'Sup, honeys! I got rained on today, sodding drenched, actually. So instead of wallowing in my despair over how bloody cold and damp I was, I sucked it up, got changed, made tea, and sat down to write this.
Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. But you know, sebstan would make a pretty good present. Just sayin'.
It's an overcast, chilly day, and Darcy is, of course, working. Rather than curled up under a blanket with her two favourite superheroes, and playing Mario Kart, she is running errands for her new boss, who sadly, is not Jane or Coulson. Trusty ipod in her back pocket, earbuds firmly jammed in her ears, she is blasting the new playlist Clint sent her last week, and so far, it is turning out pretty nicely, though he does have a tendency to over include eighties power ballads, and so far she has listened three in a row.
But the reason she is trekking across New York, is that her new boss is a raging psychopath who doesn't know how the internet functions. Tony Junket, head of catering at SHIELD, somehow had managed to steal; her away from Coulson without her say-so, and treats her like an intern with no idea where she wants to end up, rather than the university graduate with a poli-sci degree, who speaks five languages including english, and goals that sit way up the hierarchical monkey bars, that she is.
No, she gets saddled with placing a verbal (verbal; in person!) order with the company for the gala. And when she had told him it was possible to place the order over the internet (and it is, because she had checked), he scoffed, and told her, 'I don't trust the internet'.
Message received, loud and clear. He doesn't trust her, and to be perfectly honest, at this point she doesn't care, just wants to place the order and get the fuck home to her honeys.
So she takes the subway, walks for ten minutes and threatens a man with her taser, before she finally gets to the company.
Thank fuck it isn't closed.
She places her order, charges it to SHIELD, and turns on her heel for home.
The walk back is fine, the subways are less creepy than usual, and she doesn't have to tase anyone. But when she gets off at her station, and goes to take the twenty minute walk to her apartment, the heavens open.
She doesn't bother to shriek, and take cover, like the floozy across the street is currently doing(sue her, she's angry at the fucking world), but instead takes a deep breath and walks home. It's a bit of rain, she's had worse.
Halfway home, she does shriek, because it moves from 'oh hey, it's raining' to fucking 'torrential downpour', and she doesn't have an umbrella, because the damn thing broke this morning.
By the time she gets home, an incredibly uncomfortable ten minutes later, she's dripping, and soaked to the bone. She fumbles for her key with numb, shaking hands, and slips inside, revelling at the wave of warm air that sweeps over her. Dumping her bag, Darcy shrugs off her coat and hangs it on the hook by the phone.
"Fuck me." She mutters, on doing so, because the coat is drenched through, and therefore, so are her clothes. Then she shudders.
"Darce?" Steve pops his head around the corner. Then he does a double take. "Jesus, Darce. What happened?" She gestures half heartedly at the window, shivers a bit.
"'S raining." He steps out of the kitchen, wraps her up in a hug, regardless of her wet clothes. He's scorching hot, and she burrows further into his embrace, pressing her frozen nose against his collarbone. He twitches slighly.
"Darce, I swear you were wearing a coat."
A new voice answers Steve, and Darcy swivels in Steve's arms.
"Yeah, uh, that's soaked through, Punk." Bucky is stretching out an arm of Darcy's coat, and it drips insistently on the hardwood. "You okay, doll?"
She shivers violently.
"C-cold." Darcy trembles against Steve, and Bucky threads his hands through her hair.
"Shower, babe."
"Come w-with?" She twists to look up at Steve, yanks on Bucky's metal arm gently, directing the question at both men.
"Sure thing, Darce." Steve drops a kiss on her forehead, and she sinks into the warmth of it. Bucky just chivvies them both towards their bathroom, plastering himself against Steve's back, and then leaves him to try and cuddle Darcy warm while he messes with the temperature of their very large shower.
They had bought the biggest shower they could find, and while not exactly caring about extra features, the one they eventually chose had three shower heads and somehow gave them super good water pressure, even though where they lived usually had terrible pressure, nice though it was. It fit her and her boys in with room to spare, and really, that was all she wanted, to be able to have them in the shower with her sometimes.
It's the only downside, really, of living with two genetically enhanced super soldiers, if you can call it a downside, you have to splurge for a decent shower.
Water heated to Bucky's liking, he and Steve help Darcy out of her wet things, tossing them into the laundry basket. They land with a damp splat, and she cringes at the sound. Bucky kisses her on the shoulder, and abruptly hoists her up, swinging her gracefully into the shower.
She barely manages not to squeak, but only because it is a common occurrence, and instead wets her hair, tipping her head back carefully. Steve and Bucky undress rapidly, and climb in with her, neatly arranging themselves under the spray. She mentally thanks Thor that there are three shower heads as Bucky grabs his shampoo and squeezes a dollop on her head. She yelps at the cold substance, finally warm enough that she feels human again.
"Cold, James!" She tells him, but grins and lets him massage it into her scalp, and into the rest of her hair. Steve is busily washing his own hair, and rinsing himself off. Then he sinks his hands into her hair, tipping her face up to kiss her sweetly.
"Better?"
"Mmm." She says. Then she turns around to kiss Bucky, quite snug between the two of them as Bucky bites her bottom lip sharply, soothing the sting away with his tongue. Then the pair of them wash the shampoo out of her hair, and run a loofah over her gently, passing it between them cheerfully. It is laden with cinnamon body wash, and she thanks her lucky stars that Emma from English class in high school designs her own soaps and shower gels.
Hair rinsed, smelling great, and squished between her boys, Darcy is content, the worries from her day fading away. Bucky hops out, dripping on the floor, and fetches their fluffiest towel, beckoning Darcy out of the shower, and swaddling her in it merrily. She peers out at him from the folds of fabric and raises an eyebrow.
"Buck." She says simply. He sighs, yanks the towel away slightly so she has her head free. She shakes her hair free, as far as she is able, then sweeps an arm under it to free it from the towel.
Steve pads naked through their apartment, and Bucky gets just a tiny bit distracted watching him go, eyes fixated on his ass.
"Hate to see him leave, but I love to watch him go, hey Darce?"
"Mmm." She leans against his chest sleepily, and yawns. He smiles at her fondly.
"C'mon, babe, I'll dry your hair for you." She lets him tug her through to the kitchen, plops down on the Ottoman Steve has carried in from the living room. Bucky eases a brush through the tangles in her hair, and she snuggles into the towel as he marvels about how long it's getting.
"Almost down to your ass now."
"Good handhold." Says Steve, grinning.
"At ease, soldier." Darcy says, prodding him with her toe. He's sitting at her feet, looking up at her. "And stop pouting." Says Bucky. He goes about drying her hair, and she thinks about getting it cut, except she sort of loves it, even if the boys get a little obsessed with wrapping it around their fists.
Dry, warm and content, Darcy makes Steve give her a piggy back to their bedroom, Bucky following, grinning at her when she sticks her tongue out. Then they all fold together under the covers, slotting themselves together like jigsaw pieces. Steve curls in around her back, hips to hips, chest pressed against her back, and Bucky loops an arm under both their heads, and lets her lean into his chest, then tosses the metal arm over their waists casually.
They drift off, safe and warm, and Darcy manages to think she should get rained on more often, if this is the result.
She skips work the next day, in preference of letting her boyfriends fuck her into exhaustion.
She does manage to phone Coulson in one of their breaks, and get him to 'urgently require Miss Lewis' aid on translating a missive from Portugal'.
She's much happier in her old job.