Chapter Text
IV.
Natasha texted her sometime around lunch. —Get out of my apartment and do something.
Darcy didn't take the obvious hint that she should track down either Steve or Bucky, but instead took it as an opportunity to wander around Avengers Tower in search of an archer with a certain affection for the colour purple. As she wandered up and down random hallways, hoping blindly that her powers might point her in the right direction (asking JARVIS had only resulted in "I'm afraid the only hint I can offer is that he is inside the building, Miss Darcy, my apologies"), Darcy decided to just let things unfold as they should.
Which, now that she thought about it, might be somewhat ironic. Because yes, in true Darcy fashion, she was intervening in Fate's plan for her, but, well, this was different. This wasn't something life changing. It was simply… talking to someone of interest. Darcy had seen the threads of Natasha's life, the ones wound with a purple thread that pulsed with love and partnership. Call her curious; she wanted to see the man herself.
But, whatever plan her powers had for her that day, they were not leading her to Clint Barton. No, instead, she found herself surrounded by people in white coats, filling laboratories of varying skill and focus. Walking down the center of the hallway, her heels clicking on the floor, she cast her eyes to either side, taking in the scurrying people of science, moving to and fro, occasionally bumping into each other in their single-minded intensity. She continued walking, a thrum in the air, drawing her down, down, down the hallway. Was it just her, or did it seem to be getting longer? Hm…
She paused once, a ripple of trembling energy whispering to her from the right. Coffee, Poptarts, and colourful starbursts skittered across her mind. Great clusters of galaxies and light, rainbows, bridges, and equations filtered in and out. And then, a heavy weight, the lack of sleep, clouding everything around the edges.
Darcy's eyes turned curiously toward the lab, where a brunette stood, the only person in the whole room, wearing a too large t-shirt, pajama pants, and three pencils in her lopsided hair. She was muttering to herself, a furrow at her brow, and a smudge of marker on her chin. There was a wave, a pulse, that ricocheted through Darcy's chest, and she found herself taking a step forward, toward the door.
But then there was a trembling, chaotic coil of energy that called her attention forward once more. She had to keep going, keep walking. There was someone she needed to see. Her feet moved without her say-so, drawing her down the hall, past a few more labs, each of them getting progressively less busy, until finally, either side of the hall's labs were noticeably empty. Her feet only only stopped when she'd reached the end, where a single lab lay in wait.
Darcy's hand reached forward, fingers coiling around the handle. But she paused when something wary and uncertain spun down her spine. A warning, maybe; a reminder to be cautious. She didn't feel danger, exactly. Jeremiah screamed of danger. But this… This was different. This was… sadlonelydistressedguiltyangryangryANGRY.
She pulled the door open and took a step inside, ignoring the voice (that sounded entirely too much like Bucky) that told her to be careful.
The lab was quiet. There was the distant noise of music playing softly in the background. She recognized the sound of a mandolin, but her attention was soon turned elsewhere. There was a man, his head a busy nest of springy, greying curls, and his shoulders hunched up to his ears. His tabletop was an interactive computer that he was sifting through data on.
He didn't seem to notice her, so in tune with his work, but she knew that lingering without telling him she was there would only bother him when he did come up for air, likely to find his tea had long gone cold.
She cleared her throat gently, hoping not to startle him.
She didn't succeed.
He jerked in his seat, his head raising abruptly, and he blinked at her, reaching up to readjust his glasses. "Did JARVIS let you in here?" His mouth was furled up in a frown, stress lines fanning around the corners.
Darcy cast her eyes upward, shrugged, and said, "The door wasn't locked."
He blinked again, seeming perplexed, and then shook his head. "It… usually is. JARVIS, did you unlock the door?"
"Miss Lewis seemed to be very intent on meeting you, Doctor Banner. I apologize for the breach in privacy."
Darcy's lips twitched before she stepped forward, tucking her arms behind her back. "Nice workspace. Kind of isolated, but… super clean and organized. Do you do that or does someone come in after you've snuck away to hide?"
His mouth turned down. "I'm sure there's a cleaning staff, but I like to keep my workspace clean. I'm sorry, what is your name again?"
"Darcy," she answered, nodding in his direction. "And you're Bruce, aren't you?" She squinted thoughtfully, before whistling. "Biochemistry, Nuclear Physics, and Gamma Radiation… I feel smarter just saying those words."
He pursed his lips. "I'm sorry, I think you've… I think you're in the wrong place." He motioned to the door. "I'm sure JARVIS can guide you to wherever you were meaning to go."
"I'm already there." She took a walk around his desk, glancing briefly at his work before casting her gaze elsewhere. "So. You never answered my question before, not really. Does the cleaning staff wait until you've left, hiding in the so-called safety of your room?"
He followed her with his eyes, "I'm not sure how that's relevant to—"
"Everything's relevant in some way." She reached up, tugging on her ear; a green, apple-shaped stud there… An apple a day keeps the doctor away… She could have laughed, but she didn't think he'd appreciate it. A cluster of black and red feathers hung in her other ear, dusting her shoulder as she moved. "I sense a lot of anger in you, Doc. Of the seething variety, always carefully kept under wraps, just brimming under the surface, waiting to erupt…" She looked toward him, an eyebrow arched. "Apt description, or am I missing my mark?"
He shifted. "Apt enough."
Darcy hummed, coming to a stop then, just a few feet away. "Since we already know what your job is, would you like to know mine."
"I think you've dropped a few hints, but sure." He nodded, peering at her. "What is it you do, Darcy?"
She smiled slowly. "I'm what you might call… a fortune teller."
A cynical smile played at his lips as his eyes fell. "Did Tony put you up to this?"
She laughed under her breath. "You know, you're not the first person to ask me that, but I can honestly tell you that he has nothing to do with why I'm standing here."
Unconvinced, he said, "JARVIS… Is Miss Lewis affiliated with Tony?"
"Miss Lewis is an associate of Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, and Agent Romanoff's. She has no direct affiliation to Sir, nor is she on his payroll for any type of services. As Miss Lewis has said, she does own a shop where she offers a variety of services, not limited to palm or tarot card reading. From the research I've accumulated, her abilities lie more in her ability to read one's past, present, or future depending on the validity of the question they ask regarding thereof."
Doctor Banner turned his gaze back toward her, still as disbelieving, but likely for a different reason now. "So… A fortune teller."
She nodded, tapping her fingers against the edge of his desk. "I didn't go to school for it, but I'm a unique talent in my field all the same."
He hummed, mouth turning up faintly at the corners. "So… what exactly brought you to my lab then? Fate?"
She shrugged. "Maybe. We don't discuss things directly. If I'm being honest, I was looking for someone else. Or, I thought I was. But I like to think I end up where I'm supposed to." She took a seat on a stool and tucked her heels against the foot bar.
"Is that how you met the others?" His eyes narrowed, his suspicion clear. "How you managed an invite to one of the most security conscience buildings in the country…?"
Her smile was slow and mysterious. "They were… special cases."
"Ah." His tone turned mocking. "And is that what I am?"
"Oh, I have no doubt you're special," she mused, raising an eyebrow. Before he could argue, she held her hands out, palm up. "Would you like a reading, Doctor Banner? Free of charge, just this once."
He eyed her hands and shifted himself back a step. His shoulders hunched, his body seeming to cave in on itself protectively. "I don't think so. Thank you for the offer though."
She wiggled her fingers. "Are you sure? No plaguing questions you want to ask? Nothing about your future? Your research? Your… little green problem?"
He swallowed thickly, licking at his dry lips, and stared at her. "You can… see those things?"
"If you ask the right question, I can see a lot of things." Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, and then nodded down to her hands. "C'mon. I don't bite. Put your hands on top of mine and ask me what it is you want to know."
He took a half-step forward— it was progress, at least.
"And what's the right question?" he wondered.
"Depends on the person."
"So, what's the right question for me?"
She smiled. "You'd know better than I would."
He huffed a little, but moved closer. "You've done this to the others?"
"I'm not at liberty to say." She winked. "Confidentiality and all that."
"You're not bound by it though, are you? Not like, say, counselors would be..."
Darcy tisked. "My business wouldn't be what it is without a level of discretion…"
"Hmm." He wiped his palms on his pants, his fingers twitching. "So a question then. That's all you need?" He raised his hands up, let them rest, just an inch above her own.
She stared at him, square in the eye. "The world is full of questions, and some answers are harder to find than others. Some outcomes are more difficult than we want them to be. Some futures are not what we hope to happen. Here, now, you're going to ask a question, and if it's the right one, I'm going to give you the answer."
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "And if I ask wrong?"
Her lips ticked up, and then she raised her hands, to press to his. "Don't."
The moment their skin met, her vision changed. Gone was the suspicious and cautious man of science, and in its place was a dark void.
"Ask."
His voice floated around her. "I'm thinking."
"Think faster."
He scoffed under his breath. "Do you always rush your clients?"
"Usually my clients come to me, and they already know what they want to ask."
He hummed. "So, I'm an outlier then?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be used to that?"
"I think you may need to work on your bedside manner."
Darcy grinned. "Tell it to my Yelp page."
He chuckled— a rough, surprised noise— and then sighed. "I suppose the most obvious question will do... Will I ever be me again, without the Other Guy?"
Darcy paused as threads began to appear. "Is that really what you want to know?"
He paused. "Did I ask the wrong question?"
She twisted her mouth to the side. "Not… exactly."
"Are you allowed to give suggestions?"
"I can't tell you what to ask," she hedged.
He sighed, sounding oh so tired. "But…?"
"What's the core of your question…? Is it 'the other guy' you want to get rid of or is it something else you want more of?"
"Has anyone ever told you that you're a frustrating person to deal with?"
"Yes." She nodded unabashedly. "Multiple times."
"I'm not surprised."
Darcy snorted. "I'm just giving you some time to rethink your question. You're welcome, by the way."
He exhaled, long and suffering, but he seemed to take her suggestion to heart and really consider what he wanted to know.
Meanwhile, Darcy stood surrounded by threads, black and white for his past, green twined with purple for his present, and a cerulean blue for the future. She wandered around them, in reach but never touching. She was careful not to brush the black and white, but his past was difficult, which meant it was sending her glimpses even without her trying to read them. Glances of his father yelling, the stench of alcohol permeating the air, his mother crying out in pain. Abuse, neglect, and a simmering rage for having no control over any of it. She shuddered and put space between her and those threads.
Finally, Bruce's voice reached her, careful and uncertain. "What if… What if I asked if I'd ever… find peace?"
Darcy heard the whisper of a voice, the musical sound of laughter, distant but powerful; it lingered in the back of his mind, surrounded by a protective bubble of hope.
She walked toward the blue thread, where parts of it were fraying and dull. "You don't take care of yourself very well." She smoothed a hand over the thread, smoothing it over, even as tiny pieces of it continued to piece apart. "You push away happiness because you think you don't deserve it, that you won't be able to hold onto it, that you'll… hurt it somehow." She pressed her fingers into the thread, straight into the middle, and watched as it unraveled, spreading in different directions.
"There are three ways this can go." One thread was dull, a grey-ish blue that was listless and sagging, sprinkled with large doses of a faded green and a purple tinge. The second was a little brighter, the color scheme more eclectic, woven with red, gold, black, purple, blue, and white. It was frayed, but sturdy. The last was bright and vivid; blue, purple, and green were all woven together seamlessly.
She gripped the first thread and was torn out of the tower and placed in a far-away jungle, surrounded by the cacophony of animals in the tree branches, of the crunch of leaves under her feet, and the sensation of sweat collecting on her sun-kissed skin. She was hungry, her beard had grown long and scraggly, and her feet hurt, the soles of her shoes worn down to nearly nothing. "The first leads to isolation. You leave the tower and your team, you seek penance in your loneliness. You hide from anyone who shows you kindness, wallow in your guilt, and tell yourself it's all you deserve… Sometimes dying is just living in the worst way you can manage."
His fingers twitched against her palm, but he didn't pull back.
"What…" He cleared his throat as his voice grew rough. "What about the second?"
Darcy yanked herself out of the jungle, the sweltering heat bleeding from her body with a heavy inhalation. She blinked wildly to clear her vision and turned to the second thread, reaching forward and letting it take her away.
She's in the lab again, but it's not the same. She isn't there, it's just him, still isolated and safe, monitored by JARVIS for any signs of going green around the edges. When a mission comes in, he answers. He's exhausted. He's always exhausted. But, he answers. His life becomes a constant search for safety. He pays his debts by saving others and returns to the tower because it lends him some modicum of comfort, his ebbing fear is enough that he can comfortably survive. He lives out his life as an Avenger, dealing with the fallout of who and what he is, never quite happy, but… content, in his own way.
"That doesn't sound so bad," he said.
She pursed her mouth. "I think we have different definitions of bad."
He snorted.
"I'm not saying it's the worst. I've seen worse." A cold sensation ran down her back. "I am saying that there's better. You stay because you think Tony can help corral the Hulk. You think there's enough safety measures in place that your chances of hurting others are minimized."
"Aren't they?"
"Sure. But that's only a piece of the puzzle."
"And I suppose you're going to tell me what the rest of the puzzle is?"
"Since you asked… You wanted to know if you'd find peace. And in some ways, you do. The second thread gives you peace from that constant state of fear. Fear of yourself, of your anger, of what you're capable of, of who could be hurt in the process. But what it doesn't give you, what it can't give you, not completely, is happiness…" She can see him, occasionally stepping out of his comfort zone, joining in with the other Avengers for meals or the odd party. He stays on the fringes of everything, but he's there, letting a foot dip in the pool of normality, but never quite submerging. "You have friends you care about. Your team. You have people who would defend you and you'd defend them. But you still keep your distance. Not just because you're worried you'll hurt them, but because getting too close means seeing what you can't have. Seeing them live their lives in a way you don't think you can."
He didn't reply, but she could feel a ripple of pain, of hurt and loneliness that gnawed at her nerves.
"I'm not saying this to hurt you," she murmured, and then she withdrew from the second thread and turned to the third. "I'm saying it because you need to hear it."
He scoffed. "You sound like someone I know."
The imagery that hit her as soon as her fingers coiled into the blue promise of serenity was one edged with the happy glow of love. It was dreamy in quality, like those first moments when you wake up and the world is still a little fuzzy while your body lays weightless, coming out of sleep gently, coiled in the warm comfort of a blanket.
She blinks, her vision clearing, and the woman smiling at her has pink lips, blue eyes, and soft, dark hair that falls around her delicate, bare shoulders. There is a smile, hiding at the corner of those berry-bitten lips, as she reaches for Bruce, dragging her finger down his cheek and under his chin. Here is comfort. Here is warmth and love and partnership. Here is Betty; smart, beautiful, stubborn, strong Betty. Betty who stands up to her father and reaches for Bruce without hesitation. Who's seen every side of him, good and bad and terrifying and chooses to love all of it. There's a wedding, something small and intimate, except for Tony, who is loud and boisterous and cheering them on in the background. There's a home, built in the apartment that was once his safe haven, built to withstand whatever the Other Guy threw at it, and now held steady by the comfort and familiarity of a family that grows there. He is Betty's, and she is his, in every way two people can be one another's. He still works in his lab and he fights alongside the team and he grows and learns and embraces the parts of him that keep him up at night, that scare him and revolt him and destroys whatever lay in their path. He works with the Other Guy, he builds a life, he finds peace and happiness and a home.
There are bad days. Days when he wants to run and hide and bury his head. Days when he wants to yell and scream and shove Betty away from him for her own good. There are days when he has no control, when the Other Guy takes over and there is no stopping or guiding or working with him. There are people who hate him and blame him and demand his destruction. But they grow fewer over time, as he learns control, as he learns to forgive himself, as he lets himself want for more and recognizes that he deserves more. The good days outnumber the bad, until they're so infrequent that he doesn't spend every second of every minute of every day planning for the worst of it. There is peace there, in every sense of the word.
When Darcy came out of her vision, she had to blink against the bright lights of the lab.
Bruce's chin was trembling, and his eyes were down, cast toward the floor. She folded her thumbs over the back of his hands and held on, waiting. For some people, a look into their future could be devastating; it could rock the foundation of how they saw things. She could see in the way he stood that he was still processing it, cautious to believe her, to hope that she was right.
"You saw—?" His voice was choked, and he cut himself off. "You're sure it was…?"
She sat back against the stool she was perched on and searched his face a moment. "Do you believe in soul mates?"
He blinked rapid-fire and reached up to fiddle with his glasses. "I'd have to believe in the concept of a soul first."
"And? Do you?"
"I'm not sure… I think the soul can sometimes be interpreted just as a person's conscience. The proverbial Jiminy Cricket that guides them in making their decisions."
"Hmm. See, I think they're two separate things. I think people have a conscious, but it's built up from the moment they're born. Something taught and shaped by their experiences and the people around them. But the soul, that's something intrinsic, it's something individual, separate from good or bad. It's like… your shadow. You can't always see it, but it's made in your image and it'll follow you wherever you go."
"And you think that some souls are… mated?" His brow furrowed. "That they're meant to be together?"
"I think that some people, no matter what happens, will always find their way back to you… if you let them." She shrugged. "Maybe it's just a fancy way of saying 'if you love them, let them go, and if they love you, they'll come home.'"
"I've always thought that saying relieved people of their obligation to put effort into something." He picked up a stray pencil to fiddle with. "I understand the general idea of it. That sometimes the timing isn't right and you each need to take a step back, get some air, figure yourselves out. But I can also see how some people might take it as an easy out, an escape route when things get hard." He smiled then, dim and distant. "Life, in my experience, is rarely easy. But there are… things, people, that are worth fighting for and holding onto. It just becomes a matter of discerning whether that fight results in something good for both people involved."
"You make a good point." She nodded. "But who gets to decide what's good for someone? It's an individual choice, right? You might not want to put her in danger, but she might be willing to take that risk. So, then it becomes a whole thing, right? Are you doing it to keep her safe or because you're scared? And even if that fear comes from a good place, from that chatty cricket of yours, trying to do the right thing, when does it become an issue of disregarding another person's autonomy and ability to make their own choices?"
He hummed. "It's a tricky situation… But then, I think the one who turns into a giant green rage monster probably has a better idea of his own limitations."
"Maybe," she murmured, smiling faintly. "Or maybe he limits himself too much." She hopped off her stool then, and patted her hand against his shoulder in a friendly manner. "It was nice meeting you, Doctor Banner. I hope I see you around the tower before I go." She walked off then, toward the door.
"And how long do you plan on being here?" he wondered after her, shifting to peer at her from the corner of his eyes.
"I wasn't planning on staying, but I think I'll be here a few more days. If you need anything, I'm staying at Natasha's."
He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, and raised a hand in a vague wave as she reached for the door handle.
He had a lot to think about, she knew.
Making her way down the hall once more, she cast an eye toward the lab that had drawn her in earlier, but it was empty now. She felt an absence of that energy that had been buzzing around the brunette, and hoped she'd wandered off to get some sleep.
Darcy continued down the hall then, asking JARVIS where she might find something to eat since she was pretty sure Natasha had locked her out of the apartment until she'd spent an appropriate amount of time 'socializing.' Though, she was pretty sure when Natasha told her to get out and do something, she hadn't expected her to visit Banner. Oh well. She should have been more specific.
…
Darcy's heels clicked on the floor, the door closing faintly in the distance. She reached for her earring, a vivid blue collection of feathers, and tossed it to the end table. Her mouth ticked up at the corner; it would get picked up later and added to her pile of things. Things she discarded at random, interrupting their structured little set-up, demanding a little mess, a lived-in quality. It wasn't long before she felt him against her back, the heat of him whispering over her skin, the solid press of his body, steady and firm. His hands found her hips; cool metal on her left, warm flesh on her right. He slid the metal one down her leg and started pulling her skirt up, bunching the fabric in his palm. His mouth smoothed over the nape of her neck, his chin settling in the crook as he pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder.
His palm slid up over her stomach, bare and taught, clenching at the sensation of his fingers. He pulled her impossibly closer, spreading his fingers down, tucked under the waist of her skirt. He walked her forward then, just a few steps, until her knees bumped the arm chair, and then he was turning her so she was facing him. Her breath stuttered out of her as she met his eyes, dark blue and heavy-lidded. She inhaled deeply, biting down on her lip as she reached up and let her fingers play over the curve of his mouth. He licked them, tongue skimming her fingertips, and she felt a hitch in her chest.
His hand was under her skirt, rubbing circles over her thigh. She slid her free hand up and skimmed her fingers through his hair, pushing it back so it wasn't covering his face as much. It would fall again, she knew, shroud his expressions from sight when he needed space. But for now, he let her push it away, let her open him up, let her see him.
His thumb hooked in the edge of her underwear and tugged it down a few inches. He ducked down to kiss her then, taking her bottom lip between his, teeth scraping, followed by the swipe of his tongue. He was working her underwear down her thighs and her skirt up her hips before he pressed his chest against hers and she dropped backwards, into the arm chair. He grinned at the huff she gave, leaning over her to pop another kiss to her lips before he was kneeling on the floor, hands wrapped around her calves and dragging her to the edge of the seat. He slid her shoes off and tossed them out of the way, careless of where they landed, and dragged her underwear the rest of the way off, tossing it too.
His fingers slid up her legs, kneading and massaging as they went, starting at her ankles and working their way up. Her heels balanced on the tops of his thighs while she watched him, his gaze intense and focused. As he reached her knees, he parted them, sliding each leg over his shoulders. And then his mouth was smoothing down her inner thigh, the scrape of his stubble making her shiver, her toes curling at the sensation. Bucky liked to tease. She was well aware of this fact. His favorite part of sex was the foreplay; working her or Steve up into a frenzy, keeping them on that edge, and waiting for the moment where they weren't sure they could take anymore before he finally let release break over them. Most of the time, she liked that. She could spend hours in bed with him and forget everything else in favor of letting him set the pace and pushing herself to her limits. Today, she didn't want slow and searching, she wanted hard and fast. She sunk her fingers into his hair and gave it a tug, biting down on her lip, and he looked up at her, blue fire in his eyes. He nipped at her inner thigh, and took the hint.
Bucky had a talented mouth; he could take Steve a part in a few minutes, and she knew, first hand, that Steve could last for hours if he wanted to. When Bucky set his mind to something though, there was no escaping it. So when he put his whole focus into making one of them come, there was nothing more to do but enjoy the ride. And he made it a good one. His tongue was tentative at first, unrushed, testing out how ready she was, what she wanted, what wasn't doing anything for her. Until he found his groove, and then her fingers were digging into the arms of the chair, her knees shaking as his tongue took her apart, lips folding around her clit to work her up before he wandered away again. He sunk a hand in under his chin, his thumb rubbing circles, but never quite sliding inside. His free hand smoothed up her front, sliding under her top and dragging one side of her bra down and out of the way so he could tease her nipple to attention.
Darcy groaned, her hips arching up against him. He grinned against her, teasing his tongue around her clit, flicking at it before he sucked kisses along her thighs.
"Buck-y," she whined, pressing her heel down against his back.
Chuckling lightly, he nipped at her thigh, and then he was on her again, sinking one finger inside her and curling it up.
She slid her hand down his metal forearm, gripping tight to it as she felt the building tension, waves of pleasure coming and going but not quite hitting their crescendo. Her body squirmed, desperate to find that edge. "Mmm," she whined, setting her eyes on him. "I'm gonna ride you so good after this, sink myself down in your lap. Won't even take your pants off, just push them down your thighs, just enough to get my hand around you. Are you hard, Bucky? Hm?" He slid a second finger inside her and the stretch was beautiful. Her chest arched up, thighs spasming, and she lost herself for a moment, focused completely on his tongue and teeth gently teasing over her clit. "God, yes… Gonna fuck you here, on your knees, and then I'm going to drag you back to bed, strip you down, spends hours just touching you, every part of you, until you're begging me to let you co—"
Her orgasm crashed over her abruptly, her words cascading away in a cry. She could feel her whole body tightening up before it fell, trembling and shaking, adrenaline and pleasure pumping through her. It was almost too much, her eyes burning with tears, and she panted, twisting her hips. He was kissing her thighs again, his mouth and chin wet with her, his fingers sliding down over her front, rubbing soothing circles over her stomach.
It took her a couple minutes, to catch her breath and open her eyes, to get the strength back in her limbs. But then she was unhooking her legs from his shoulders, dropping her feet to the floor, and sitting up. She didn't remove her skirt, but she did skim out of her shirt and bra, dropping them to the chair behind her, and then she was sinking down into the space between him and the chair. Her mouth fit over his, the taste of her still warm on his tongue. Her hands slid over his thighs, rock hard and flexing at her touch, and she reached for the button and zipper on his jeans, pushing them apart before she dragged her knuckles over his stomach. He huffed out a breath, reaching up to bury a hand in her hair, tying it around his fingers as he pulled her head back and buried his mouth at her neck, biting and sucking at her pulse.
Darcy sunk one hand down and wrapped it around his cock, dragging it out from the confines of his pants to give it one long, squeezing pump. His mouth stuttered against her neck, breath panting, and she smiled. He nuzzled against her, face buried in her shoulders, and pushed himself up into her hand, groaning long and deep. She rubbed her hand down the nape of his neck, hooking her fingers in the back of his shirt. He worked himself against her palm, her thumb rubbing circles over the crown of his cock, fingers twisting and squeezing around him at random.
There was a basket under the end table, full of Steve's drawing supplies and her knitting tools, and there, mixed in with it all, were a few condoms. They'd learned their lesson and kept stashes everywhere in reach. She grabbed one out and tore it open with her teeth before she worked it down his shaft. His mouth moved across her chest, leaving sucking, biting kisses atop her breasts, when she levered herself up with the chair behind her and sunk down on him.
Breath leaving him in a rush, he wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, and cupped his other hand under her ass, squeezing and kneading as she flexed around him. "Fuck, Darcy…"
"That's the plan," she murmured, smiling as he huffed out a laugh.
Giving her waist a squeeze, he leaned his head back to look at her, his expression soft.
She reached for him, fingers gently grazing his cheeks as she tucked his hair back from his eyes, and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his mouth, her forehead resting against his. Nipping at his lips, she asked, "Ready?"
He hummed, an eyebrow raised. "Are you?"
"I—" She paused, her brow furrowed, and blinked.
"Darce?"
She stared into his eyes, a bright, crystal blue now.
He frowned. "You okay?"
She shook her head faintly, but before he could say anything, she pressed her lips to his, her arm wrapped tight around his neck. His hand skimmed her back, rubbing gently. And when next she opened her eyes, she was lying on the couch in Natasha's apartment, her eyes still stinging.
Maybe a mid-afternoon nap wasn't the best idea…
With a sigh, she rolled herself off the couch and walked toward the bathroom for a shower. A cold shower. And then, she resolved she would find Steve, and ask him to join her for a makeshift dinner, and a bottle of wine.
…
Darcy psyched herself up for it twice, but eventually found herself standing in front of Steve and Bucky's apartment door. She had her fist raised and ready to knock before chickening out and walking toward the elevator. Halfway there, she stomped her foot and made her way back to the door. She had her hands on her hip and her toes tapping at the floor when the door finally swung open and Steve was standing in front of her, looking more than a little amused and mildly impatient.
"You could hear me," she said flatly.
His mouth quirked faintly at the corner.
"You weren't being subtle," Bucky said from where he was sitting shirtless on the counter in the kitchen, eating a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. She was completely sure that when a little milk dribbled down his bare chest, he'd done it on purpose. His grin when she dragged her eyes away from the milk trail was proof of that.
Clearing her throat, she looked to Steve. "How do you feel about red wine?"
He blinked at her. "Uh… I prefer it to white."
"Good." She nodded. "Because that's all I have. And this is me asking you if you want to share it with me… On the roof… Where we can have a bizarrely open conversation about… things."
Steve stared at her a beat. "Yeah. I, uh, I'd like that."
"Great. Then…" She threw a hand out, gesturing down the hall. "Let's go."
His eyes widened. "Can I… Can I change?"
"Nope." She shook her head. "If you give me much more time to think about this I'll probably change my mind and hide in the air ducts or something."
Steve snorted. "Okay. Now it is." He looked back at Bucky, who hid a grin behind his spoon. "You know where to find us if you need us."
Bucky's brows hiked. "I do."
Clearing his throat, Steve stepped through the door, closing it behind him, and looked to Darcy. "So… Let's do this."
Her mouth quirked. "You sound like you're going into battle."
His mouth twitched. "Am I?"
A full-fledged grin formed on Darcy's mouth as she started toward the elevator. Pivoting on her heel, she walked backwards, telling him, "I'll be gentle."
He smothered a smile and followed her. "Don't hold back for my benefit."