hips rose off the bed, and he threw his head back against the pillows.
"What?" she asked innocently as she climbed back up his body and straddled him. "Oh, yeah—later."
Clint smiled a sexy shit-eating grin as she ran her hands over his shoulders, fingers tracing the planes of muscle. She scooted backward until his cock was nestled in the curve of her ass, and lowered her mouth to his. Her hair fell over her shoulders, brushing his chest. They kissed lazily and sloppily, her tongue sliding against his as she rocked her hips against him until he wrapped both arms around her, stilling her with a growl.
"Tease," he said against her mouth, and she pinched one flat brown nipple.
"It's only teasing of I don't plan on following through," Darcy pointed out, dropping a kiss on his sternum as she traced every curve and plane of muscle on his chest with greedy fingers. "You're gonna be walking funny for a week, I'm so following through."
"Big talk, little—"
Darcy shut him up by lifting her hips, and positioning the head of his cock between her folds and sinking down on his length in one smooth movement. She bit back her gasp at the way he stretched and filled her almost to the point of pain, but it was a good kind of not-pain and one she hadn't felt in a long time.
His hands tightened on her hips. She was gonna have finger-shaped bruises tomorrow and she was so totally okay with that.
"You okay?" Clint asked.
"Been a while," Darcy admitted, forcing herself to breathe as she tried to get used to the size of him.
"Two years, six weeks, and four days."
"You keep count?"
"No, dumbass. I just made that up."
Clint gulped in air as she clenched around him before rolling her hips for good measure. The cords in his neck stood out as he let his head fall back, eyes tightly shut and mouth slack.
"Jesus, Darcy," he breathed, opening his eyes and reaching up to pull her mouth to his. She sucked hard on his lower lip, taking it lightly between her teeth, and Clint lifted his hips to thrust shallowly up into her. She knew he could manhandle her with ease, but she was enjoying setting the pace, knowing he was getting off on her taking charge.
She pulled back from his mouth reluctantly, but with a wicked smile as she planted her hands on either side of his head and worked on settling up a rocking motion designed to get him off as slowly as possible, just to show she could.
In retaliation, Clint reached for her breasts, which were conveniently hanging pretty much right in front of him, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth while he kneaded the other with his free hand. Darcy ground down against him, rubbing her clit against his pubic bone and moaning. His other hand travelled down her sweat-slicked back to grab her ass, and she felt some of her control slipping as he shifted the angle where their bodies met so that every roll of her hips took him deeper inside her.
"God—fuck," Clint said against her neck, sounding somewhere between reverent and depraved, and he gasped and moaned as she arched her back and quickened her pace. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and Darcy couldn't help herself. She leaned down to lap them up with the tip of her tongue. He growled against the swell of her breasts, and she laughed as he flipped them over in a flurry of pillows and tangled sheets.
"Somebody likes to be on top," she managed between panting breaths, trying to tug her hair free from beneath her shoulders at the same time he took his cock in his hand and pressed into her slowly, groaning as he bottomed out.
"We'll take turns," he said, dropping a kiss on her chin, then the corner of her mouth as he adjusted the angle and slid halfway out before slamming back into her. "Just like we'll take turns—"
"—fucking each other into the mattress?" she finished, gripping his shoulders, nails clawing at his back.
"God, I think I love you," he said with a shaky laugh, and then there was not a lot of talking, and a whole lot of heavy breathing, moans and the slap of flesh against flesh as he pistonned his hips against hers. Darcy hadn't expected him to bring her off again, but as he thrust harder and deeper, his body arcing above hers like one of his bows, her cries started getting higher and breathier as she squirmed and writhed beneath him.
"C'mon, c'mon," she moaned into his open mouth, not sure if she was begging or encouraging him. He splayed fingers across her hip before he reached between them, thumbing her clit in sloppy circles. His hips stuttered against hers, rhythm faltering as she spread her legs wider, trying to draw him in even deeper.
He came with a strangled groan, muffled by her hair, as he buried his face into her neck, shaking and spasming. Darcy kept her eyes screwed tightly shut, mouth open and breath coming in gasps as he kept on working her clit until she came again, feeling loose and shattered and shaky as he pulled out to remove the condom. She cracked open her eyes, seeing him padding bare-assed naked behind the dresser and heard water running briefly.
His ass was a thing of beauty, Darcy decided as she tried to get her heart rate back under control.
He returned with a washcloth, and ran the warm damp square of terrycloth lightly over her before dropping it to the marble floor where no doubt one of them would step on it when they got up to pee in the middle of the night. Because while Clint Barton was one sexy motherfucker, he was still a guy.
Darcy grabbed one of the pillows half-hanging off the bed and tucked it beneath her head.
"Customer survey time," Darcy said as he crawled back over to her side. "Has your world been suitably rocked?"
"As advertised," Clint said with a sexy smile, draping one leg over hers before he kissed her nose. "Speaking of performances—"
"Yes, it was good for me too." Darcy rolled her eyes. "What part of multiple orgasms did you miss, Agent Sex God?"
"Just think. If we weren't both total idiots, we coulda been doing this the whole time," Darcy pointed out, and Clint pulled her closer to him.
"Better this way," he said, the faintest trace of stubble scraping her cheek as he tucked her more firmly against his side. "Worth the wait."
She tugged a corner of the sheet loose and pulled it over them, eyes drifting shut as his ran his left hand up and down the curve of her hip.
"Hey, don't fall asleep on me," he said, poking her in the shoulder.
"Catnap before round two," she muttered eyes still closed.
"That would be the part," she said around a jaw-cracking yawn, "where I suck your brain out through your dick and maybe even make you cry. I bet I could. The first part anyway."
"Promises, promises," Clint said into her hair before he kissed her temple. She felt his eyelashes brush her cheek as he stole half her pillow, thumb still tracing circles on her hip.
They dozed until Darcy turned off the lights (Tony Stark used the clapper. That was weird.), crawled back into bed, and then proceeded to commence round two with no warning whatsoever.
"Good morning. It's 7:00 a.m. The weather in Malibu is 68 degrees with clear skies and a 22% chance of light showers in the afternoon. The surf conditions are—"
"Oh my God, Jarvis, why are you talking?" Darcy burrowed further under the blankets and pillows, trying to hide from the glare of the sun off the ocean as the wall of windows went from opaque to clear.
"So sorry, Miss Lewis. Mr Stark has programmed me to give the surf report and high tide for the area each morning."
"No, but he enjoys knowing that he could if he chose to."
"It's too early."
"Alas, I cannot control the rotation of the Earth. However, Agent Romanoff has requested that you and Mr Barton be 'decent' and ready to leave for the airfield at 8 a.m. to return to New York."
"Mr Barton is currently in the kitchen."
Darcy took one look at the clothing scattered across the marble floor, and with a grin, picked up Clint's silk shirt. She could have pulled on the change of clothes she'd brought. But she'd been picturing the look on Clint's face when he saw her wearing his shirt pretty much from the moment she'd walked down the stairs and seen him wearing it.
Darcy buttoned the bottom three buttons, and rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. Pulling up the collar, she buried her nose in the shirt. It smelled like Clint. She wouldn't have thought that Clint had a smell—other than sweaty gym guy. But there was something—maybe it was the smell of his aftershave, or his shampoo—that was just Clint.
She padded down the stairs, squinting in the brilliant sunlight streaming through the windows facing the driveway. She figured that pretty much any hour of the day, Tony Stark's crazy mansion got light. Which would have been awesome for say, a painter, but probably sucked when you were hungover.
She heard the sound of a coffeemaker in the direction of the kitchen, and followed it. She found Clint wearing nothing but a loose pair of drawstring pants that hung low on his hips. He was staring somewhat hopelessly at a giant stainless steel and brass monstrosity that looked like it belonged in a church playing Bach rather than on Tony Stark's kitchen counter, and frowning.
"Huh. I would have figured Stark for the kind of guy where everything looked like it was made by Apple."
"I was trying to surprise you with breakfast in bed," Clint muttered, frowning at the coffee grounds floating in the glass carafe.
"Trust me, I'm surprised."
She crowded him against the counter and got up on her tiptoes to kiss him. His hands went automatically to her waist, and he made a sound against her mouth as he discovered firsthand exactly what she wasn't wearing beneath his shirt.
"So am I," he said, smiling against her mouth. "We've got," he glanced up at the LED clock on the microwave, "forty-five minutes to kill before Tasha gets here."
"People eat in here. Jarvis would have conniptions."
"I have an idea," Clint said, and taking her by the hand, led her back up the stairs past the guestroom they had christened every surface of until dawn, and into what Darcy could only assume was Tony's room.
"I thought you said—" Darcy began, but Clint kept on going, until they stood in the doorway of the master bath.
"Holy shit," Darcy said. "This place is sick."
The bathroom was huge, with shining gold fixtures, a jacuzzi bath that would have been called an indoor pool in any other house, and a separate shower with jets mounted at every angle imaginable.
That definitely gave Darcy ideas. She turned to Clint, grinning as she began unbuttoning his shirt.
"So what's the plan?" she asked, raising a brow.
"We're going to be very, very dirty. And then we're going to get very, very clean."
She shrugged the shirt off her shoulders, and it hit the marble floor with a whisper of silk.
"I like the way you think, Clint Barton."