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“Pietro, you better hurry your perky ass up. I think I’ve got two security guards coming this way,” Darcy hissed into her hidden mic, turning her head and pressing herself as tightly against the wall as she could. The problem was that she was wearing a fiery red dress, so blending into the background wasn’t exactly an option for her.
He didn’t respond. She groaned in frustration, knowing he was probably too busy zipping around the office, causing a mess and generally enjoying himself. “Pietro!” she hissed again. Those were definitely footsteps. And by the way they were getting louder every second, the security guards were about to turn the corner.
Darcy looked around frantically, but there was no place to hide. She had no reason to be in the hallway by herself; they were definitely going to get made. Just as she was about to say Pietro’s name again, praying that the fastest man alive didn’t ruin their mission because for once he was too damn slow, the guards turned the corner. She froze, every muscle locked up. Even her lungs seized, and the air around her turned tense and stale.
They didn’t see her right away, but she didn’t relax. Lost in conversation with each other, they continued down the hall directly toward her. Any second now, they’d look up and the whole mission would be a bust. And like a train wreck, she noticed the moment Goon #1’s eyes began to swivel her way. She couldn’t look away, hand still frozen by her ear. Her mind went blank, and she couldn’t even think of a single thing to make herself look innocuous.
And then a breeze swept past her, and Pietro’s arms were clutching her waist and his lips were on hers. She instinctively opened her mouth, and his tongue swept inside. Her hands came up to his shoulders, clutching and creasing his tux, but he didn’t seem to care. If anything, he pulled her closer, groaning into her mouth. His tongue stroked along hers, and she shuddered against him.
“Oh come on,” one of the security guards grumbled, “take your hormones somewhere else, for God’s sake.”
Darcy broke away, intending to apologize and get them the hell out of there, but Pietro’s mouth chased hers. He pressed her against the wall, and all thoughts of the security guards fled from her brain. The fire between them ignited into a full-on blaze, and she melted into him. By the time they finally broke apart for air, the guards were long gone. Catching her gaze shift from him down the hall, Pietro’s cheeks reddened and he stepped back and ran an anxious hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry, Darce,” he muttered, looking up and around and anywhere but at her.
“What, why?”
“Because you were just trying not to break our cover, but—” he stuttered to a stop, then gave a little frustrated groan. “But that was real for me. So, I’m sorry.”
It was the absolute wrong time, Darcy knew that, but she couldn’t stand to see him looking so shattered. All she wanted was to reassure him, so she took a step toward him. Grabbing his lapel so that he couldn’t move away, she tilted her head up to his and met his gaze squarely. “It was real for me, too.”
Pure, unfettered happiness slipped across his face and he leaned down to brush a kiss across her lips before freezing. “Are you sure?” he whispered, still so close that his lips brushed hers as he spoke.
Oh, for the love of Thor. She reached up and pulled his head down to hers, wasting no time in tangling her tongue with his and showing him exactly how sure she was about the whole thing. He got the message, if the happy hum he offered was any indication.
“Uhh, guys, I’m really happy you finally got your shit together,” Clint said over the forgotten mic, “and I don’t want to interrupt or anything, but—”
Pietro broke away from the kiss. “But this is sensitive intel,” he finished hoarsely.
“Exactly,” Clint replied. “So make yourselves decent and get your asses to the quinjet. You can celebrate later.”
The ride home was awkward. Clint took one look at them and said sternly, “Don’t you dare defile the jet. You can keep it in your pants until we get back, surely.” His glare was on Darcy for the last statement, and she stifled a snort.
They sat in their respective seats silently throughout the flight, waiting to arrive at the tower. On Darcy’s part, she didn’t dare touch him. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to stop if their fingers so much as brushed against each other. And she thought he might feel the same, based on the way his fingers gripped his legs, picking at the synthetic material of his tac suit.
When Clint gave the five minute warning, she finally turned to Pietro and asked, “Your place or mine?”
He stared at her, and for a second she wondered if she’d crossed a line. But no, his heart was in his eyes. Leaning forward to press the gentlest of kisses against her mouth, he whispered, “Yours.” And pulled away.
And then they were landing. Darcy barely had to time to unbuckle herself from her seat before Pietro was pulling her into his arms and racing away.
He moved too fast for her to keep up. They zipped from the helipad to her apartment in the Tower at a dizzying speed, and her head was completely spinning by the time they were at the front door.
And then they were in, and his mouth was on hers again, urging her toward the bedroom, and her head was spinning for an entirely different reason.