Darcy hadn't laughed so hard since the time Jane had blown up the toaster and worn her Raspberry PopTart instead of eating it. Clint Barton, once she got him to open up, was surprisingly witty – in a very dry, masculine sort of way.

They stopped at the lab to drop off the Red Bull and PopTarts. Darcy all but force fed Jane, who waved her off, mumbling something about loud breathers and jack booted thugs. Darcy took that as permission to escape the realm of science.

So Darcy went up to the roof, carrying the Cosmo, the tequila, a salt shaker, the now sliced limes, and two shot glasses. As she sprawled across one chaise lounge, she toed off her beat up Chucks. "We're going to play a game, Robin Hood."

He eyed the tequila. "Is it a drinking game?"

"It's 3 am. We're in the middle of nowhere with nothing else to do. Of course it's a drinking game."

Agent Barton gave her a dangerously sexy smile. "Ok, I'll bite. What're the rules?"

Darcy grinned and waved the magazine. "If you've done it, you drink."

"Define 'it.'" He said, smirking.

Darcy flipped the magazine open at random. Of course it would land on the sex moves article. "If you've done the sex move discussed, you take a shot," she explained, trying not to stare at his ass as he dragged his chaise lounge closer to her.

He lied down on his seat, kicking his boots off. "Let's go, then."

The first sex tip involved running an ice cube over your partner's nipples. They both filled their shot glasses and toasted each other, tossing the shots back with a theatrical flourish.

The second involved wearing stiletto boots and nothing else. Clint watched as Darcy sighed and took another shot. "So not fair!" she cried after biting the lime. His mind pictured Darcy wearing just that...he shook his head, trying to clear the image out.

The third involved using a blindfold. Clint grinned, remembering an assignment in Paris and a beautiful painter…he took his shot.

Fifteen more tips were called out. Clint took 9 shots; Darcy took 12. Clint made a mental note to one day try out #11.

Darcy had made a show out of reading the sex tips in a fake-seductive voice. "Where'd you learn to talk like that?" he asked.

"I watched Elvira: Mistress of the Dark way too many times in college. It's one of my comfort movies." She suddenly sat up. "We should watch that!"

Clint stared at her, having trouble making his left eye stay fully open. "Right now?"

"Uh, duh. It's not like Jane's coming back to the trailer anytime soon."

"Why not?" he said, shrugging. Clint leaned forward and stuck his feet back into his boots. As he stood and wobbled, he realized that the tequila had hit him a little harder than he thought.

Darcy stood and wobbled as well. Clint attempted to catch her, but they both ended up falling back onto one of the chaise lounges. Clint landed on top of Darcy, his leg trapped between her thighs. The two stared at each other, both momentarily lost for words…until Darcy started giggling. "Robin Hood, is that an arrow in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

Clint leaned into her shoulder, laughing. But then he caught a whiff of the delicate floral perfume that lingered on her neck, and he suddenly wanted to know if Darcy tasted as good as she smelled.

He ran his nose down the pale column of her throat, inhaling deeply. Darcy's giggles became husky as she threw her head back, offering her skin for his perusal. Clint nibbled the delicate skin, starting at the hollow of her throat and working his way up to her chin. Darcy's hands grabbed his shoulders then slid silkily down his back as she hummed in contentment.

Clint took her face in his hands and stared into her deep blue eyes. Whatever he had told himself earlier about her being an assignment left his brain as Darcy grabbed his ass and smirked.

Clint kissed Darcy, trying to wipe that attractive little smirk off her face. She tasted like salt and tequila and mischief. One of her legs wrapped around his waist as his hands slid up her legs and cupped her backside.

He pulled back suddenly. Darcy was his target to protect, not to seduce! "We shouldn't –" he started.

Darcy grabbed his hair and pulled his face to hers. "Shut up," she ordered before kissing him ruthlessly. Her tongue slid past his lips, stroking against the roof of his mouth. He slid his fingers over her hips and under the hem of her shirt as he returned her kiss, stroke for bold stroke. Her hips rose and ground into his as he pinched her nipples through the fabric of her bra. God, she has great breasts, was the last coherent thought Clint had before instinct took over.

Shoes were kicked back off and clothes flew across the roof as the two raced to see who could undress the other the fastest. Darcy fumbled with Clint's belt as he tried to pull off her hoodie. Darcy's glasses were set under the chair next to Clint's gun holster.

And suddenly the two were naked and staring at each other, unsure of whether to continue what had been started. Clint ran his fingers over Darcy's curves, marveling at her alabaster skin, glowing in the moonlight. Darcy traced the veins in his arms as she bit her bottom lip. The two looked each other in the eye, and Darcy raised one eyebrow. "So…are you gonna rock my world, or do I need to go back to the trailer and dig out my trusty vibrator?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can take care of things for you." Clint said, leaning in to take her lips with his again. He could feel Darcy smiling into the kiss.

It was a war, each seeing who could push the other to come first. Finally, somehow, they reached a release at the same time.

As Clint pulled a blanket over them, he heard Darcy murmur, "Does this mean I get my iPod back?"

Darcy woke up the next morning to tequila-hangover-mouth. That wasn't terribly surprising; since SHIELD had taken over their research, Darcy (and sometimes Jane) had spent many nights drinking away their frustrations with the shadowy agency. What was surprising was the fact that 1) she was on the roof and 2) she was naked.

Darcy groaned and covered her eyes with her forearm. What the hell had happened? She remembered the ridiculously attractive agent and then trying to feed Jane and being dismissed, then going up to the roof and…oh. Oh. OH. Fuck. Shit fuck balls. FUCKKKKK.

Darcy rolled over and reached under the chaise lounge, trying to find her clothes. Her hands brushed across her glasses, so she grabbed them and put them on. As she looked around, she noticed a note sitting on top of something square on the ground.

She opened it and sat up, covering herself with the blanket. The note was short:

Guess I was the right person to fuck. Round two?

-C.B.

Darcy looked on the ground again. There, where the note had been, was her iPod!

Maybe being stuck in the middle of bumfuck nowhere wasn't going to be so bad, after all…