I know it's been a while, but I had some serious crap going on in my life that took me out of the game for a while. I missed these two and all their stupid feels. Sequel to Distraction - it's not 100% necessary that you read the other 3 stories, but they explain things further.
Pressing the button to bring up the blind on her window, Darcy lets out a sigh as she sees wall-to-wall clouds. It seems like she never sees the blue of the sky anymore, given that the helicarrier is always shrouded in cloud cover. She wants to look up into that bright blue, feel her toes touch cool grass. Instead she's stuck in this stupid air fortress, with one more month to go before they dock.
She's not entirely sure why SHIELD need to be airborne for this mission, but, being pretty low in the pecking order, she figures she's not privy to that kind of information.
She goes to watch a movie in Jane's room, unable to take the loneliness of these four walls any longer. Her sort-of-boss welcomes the company, lonely as she is without Thor.
"Any word from him?" Jane shakes her head, and Darcy thinks how sad her friend looks. She knows, more than Jane realises, about the hold that Asgardian gods can have over you.
"Well, the other night when Erik and I were testing the connection, we heard a faint whisper, as if there'd been some sort of contact. It said "Jane", and it sounded like him."
"That's progress, surely?
Jane sighs. "I don't know how long it will take until the calculations are right. This stuff is at the very frontier of science. We're going into it pretty much blind, there's no map to guide us."
"So wait, why couldn't Thor have just stayed?"
"He had to explain the terms of Loki's punishment to the Allfather. Odin was very keen to have Loki subjected to Asgardian justice. It took a lot of convincing from SHIELD to let Loki stay, under supervision, and use his knowledge to aid our research."
Darcy nods, wondering what exactly "Asgardian justice" consists of. Daily whippings, perhaps? No, wait, whipping and Loki in the same thought is not a good path to be going down.
"Can't he summon some of that dark magic-energy stuff that got Thor down here when Loki was taking over the world?"
Jane shakes her head. "I wish it were that simple, Darce. Thor never said much about it, but he did say to me there is high cost to such dark magic."
"So really – how big is his hammer?"
Jane bursts into a snort of laughter, spilling her popcorn everywhere and choking.
"Don't tell me. You didn't? Seriously. I would have jumped his ass in New Mexico if I'd known you weren't going to do anything about it."
Jane elbows her. "You know how big Mjolnir is, and as for anything else, you know how big his hands are..." She trails off suggestively.
Darcy giggles. "Whatever. I still think the evil glowstick of destiny is much cooler."
"Yes, well that's been impounded along with the, er -" Jane stops, unsure if she should go on.
"It's okay. I know about the glowy blue cube."
Jane gives her a strange look. "That's classified. You were still in New Mexico when all that was going on, how could you possibly -?"
"Oh, you know. Gossip." Or pillow talk with the God of Mischief and Lies. It almost makes Darcy laugh, the thought that Loki's been sharing classified info in bed. It would be just like him.
"Right," says Jane, and she appears to let it go. "I can't say much more about it – and I don't really know much more. Again, that was another thing Thor had to explain. Asgard wanted to keep the Tesseract as they thought it was far too dangerous in human hands. Whatever SHIELD's doing with it, I'd say Loki knows. His level of security clearance is second only to Fury and Coulson's. Oh, and the other members in the Avengers Initiative."
"Very cloak-and-dagger."
Jane gives her a sharp look and changes the subject.
"So, Darcy. What happened to that cute agent Tony saw you sneaking off with?"
Darcy goes deep red, but it's not for the reasons Jane thinks. She's already had the third degree from Tony, when he walked into the command centre with a "Hey Darce, nice job on the booty call last night!" She wanted the ground to come up and swallow her whole, particularly as several agents and scientists were in earshot.
Thankfully, George Dale wasn't there. He works in a different department, and as long as Darcy avoids the break room, she manages not to see him. It doesn't make her feel any less guilty about how she used him.
Jane tells Darcy about the different experiments she's been trying, explaining more about the current attempts to rebuild the Bifrost. She lets slip that she thinks there's a lot more that Coulson and Fury aren't telling her, and Darcy is inclined to agree. There's a lot she isn't telling Jane.
Darcy wishes she could confide in her friend, but she can't bring herself to say the words.
There's so much Jane doesn't know. For instance, that beneath her fleece pajamas, Darcy wears Loki's marks. There are bruises from his mouth, his fingers on her breasts, her hips, her inner thighs. With a light press of his fingers and a whisper of his magic he could heal them, but she doesn't let him. They are her only reminders that this is real.
It used to seem like a dream, when he came to her in the dark to wrack her body with pleasure, but she sometimes wakes in the early hours of the morning, dispelling that myth. Darcy's never slept well with a partner in her bed, especially not one as tall and gangly as Loki, his long limbs gradually shifting to take up the entire bed.
And yet, she secretly thrills at the feeling of his body curved around hers, one arm wrapped around her waist protectively.
It's safe. Darcy laughs at the paradox of feeling safe with Loki, of all people.
They haven't talked about the George thing since the night it happened, but it's still there between them. It's there in how tightly he holds her, how fiercely he kisses her, as if to remind her that he will be the only one to possess her. At least, that's what she would think if she didn't know any better.
He's always gone when her alarm goes off, leaving only the faint scent of citrus on her sheets and the delicious ache in her limbs to remember him by. It doesn't bother her. She likes it this way.
Darcy's on refreshment duty this morning, and yet again she's picked the trolley with the squeaky wheel. Pausing outside the glass wall, she's surprised to see Loki. Of late, she's seen him only twice in waking hours, closeted in the conference room with Fury, Coulson and sets of panicked-looking high level SHIELD agents. When she opens the door and pushes the trolley in, Fury immediately turns off the high-tech display thingy overhead, making her wonder what he's trying to hide.
It's a stupid idea, and it's risky, but when she sees Loki sitting there with his feet up on the table, with that smug-ass grin on his face, Darcy thinks, two can play at that game. She serves coffee to the others, then walks round to Loki's side of the table and offers him a cup. Darcy knows that Loki takes his coffee with cream and three sugars, and as she hands him the sugar packets, she leans in just enough that he can see down her blouse. The sight of her tight, red push-up bra has exactly the effect on Loki she hoped it would.
He blanches, staring at her over the rim of the cup with barely concealed lust. She can't resist biting her lip, even though someone could see. She's gratified by the faint pink tinge that appears on his cheeks, and the thought that he's probably sporting a raging hard-on under all that artfully draped leather. When she pushes the trolley towards the door to leave, she almost sashays, not looking back when Fury calls "Thank you, Miss Lewis," after her. Darcy is so absorbed in her performance that she doesn't notice Natasha leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, her shrewd eyes boring into her.
"Oops! I'm sorry!" Darcy exclaims as she bumps Natasha with the trolley.
"No problem, Darcy," is the young woman's calm reply. "Other things on your mind?" Natasha quirks an eyebrow, and then it's Darcy's turn to flush. Shit shit shit. She has a nasty feeling that the assassin knows exactly what's on her mind.
Darcy sighs heavily when she hears the knock at her door. She knows it's not Loki – since when has that creeper ever knocked?
She touches the keypad and the door slides open, revealing Clint Barton. Darcy is a little nonplussed. After her meaningful eye-exchange with Natasha earlier that day, she's been half-expecting a visit from the Black Widow. She didn't expect this. Darcy deals with Clint on a daily basis, but they've never exchanged more than a few pleasantries. It's kind of awkward.
"Er, hi, Clint. Want to come in?"
"Thank you, Darcy," he says brightly, and walks in and sits on her bed, apparently not bothered at all by the fact they don't know each other. "How's everything going, then?"
Darcy frowns. "Okay, I'm sorry, but can we cut to the chase? Why are you really here, Clint?"
Clint sighs, and the ghost of a smile appears on his face. "Natasha always tells me that subtlety's never my strong point."
"You got that right." It comes out more hostile than Darcy has intended, and she hastily tries to be a bit more friendly. "Why don't you just come out and say whatever it is? It takes a lot to shock Darcy Lewis, trust me on that."
"She wanted me to give you some advice. Natasha wanted to come herself, but as she says herself, she's not good with emotional stuff."
Darcy has absolutely no idea what he's talking about, but it doesn't sound good, so she decides to stall him with some light-hearted small talk.
"I never knew you were the Dr Phil of the Avengers, Clint." She grins. "So that's who Tony Stark goes to when he's feeling emasculated by his enormous fortune and good looks and success with the ladies."
Clint actually does smile this time. "Actually, Dr Banner is kind of the one people go to. Good listener. But in all seriousness, Natasha does not do emotional stuff. She doesn't talk about her feelings. She doesn't do cuddling. And I'm still not allowed to kiss her when we..."
"Whoa, whoa, okay! I get the picture." Darcy holds up a hand, hoping she'll be able to get rid of the disturbing images filling her brain by the time she goes to sleep.
Clint reaches over to the open bag of chips on Darcy's nightstand, and takes a handful. He's being surprisingly casual considering he must have come here for what amounts to an interrogation.
"I'm going to cut to the chase, Darcy," he says, crunching a chip. "I know that you and Loki are sleeping together. In fact, everybody knows."
Darcy gapes. "What?"
"Well, there's the fact that a certain God of Mischief has been looking as perky as a wind-up toy for months. Considering Natasha and I work on the espionage side of things, it really wasn't too difficult to figure out who was responsible for the new improved Loki."
Darcy allows herself to ponder that statement. She couldn't really see what had improved about Loki, except perhaps his manners in bed.
"The morning after you screwed Agent Dale, he practically tore my head off when I disagreed with him during a meeting. Then he got a little magicky and crushed a million-pound projection system into dust before flouncing out of the room. That pretty much confirmed it for us. "
Darcy winces, feeling the flush creeping up her neck again. Oh, shit.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, and there's a kindness in his eyes that brings a lump to Darcy's throat.
"I don't know what we're doing," she admits, fiddling with a corner of the sheet so she won't have to look at him. "It was sort of an accident at first. It was just a bit of fun, and then it started to turn into something else. But it was much simpler to pretend it was just sex, so we kept on pretending it that's all it was."
A drop of moisture splashes onto the bedspread, and Darcy realises she's crying. She hates how weak Loki has made her. The bed shifts beneath her and she knows Clint is about to put his hand on his shoulder.
"Don't. Please. It'll just make me get worse."
"Okay." He doesn't touch her. "I'm only mentioning it because it seems to be driving the guy crazy. He's got it bad for you, clearly."
"How fucked up am I, Clint?" she bursts out. "I jumped into bed with a murderer, a stupid asshole smug murderer. And because I'm such a girl, I have to fucking...fall in love with him."
It's the first time Darcy's ever said it out loud. The words sound odd. She loves Loki. She's in love with Loki. Her chest constricts as she acknowledges what she's been denying for months.
"We don't choose it, Darcy. I know who Loki is, and what he's done, but maybe you need to throw him a bone. Pun intended."
"What would people think?" She's still crying, and the words come out thick and stilted.
"Fuck what people think. Darcy, the guy possessed me for weeks and made me do his evil bidding. I still have nightmares about him being inside my head. But believe it or not, he has become a model citizen since he started to work for us. We've made breakthroughs that would have taken decades if not for his knowledge. Trust me, I wouldn't be saying this unless I genuinely believed there was some hope for Loki."
"You really think there's hope for him?"
"Yes," he says softly, and Darcy's tears stop for long enough that she dares to look at Clint. His eyes are narrowed with some unpleasant memory of Loki, perhaps, but she sees no falseness in his face. "I think it's you, Darcy. You've given Loki the hope that he can be something more than a wayward son and brother."
Darcy laughs, and the sound is so bitter and warped to her ears that she winces afterwards. "That's not the impression I get. He turns up in my room in the middle of the night, fucks me, and he's gone in the morning. That's not a relationship to me. That's something he's ashamed of."
"Maybe he has his reasons. But I'm betting he feels the same. Loki's been in a pretty thunderous mood of late, and I think we both know why. You'd be doing us all a favour."
The door closes behind Clint, Darcy turns back to her bed and finds Loki standing there.
"Shit, Loki!" she says, her heart hammering. "Is there any reason you can't use the fucking door?"
"Would you have let me in?" he says mischievously, and Darcy sighs.
"I'm just amazed you showed up in daylight. I was starting to think you were a vampire."
He raises an eyebrow. "I see you were entertaining Agent Barton."
"Hardly. He came in on a really shitty pretence and then proceeded to eat my entire bag of potato chips. I was saving those for my solitary movie night."
"What did he want?"
"You weren't listening in?"
"No," he says, and Darcy thinks that maybe she's misjudged Loki a little. He's not that much of a creeper. "Well, apparently everyone knows we're fucking. So much for your discretion."
His eyes widen, then his hand reaches for her hip and draws her to him.
"Does that bother you?" she asks, tensing her body, determined to resist him even though it's difficult to concentrate with his warm, lean frame pressed into hers.
"Well..." he begins, but doesn't get a chance to continue.
"Are you embarrassed of me? Is that it?" She spits, wriggling out of his grasp. Her eyes are blazing with barely-suppressed anger, but she's learned to keep her emotions in check with him, to hide how she really feels. The look of shock that passes over his face is the last reaction she expects.
"W-what?" he splutters. "Is that what you think, Darcy? That I am shamed by my relationship with you?"
"You call sex in the middle of the night a relationship?"
His eyes darken with anger, and he steps closer to her, reaches out so his hands are either side of her head. Loki is all taut muscle and cat-like grace, beautiful and powerful and terrifying all at once.
Darcy catches a glimpse of the window over his shoulder, just at the moment the clouds break and a hint of blue peeps through.
That hint of blue sky gives her the clarity she needs to remind herself that she's worthy of something more than what Loki can give her.
Except then her eyes refocus on Loki, and his eyes are wet. He's shaking with anger and turbulent emotion, his face drawn with a pain that makes somewhere inside Darcy ache.
"You think that you are nothing to me, mortal?" His words are ice. His fingers stroke the sides of her cheeks, his body pushed up against her in a way that makes her tingle between her thighs.
Whatever this is, she's not falling for it. Loki is clearly trying to seduce her out of having this conversation. She tries to move, but his hands against her face are iron, and she cannot move no matter how hard she tries
.
Darcy meets his gaze head on, confident. "Prove that I'm not nothing, then."
She doesn't get a chance to say any more, because then Loki kisses her, and there's nothing gentle about it, just his tongue sliding against her lips until she opens for him. His mouth devours her, hot and wet and perfect as it moves with hers, sending sparks through every inch of her body.
She leans into him, curls her arms round his neck as they kiss. Loki's hands slide under her knees and he lifts her with ease, throwing her on to the bed. They make short work of each other's clothes with eager fingers, Loki tearing her panties from her hips in his impatience.
He hasn't even touched her, so when those long fingers slide between her thighs, stroking, pressing, she's shocked at how wet she is already. Apparently Loki is, too, because his eyes are dark with lust and an overwhelming need for her. Three fingers enter her roughly, and Darcy whimpers quietly, biting her lip so hard it bleeds.
No, there's nothing gentle about this, and that's how Darcy wants it. She's angry, and wants something, anything that will make her forget the pain of loving a man who can't admit his feelings for her.
She sits up on her knees, reaches down to wrap a hand round his length, squeezes tightly. He makes a guttural sound in his throat as she pumps him, his hips thrusting into her hand. In one swift movement he pushes her hand away, rears up on to his knees and flips her so her knees are resting on the bed.
It's a relief to not have to look at him, and she suspects that's exactly what he's thinking, too. Neither of them trusts the other to not reveal the emotions they'd rather hide when their eyes meet. It's sad, Darcy thinks, but then she stops thinking.
His body leans over hers and she parts her thighs instinctively, her hands moving to grip the sheets as his lips press kisses down her spine, inflaming every inch of her as they go. Loki's hands move to her hips, fingertips digging into the soft skin with bruising strength.
Darcy longs for him to mark her, to make her hurt. She wants him to fuck her so hard that she forgets everything except the slick slide of their bodies and the heat and pressure where they fit together.
Loki's head dips to kiss her neck, lips curving in a smile against her skin when she whimpers at the touch. He pulls her body towards him, slides his length between her folds, grazing her clit.
She gasps, and there's a low chuckle in her ear, then his tongue tracing a shape on her neck. And then he enters her in one smooth stroke, letting out a small, desperate cry. His hands hold her hips fast, prevent her from moving, and Darcy grips the pillow, her hair half-out of its ponytail and falling around her face in waves. He still doesn't move, and it's fucking torture to feel the stretching throb of him inside her.
"Loki, please. I need you to fuck me."
Her words turn into a moan when he draws back and pushes into her again, so hard it nearly sends her off balance. It irritates her that he was obviously waiting for her to beg, but she loses the capacity to feel annoyed when he takes one hand from her hip and buries it in her hair, pulling it hard enough to hurt and adding another layer of sensation.
Her knuckles are turning white where they grip the pillowcase, and she's moaning shamelessly, pushing back against him even though his punishing rhythm is almost too much for her to keep pace with. He removes his hand from her hair, seizes her hip to keep her still. Darcy gives in and lets him pound into her with a force that shakes the bed and has her panting, moaning, screaming with the onslaught of sensation.
With every second that grows the heat rises in her, sweat beading on her back from the heat of Loki's body where it curves over hers, the spring coiling tighter and tighter inside her. When he finds her wet and slick where their bodies join and flicks those perfect fingers against her clit, all while maintaining the rhythm of his hips, she's lost.
She comes hard with an intensity that's somewhere between pleasure and pain, her eyes squeezing shut so tight that colours bloom beneath her lids. And even when she's oversensitive and trembling, the fucking bastard keeps his fingers on her clit with a gentle pressure, forcing her into a second orgasm that makes her thrash against him and lose her now-tentative grip on the bedding as she cries out his name.
Her knees are cramping and her arms shaking from holding herself up on the bed, and she presses limply against Loki as he thrusts once, twice, emptying himself inside her with a groan. He kisses her shoulder and sweeps her hair away from her neck, then turns her around and rests her against the pillows with surprising tenderness.
Darcy's glad he moved her, as she's not too sure she could do it herself. Her entire body is shaking, and her breaths are still coming in rapid pants.
She folds her legs underneath her gingerly, already registering the throbbing between her legs and winces a little, knowing just how sore she's going to feel tomorrow. A quick peek under the sheet reveals purple bruises in the shape of long fingers already blooming on her hips, which doesn't surprise her. It's sticky between her thighs, and she shifts uncomfortably.
She glances at Loki next to her, and thinks how thoroughly debauched the handsome bastard looks right now. His black hair is tousled, his lower lip bruised where she bit it, and for an Asgardian, he actually looks exhausted.
Loki runs a hand through his hair, pushing the sweaty tendrils off his face. "Well, Darcy, that was...unexpected."
"I'll say." She looks over and finds his face unreadable, a blank mask, but she can't get his earlier pained expression out of her head. It was real, as real as her own feelings for him. "I'm not going to be able to walk for a week."
He smirks. Darcy looks back at the window and sees the blue has transformed into the orange and purple of the sunset, blending together. Loki follows her gaze, and something in his eyes grows softer.
"My mother loves the sunset. When I was a boy we used to stand on her balcony, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Darcy, an Asgardian sunset is more beautiful than you can imagine. There are so many hues and colours, all blending together in greens and purples that flash across the sky. Your version on Midgard is a pale imitation."
Her anger is gone. She reaches over and takes his cool hand in hers. He looks down at where their fingers meet, something fearful in his expression, but then he smiles. And it's not the sardonic, mocking smile of Loki, but genuine, and so sweet it nearly makes tears spring to her eyes.
"You miss her, don't you?"
"Yes," he says quietly, and he looks so empty, so pained that it shocks her. "You are not nothing, Darcy Lewis. And do not let anyone tell you otherwise."
He shifts on the bed, drops her hand and turns away. She can tell he's about to go, and before she can stop herself she's moved, placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Stay."
And he does, for the first time in months. They curl up naked in the sheets and watch Pride and Prejudice – her choice. Loki complains loudly until Darcy elbows him sharply in the ribs. She eats apple slices dipped in peanut butter and he wrinkles his nose in disgust until she convinces him to try one. He finishes the jar and the rest of her bag of her apples.
Later, they lie in the dark and his hand finds hers. His lips trace her hand and she finds herself kissing him as he slides his knee up between her thighs. Darcy protests she's too sore for round two, and Loki just laughs, kisses his way down her body.
He goes down on her with gentle presses of his mouth and soft swipes of his tongue that have her arching into him, bucking against his mouth as she comes with a quiet whimper. She returns the favour, her nails digging into the muscles of his thighs as she takes his cock into her mouth, sucking and scraping teeth until his hips jerk and he spurts down her throat with a gasp.
Hazy with sleep, she settles into the hollow of Loki's arms and wonders if their relationship – yes, she's using that word to describe it – can even be defined, or whether it needs to be.
Perhaps this is enough. She realises she actually wants him to be here in the morning, but she can't bring herself to ask, and maybe she doesn't need to.
When she wakes to sheets that smell of him and not even a note, it feels like validation.
Darcy wakes up alone and for the first time, it hurts.
Don't kill me. I'm not quite done torturing these two yet.
Clint Barton as Dr Love was a shameless use of a minor character for my own purposes, but I think he did his best.
** If anyone's into Star Trek, I just started a Spock/Uhura fic called Entropy if you fancy reading it. **