Work Text:
Coulson had a day off. It wasn't universally recognized; more often than not, he worked seven days a week. If one were to ask the agents under his command, he also didn't sleep, ever. Some had even made the comparison that he was possibly a drone of some kind; the perfect agent. But peeks at his humanity, rarely seen but there all the same, were a good reminder that he was just a man, who happened to enjoy his work. Or, at the very least, his job deserved a specific skill set that few besides himself possessed.
But there was one day out of the week that he was technically allowed, even occasionally encouraged, not to come in.
For the last few months, after a series of many that he hadn't, he was putting that day to good use.
Darcy turned her head, flicking it quickly to get the tangled brown curtain of her hair out of her line of sight. She snuffled her face against her arm and watched him as he sat with his back against the headboard, a folder in hand, brows furrowed intensely.
She rolled her eyes, mouth twitching. "Are you seriously doing work right now?"
He looked over at her, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. "You were sleeping," he said, before marking his page, closing the folder, and dropping it on the bedside table. He plucked his glasses off, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and folded them to place on top of his visibly classified papers.
"How were you not sleeping?" She rolled over onto her back and stretched her arms above her head, pleasantly approving as his eyes fell to where her naked chest lifted, looking even more awesome than usual. She smirked at him, but her smugness evaporated when he reached over and traced his finger across some of the darker bites and hickeys he'd left behind. Her skin tingled under his touch and her eyes fell to watch as he circled her pink areola, tracing the very edges as they melded with her pale skin.
"I slept a little," he told her, watching as her nipple puckered, straining, desperate. He shuffled down the bed, managing not to stop touching her, because he was a ninja like that, and then he had his chin balanced on her shoulder. He slid his hand away, callused palm scraping down soft flesh before he settled it between her boobs, thumb moving to repeatedly rub along the curve of one. "Your snoring is melodic; helps me focus."
She snorted. "When have you ever needed help focusing?" She dragged her nails down the back of his hair, scraping lightly at his neck. "You're like the king of focus."
His mouth curved up on one side. "I seem to remember being distracted in a meeting on Wednesday when you told me you weren't wearing anything under your skirt…"
His hand smoothed down her front and shoved the basic blue sheet away. His fingers tickled the skin above her pussy, just short of the thin strip of trimmed, dark hair.
"If I remember correctly, since we had that incident out of town, I never found out if that was true…" His hand moved to the left, his thumb dragging over her hipbone.
Her clit throbbed with regret.
"Authenticity, boss-man… Took off my favorite Batman underwear in the bathroom before the meeting…" She tugged on his hair. "They should still be in your desk drawer… Top left."
He tisked. "Just about anybody could find those, Miss Lewis."
She chuckled, but her mind was mostly on his hand making its ascent up her side, pausing to tease her ribs. "You've got like six different passcodes to one drawer… A lowly minion such as myself only got in because you gave them to me."
"That's because you were going through sticky notes at an unnatural rate and the office supplies department refuses to give you anymore… I don't think putting your underwear in my drawer was what I was thinking about at the time," he mused. Ducking his head, he nipped lightly at the top of her breast. "And don't call yourself that."
"Not all of us are badass agents, Son of Coul…"
He turned his head to look up at her. "Maybe not, but I'm only an agent to make sure people like you get to live their lives to the fullest…"
"Life would be fuller if your hand would stop getting so far away…" she said, eyeing it as it slid into her hair. "I liked the direction it was going before…" She raised her eyebrows. "Down."
"Lowly minions don't get to tell it where to go…" He massaged her neck, just the way she liked it, his thumb skirting underneath her ear. "I suggest you put in a request when you think as highly of yourself as I do."
"Not sure that's achievable… Maybe we should aim a little lower," she murmured, dropping her head back as his fingers hit a particular knot in her neck.
He turned his head and bit her shoulder before crawling between her legs on his knees. His hands rubbed up and down the tops of her thighs as he leaned down to kiss a path from her clavicles down to her belly button, letting his tongue dip inside. Darcy watched the play of strength under his skin, his shoulders and biceps flexing as he moved. It still sometimes amazed her that her stuffy agent was so solid and cut underneath the suit. Judging a book by its cover and all that, she guessed.
She occasionally thought it was funny that it all changed because of elevator music.
For as long as she could remember, she hated the generic crap they played inside elevators, and Stark's phallic symbol of an Avengers building was no different. So she'd taken to listening to her iPod whenever she had to move between floors, checking on her scientists three — Stark, Banner, and Jane— each of whom had their own labs, though they regularly collected together to 'make science.' Darcy translated that more aptly to 'blow shit up.'
So it wasn't a surprise to run into Coulson in the elevator; she constantly bumped into agents, Director Fury, the assassins-that-were-totally-doing-it, also known as Barton and she-who-shall-not-be-named-for-fear-of-being-killed, and Thor, of course, who was initially freaked out by the tiny box that moved at command. After he took his hammer to it, calling it a kidnapping foe, the elevator was down for a couple weeks, in which Darcy got in some serious cardio that she wished never to repeat.
Foot tapping, earbuds in, Darcy merely nodded at Coulson as he climbed on, his arms tucked behind his back, and waited for Stark's elevator to do its magic. It was only a few seconds before she felt a tug and then the crappy noise of repetitive elevator music melded with her own brand of melodic perfection.
"Hey!" She snagged the earbud back from him and pointed. "You stole it once and I let it go. Try it again and I don't care how ninja you are, I will break fingers!"
His mouth twitched. "That won't be necessary, Miss Lewis… I only wanted to warn you that there's a SHIELD policy; you can't listen to your iPod on property, in case there's an alert or lockdown and you don't hear it."
"SHIELD has a lot of policies I don't follow…" She rolled her eyes. "Like dress code."
His eyes fell, taking in her well-worn jeans, scuffed boots, and knit sweater, loose around the collar enough that it dropped down over one shoulder, exposing it and the strap of her burnt orange tank top. "I think personal safety is a little more important than whether or not you're wearing the expected suit…"
"I signed a waiver or six hundred…" She waved a hand. "I swear, if something happens and I die, my non-existent next of kin will not sue."
She moved to put her earbud back in, but he stopped her. "I'd really be more comfortable if I didn't have to worry about whether or not you heard an alarm go up every time, just in case you were in the elevator… It would make my job more difficult."
"I'm touched," she said drolly. "Look, you have two options. You either change the shitty elevator music or you get really used to having to save my bacon when Doom or Loki or whoever infiltrates and takes me hostage."
He frowned, eyes turned to one side. "It matters to you so much that you'd risk being taken hostage?"
She blinked at him. "Do you remember how many times I called because you and your thugs stole my iPod in New Mexico?"
He obviously did, since he winced.
"Options," she said, before tucking her earbud back in and climbing off on the next floor. She turned on her heel and shot a finger-gun at him as the doors closed; she thought she might've seen the hint of a smile there.
The following day, the elevator music was gone.
But in its place was some truly terrible techno.
And the day after it was ear-splitting screamo.
By the fourth day, J-Pop, Darcy stormed his office.
He raised an eyebrow as she burst through his door. "Good morning, Miss Lewis."
"A. It's Darcy," she said, shaking her head. "And B. You jackholes had my iPod for almost a year… I'm a little offended you don't know my musical taste a little better."
He leaned back in his chair and watched her. "Feel encouraged to enlighten me."
She stared at him thoughtfully before turning on her heel and walking away.
The next morning, the generic elevator music was back on.
When he climbed on next to her, she offered him an earbud.
He tucked it in and listened while they climbed, higher and higher.
It became a routine. And when he wasn't in the elevator, she left the other bud hanging, as if waiting for him.
Of course, two weeks later, there was an attack. One she knew was happening because she had one ear free.
It totally wasn't fair though when she ended up being a hostage, not by Dr. Doom but by some other lame-ass spy who infiltrated security.
She would like to point out, however, that she saved her own bacon, and she totally didn't care that her taser was against SHIELD protocol.
When Coulson found her, twitching spy at her feet, head phones hanging around her neck, he smiled for real.
Under the guise of going over the SHIELD handbook of procedures and protocols, she was invited over to his apartment, and she'd been rocking his Saturdays sideways ever since.
She pulled her knees back as his hands fell, framing her pussy, thumbs parting her labia. He rubbed slowly, in circles, dipping inside, spreading her wet heat around. He nibbled at her inner-thigh, adding to the various other bruising bite marks he'd left behind. They'd ordered in take-out and watched a movie last night, but when the clock hit midnight and Saturday started, everything was moved to his bedroom, clothes stripped off on the way.
There was a thread of anticipation each time; through eating dinner and cuddling up on the couch as they watched a comedy, his fingers combing through her hair, all the while knowing that a countdown was happening, and once the clock struck twelve, they had 24 hours of uninterrupted sexy times. And he made the best of his time; like a person who knew how often it was taken for granted, he made sure that as long as sleep or food weren't a necessity, they were making up for six days of lost time.
Darcy knew some people might completely hate his schedule. They still got together during the rest of the week, but the chances of being interrupted or him being called away, often to deal with an international issue, was high. Even just stopping by his office to say hi or get in a quick kiss, or occasionally a quickie on his desk, was touch and go. He was a busy man and she got that, appreciated it too, but that didn't mean she couldn't be really, really happy that at least one day out of the week was dedicated to just them.
Anticipation was a thread that ran through many parts of their relationships. She anticipated hearing his voice when he was away, when her phone rang, when he snuck up on her while she was working to murmur dirty things in her ear, or even just little innocent things, like that she looked pretty that day or he was thinking about her or he stocked up on sticky notes because he noticed she was running low after trying to get Stark's attention by basically covering his lab in them.
She anticipated his touch; from the brush of his fingers against hers while they stood in the elevator in the morning to the way he always tucked her hair behind her ear or corrected her crooked, sometimes sliding, glasses. Or when they shared lunch together and he'd brush salad dressing or crumbs from her mouth. For all that he seemed an extremely separated person, he was actually very tactile, or maybe it was just her. She didn't want to boast, okay maybe a little, but she was probably his favorite person ever. And it wasn't even just the free-pass to boobville. He genuinely liked her personality; maybe because it clashed with his or because he wished he could be as freely opinionated as her, but he liked it when she was loud or snarky or just felt like adding in her two-cents on everything.
Which brought her to her next anticipation; love.
Sexual chemistry was a funny, sometimes cruel, little thing. Attraction, desire, sex, she was used to those things. Feelings, intimacy, love, were a little more foreign. Lines blurred though. Coulson had never defined things, which she was pretty sure probably broke his brain a little, since he was all about knowing his limitations; he survived on rules and regularities, on having a definitive goal.
The first time he invited her over, he pressed her back against the door as she walked through it; the handbook, both metaphorical and literal, was totally ignored. There was no conversation about protocol, about what was right or expected, there were just hands ghosting under clothes; pulling, tearing, shoving them out of the way. There was skin on skin and mouths slanting, teeth gnashing, lips setting a hot path over everywhere they could reach. He was driving into her with the kind of force that almost hurt, putting her right on the edge of climax until his thumb was rubbing her clit and his teeth were scraping at her nipple. She remembered she was only wearing one sock and her bra was around her waist, her legs tied around his hips and her fingers gripping his short hair. His pants were on the floor, his shirt hanging off his elbows, and as they came down, he leaned her against the door, panting, and kissed softly at the bite he left on her boob.
"Chinese?" he'd asked, and she'd just nodded.
Things just… progressed from there.
So there was no 'what am I to you?' conversation and really, she'd liked how things were going. She didn't want to interrupt the balance by putting labels on anything. What she knew was that he wanted her and he showed that to her every day, so long as he was actually in the same country/city/building. And when he wasn't there, and didn't have to worry about wiretaps, he called or he texted to tell her something that reminded him of her. Like once when he was in an undisclosed location and he heard Secret Agent Man playing and he remembered how in the first few weeks of coming to work for SHIELD, it had become their unofficial song…
"Doctor Foster, Miss Lewis… I just wanted to welcome you to SHIELD… I hope you're both happy with the move and again, I apologize for any unfortunate confusion over what happened in Puente Antiguo."
Jane, distracted by her work, merely waved at him dismissively before searching sightlessly for the now cold Pop-tart Darcy had put out for her.
Darcy, on the other hand, walked right up to Coulson until she was very much in his personal space. Eyes narrowed, she tipped her head back, and told him ominously, "There's a man who leads a life of danger. To everyone he meets he stays a stranger. With every move he makes, another chance he takes. Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow…"
He blinked at her but she offered him no more, instead turning around, grabbing up the last half of the second Pop-tart and handed it to Jane.
After clearing his throat, Coulson turned on his heel and walked away.
Two days later, she saw him in the hall. She adopted the same face and said, "Secret agent man. Secret agent man. They've given you a number, and taken away your name…"
She got a few steps before he turned and replied, apparently having done a little research since their last meeting, "Beware of pretty faces that you find. A pretty face can hide an evil mind. Oh, be careful what you say. You'll give yourself away. Odds are you won't live to see tomorrow..."
She grinned at him over her shoulder but he was already walking away.
Later, when she didn't see him for nearly a week and heard that he was away on a mission, she thought it only made sense when she left a sticky note on his desk.
Swingin' on the Riviera, one day
and then layin' in the Bombay alley next day.
Oh no, you let the wrong words slip while kissing persuasive lips.
The odds are you won't live to see tomorrow.
When he returned from his trip, he left Secret Agent Man: The Ultimate Johnny Rivers Anthology on her desk. She laughed every time she listened to it; which was more than she'd probably admit to anybody.
It wasn't that Darcy didn't think he cared. She knew he did. It was that she'd begun to hope for more than just 'caring.' The sex was amazing, Saturdays were officially her favorite day of the week, but she wanted more. It wasn't even about time; she didn't need the other six days of the week. She just wanted to know where they stood and if he felt as much as she did.
Darcy had always had train wreck relationships; her mom said it was a Lewis family trait. All Darcy knew was that she always went for the emotionally unavailable men who usually ended up cheating on her or somehow blaming her and only her for all of their relationship problems. She was too flighty, too loud, too forward. She never said the right thing, she always dressed for comfort instead of style, she either partied too much or too little, it was always just her. Every relationship since she was fourteen and realized her chest might not be the worst thing to happen to her, shoving her out of her awkward stage and into 'I like boys and boys like me,' she'd always made the wrong choice.
But Coulson wasn't like that. He was, despite having his own personal arsenal and possibly being one of the deadliest people she'd ever known, a really good person. He was witty and down to earth and he legit had a Captain America collection, making her nerdgasm, hard. He liked movies and cuddling and he tried really hard to take care of the wilting flowers outside his window and the cactus she put in his office that she'd dubbed Julio. He loved comic books and could spend hours reciting origins for her, his face lighting up with each character she knew or each piece of wisdom he could impart onto her. He wore the wool socks she knit him and he took the gloves with him on long missions in cold climates. He let her fill up an iPod with all of her music and a bunch she just knew he'd like and he would take it with him to pass the time. He had an old record player and he loved vintage wine; they'd spend some Friday nights just dancing, which often involved a lot of just spinning and groping and swaying, with her getting progressively tipsier, while he did everything he could to make her laugh.
Which was why she'd fallen in love with him. For his nerdy side and his serious side and everything in-between.
She just wasn't sure if she was supposed to.
"Have I lost you?" he asked.
She blinked, bringing her attention back to him.
He had his head leaned against her thigh, the faint scrape of whiskers tickling her skin.
She reached down and scrubbed her fingers over the shadow across his jaw. "I like it when you get scruffy."
"You like whisker-burn," he said, rubbing his cheek a little harder against her.
She bit her lip and smiled. "I like it when I'm naked; kinda chafes when I gotta put my jeans back on."
He hummed. "I wouldn't mind if you never did."
She raised an eyebrow. "You plan on keeping me locked up naked in your apartment, Agent?" She chuckled under her breath. "That is definitely against protocol."
"I think that's against the law in general, not just at SHIELD."
"Maybe there's a waiver I could sign…" she mused, turning her eyes up in thought.
He chuckled under his breath. "I think you'd get bored after a few days…"
"That's three days I could spend making sure those poor flowers outside get some much-needed TLC."
He frowned. "Elsa, Julia, and Frankenfurt are doing just fine," he assured. "I just watered them…" His eyes narrowed as he tried to remember when. "I should water them."
She laughed, lips spread in a grin. And just not just because he used the names she gave everything. Although that was something else she loved about him; just this morning, he'd realized the toaster was on the fritz and shouted to her that Brutus was broken and "Please, don't bring it in for Stark to 'fix'… I'd rather not have a ticking time bomb waiting for me at home."
"I watered them when I got here," she reassured.
"Reason two-hundred-and-sixty-seven. You water my malnourished plants," he murmured, before smoothing his hands up her stomach and letting them curve around her breasts, kneading gently.
Ah, the list.
Darcy wasn't sure when exactly he started it, although sometimes she remembered him muttering a number under his breath as early as the Secret Agent Man joke, but for at least as long as they'd been sleeping together, he'd been adding the things she did, whether on purpose or not, to a mental list of his that detailed all the ways she was an awesome person he was lucky to spend time with. He didn't exactly put it that way, but she figured it was what it boiled down to. It was a bit of a giant ego boost, actually. In fact, she called him Dumbo sometimes just because he had such an amazing memory for some of the oddest things. Like the time she tucked a Clark bar in the chest pocket of his suit when she realized he was too busy to stop and eat and he was starting to get easily agitated (reason #84). Or when she replaced all the blue pens in his drawer with black, because he preferred it but didn't have the time to talk to someone in office supplies to stop giving him the blue (reason #105). And that time that she knew his favorite ice cream was pecan and she made him up a bowl after a particularly hard mission which meant he was going to be spending most of his night in his office doing paperwork (reason #62).
"One day, you should try and write all of these out, and we'll post it somewhere for all the world to bask in my awesome," she teased.
Her chuckle was cut short as his fingers plucked at her nipples and she squirmed, arching up into his touch.
"If they never know, I never have to share," he said.
She didn't get a chance to reply, her mind going blank as his tongue slid along her slit.
"Unggg…" She wrapped her hands around his forearms and squeezed, scraping her nails through the hair there as his callused palms cupped her boobs, thumbs rubbing, flicking, circling her nipples.
He spent a good long while just exploring her folds, separating her labia with his tongue, stroking them, suckling kisses all over, using his teeth to lightly scrape. When she was on the verge of climax, her toes curled, and her hands tugging at his arm hair, he slid his mouth up and sucked her clit, flicking with his tongue until she cried out. He lapped at her as she came, tongue dipping inside. She jerked, the feel of his tongue still moving on her almost too much, but she pressed closer to it all the same, her eyes rolled back in her head.
And when she was done, panting, her legs hanging open, boneless, he climbed up her body, rubbing his mouth on her stomach, lightly nipping at her navel. His arms braced on either side of her as his hips fell, cradled against hers, and he used his teeth and tongue to tease and pluck at first one nipple and then the other. She smoothed her hands down the back of his head, one after the other, before scraping her nails over the back of his shoulders.
When his mouth finally met hers, she could taste herself on him, his tongue as it ran the seam of her lips and delved inside, flicking the back of her teeth before stroking against her own. His chest was hard against hers, flattening her boobs between them. She hitched her legs up around his waist loosely, letting her knees rub up and down his sides.
Her hand slid down between them, squeezed and stroked his cock, thick and heavy in her grip, thumb rubbing the slit, leaking with pre-cum, before directing it down. Her mouth fell open as the head slipped inside. He followed to bite at her bottom lip. As he pressed into her, an inch at a time, she let out a choked whimper. "Fuck… Faster…" She squeezed his bicep.
He smiled shakily. "Forty six," he said. "You're so impatient."
Before she could reply, or even roll her eyes, he sunk into her completely.
Her head fell back, a moan dragged out of her, and she dug her nails into his arms.
He took a few seconds, letting his forehead fall to her shoulder, before he started moving, drawing out slow only to snap his hips and push back inside, hard and fast. She loved it when it was like this. Okay, so she wasn't exactly partial, whatever. She liked it just as much when she was bent over his desk, her jeans around her knees, and he was fucking her from behind. She loved it when they were on the couch and the wait for twelve o'clock was too much, so instead she'd move to her knees in front of him and take him into her mouth until he was pulling at her arms, tugging at her hair, and then she'd ride him while the movie was still playing in the background, and their take-out got cold. Or when their dancing led him to pin her against the wall or she'd push him back against the cold, wood floors, spill a little wine on his skin and lick it up. Fast, slow, gentle, hard, bed, floor, couch, counter, shower, desk; she really just loved every second of it.
When she came, it was partly because of what he was doing, his fingers between them, squeezing her clit, and partly because she was thinking of a particularly memorable time when they'd been on the elevator and he'd hit the emergency brake before sinking down to his knees, pulling the one skirt she owned out of the way, and licking her to orgasm first through the thin, wet fabric of her underwear and then a second time after he'd stripped them off and tucked them into his pocket.
He slowed down after she came, though she knew he hadn't come yet. He kissed down her chest, licking at her nipples and circling the curves of her breasts, before he slipped out of her and pushed her legs from around him. She got the general gist and turned over onto her stomach, her knees and arms feeling a little weak. Chest down on the bed though, she arched her hips up and smiled as his hands wrapped around them.
He took his time, rubbing his hands up and over her back, massaging muscles she didn't even know were bugging her until then. He kneaded her ass, down her thighs, and used his knuckles along her calves and the bottoms of her feet. And then he replaced everywhere he touched with his mouth; from the tips of each of her toes, up her legs, nipping lightly at the curves of her butt, mouthing up her spine as his hands glided along her sides, sliding under to cup her breasts. He stopped at the nape of her neck, kissed gently and then nuzzled her hair. And she'd never felt more loose; like every inch of her had just turned into a puddle of content, before he slid back inside her, stretching her once more. She cried out, swearing under her breath, feeling every inch of him as he filled her, bottoming out and just staying still. He curved over her back, his chest, sticky with sweat, clinging to her.
It didn't take long when he found the right pace, not too fast or slow, with her leaning back to meet each of his deep thrusts; a few minutes at best. His fingers slid between her legs and rubbed her clit as he quickened, and then her muffled cry hit the mattress as she clenched around him, back arching down. He was muttering her name, repeating it, over and over, hips still jerking, and she loved that most of all.
It was cute when he called her Miss Lewis, like a private joke.
But hearing her actual name, something so simple really, meant everything.
She knelt, panting, sweaty forehead stuck to her arm. His hands were gently rubbing her breasts, before finally moving down her stomach, making soothing, swirling, circling patterns. Finally, he kissed her shoulder, gripped her hips, and slowly pulled out of her. She spread her legs out and fell to the bed on her belly, her eyes closed. He laid next to her, breathing heavily, and she gathered her strength to turn her head. She always felt a weird sense of pride at seeing him after they'd had sex; his skin flushed, his hair ruffled, marks from her teeth and nails all over him. He was undone; where usually he was immaculate, flawlessly put together, here he was without any defenses.
He cracked an eye to look at her looking at him, and his mouth curved at the corners. "You look smug."
"I am smug," she answered.
He turned onto his side and reached for her, tracing circles and shapes on her shoulder blade. "How much time do you think we have left?" he wondered.
"I distinctly remember eating a late lunch, factor in my nap, annnd…" She checked the window. "It's definitely night, so…" She shook her head. "I'm going to say it's around seven."
"Are you hungry?" He raised an eyebrow. "I'm willing to chance the cold floors to bring you back leftovers…"
She grinned. "My hero."
"I try."
She turned onto her side, curving her arm back and resting her head on it. His hand slid around to her ribs and settled, thumb stroking gently. "There's a pool going on about what you do on your Saturdays," she told him.
"I know." He looked at her. "My favorite is that I have a secret fight club, but that I can't talk about it, because…" He stared at her seriously. "First rule of fight club…"
She laughed. "Mine is that you run an underground cock fighting ring… Very hush, hush."
"I imagine Dr. Banner, being a vegetarian, doesn't appreciate that as much…" he mused.
"Which is probably why Tony suggested it."
He snorted. It was a few minutes before he asked her, "What did you bet on?"
"What makes you think I bet?"
"If you didn't it'd be suspicious," he said plainly.
True, and she'd thought of that.
"Pepper thinks you have a clandestine relationship with someone at SHIELD… That you're so in love you don't want to risk outing it and having Fury find out…" she blurted, feeling her face blush and hoping he'd assume it was just a post sex flush.
"Pepper's a smart woman," he answered, letting his hand slide low along the dip of her waist.
Darcy felt her heart thump. "It's that secretary in accounting, isn't it?" she joked.
He gave no reaction, just watching her a long moment. "Darcy… What do you think we're doing here?"
"I definitely heard someone suggest leftovers…" she averted, casting her eyes away.
He had her flat on her back faster than she could blink, but it wasn't sexual this time, not really. He brushed away a chunk of her hair from where it was stuck to her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. "I don't usually get close to people… It's hazardous. More for them than me…" he admitted.
"I can see that," she muttered. "Bargaining tool, right?"
He nodded.
Darcy readjusted her head so she could face him better; it was obvious he wanted to have a serious conversation and really, she knew what it was about. Hadn't she just been angsting over not knowing if he loved her, if he even could, or what they really were together? Now that her wish was being answered though, she was kind of regretting it; his opening wasn't exactly encouraging.
"I didn't anticipate you."
"Since you prepare for everything, I'm going to take that as a compliment," she said decidedly.
His mouth twitched. "I never knew what to expect out of you… People are mostly creatures of habit; they're easy to figure out after a while, if you spend enough time watching them."
"Stalking," she corrected.
"Either or," he said easily. "The point is, even after I spent time watching you, I couldn't figure you out… Your motives or your habits… Besides the obvious; a lack of brain-to-mouth filter, dislike of authority figures—"
"I like you just fine," she interrupted.
"Which is even more confusing," he sighed, shoulders seeming to slump a little.
She half-smiled. "You make it sound like I shouldn't…"
"I adapted… I accepted that I liked you. That I… wanted you…" He stared at her searchingly. "I didn't prepare for you wanting me back."
"You're kind of more awesome than you give yourself credit for." She frowned. "I mean, secret agenting aside… You're funny and a little nerdy and you actually like all of my weird little Darcyisms…"
"You're not as weird as you think you are…"
She rolled her eyes. "You just said that I wasn't like normal people and it's one of the things that like, attracted you or whatever. Like I was a puzzle and you needed to figure me out."
His brow furrowed. "I liked you in New Mexico when you fought with me for your iPod… I liked you more when you weren't intimidated by me when you came to SHIELD… I liked that you treated me like a normal person instead of an agent and that you went out of your way to joke with me… I liked finding ways to engage you, like telling you not to listen to your iPod in the elevator and changing the music to bug you… Call it a pig-tail pulling experiment…" He slid his thumb down and traced the line of her jaw. "But when I found you in the elevator with just your taser and a twitching spy at your feet, that's when I knew I was really in trouble."
She swallowed, staring up at him. "Good trouble or bad trouble?"
He smiled slowly. "Darcy, being with you has been the best collection of Saturdays in my entire life…"
"Well… I am pretty bendy."
He snorted, shaking his head. "I should've said Fridays…"
Her brows furrowed.
"It's not about the sex—"
"—which is awesome!"
"It's about being with you…" he finished. "Laughing with you and putting away work. It's about forgetting the agent half of me and just being a normal man…" He swallowed tightly. "I tried dating before, with civilians, looking for that little bit or normality, and it never worked. There were too many secrets, too many unexplained trips… It's different with you; you know who I am and you don't have to ask, you understand why I have to leave…" His thumb dragged over her lips softly. "But it's not even just that… I feel real when I'm with you. I don't have to guard everything I say. You make me laugh and you make fun of my music and you let me ramble about comic books and story threads and Captain America…"
"Your man-crush," she murmured.
"I fell in love with you somewhere between quoting Secret Agent Man and dancing to Mary Lou Williams over a bottle of wine…" His jaw ticked. "I know I'm not the stable man you bring home to your mom on holidays, and most of this has possibly just been stress relief for you, but I love that you water my plants and name my appliances and leave me sticky notes with the lyrics to your current favorite song… I love that you have three tasers and you frequently imply to my junior agents that you have permission to administer shock therapy if they stare at your chest too long… I love that you talk during movies, never let me have the last slice of pizza, and that you snore, loudly." He dragged his finger down the slope of her nose. "You weren't what I expected… You were always more."
Darcy's throat closed up and she struggled to reply.
"You don't have to say it back," he said, seeming to read something else in her actions.
She rolled her eyes and slapped his shoulder. "Shut up, it's not every day I get a hot agent telling me how awesome I am… Especially one I totally fell in love with like, forever ago."
He examined her face as if he thought she was lying, before finally he nodded.
"Did I pass?" she asked, amused.
"No signs of deception, Miss Lewis, well done," he said in his Agent voice.
"Congratulations kiss?" she suggested, tipping her chin.
He smiled as his mouth slanted over hers. Darcy slung her arms around him and squeezed his waist with her legs.
He hummed, pressing down against her, and she felt him stir against her thigh.
"Uh-uh, leftovers first, Super Agent Stamina!" she reminded on a laugh.
He buried his face in her neck, licking and biting until she was squirming underneath him and then he pulled back, looking a little smug. "Food it is," he said, before walking out of the room, deliciously naked.
She watched him go, biting her lip. As she listened to him go through Boris (the fridge), she flopped back on the bed and inwardly squee'd, grinning at nothing in particular. For the first time, she felt like she was in the right relationship with the right person and it wasn't one-sided.
When he returned, he climbed into bed with her, passing over the box of cold chow mein and a pair of chopsticks, even though they both knew the sticks would wind up in her hair and she'd eat the noodles with her hands. Hey! He said he liked her just the way she was, no point in changing just because they were in love!
The only downside to her way of eating was that it was messy.
He leaned down to eat a noodle off her boob and she decided she was keeping him.
That Sunday, when he was back in agent mode, suit and all, she didn't feel like she was counting down the time to Saturday; rather, she felt like she had all the time in the world.
Just before lunch, he walked into Tony's lab, where the scientists three and Pepper had collected while Darcy kept her distance just in case they blew anything up (which was pretty much a given at this point). She hopped off the desk she'd commandeered from one of the science lackeys as her super serious agent stepped inside. "Hey Son of Coul," she greeted. "No worries, I've got DUM-E manning the fire extinguisher and I've already warned the floor that they're all together, trouble imminent."
His mouth twitched up in a half-smile, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he continued walking until he was right in front of her and then he slid an arm around her waist and tugged her in until their hips were pressed together.
"What are you doing?" she asked, only loud enough for him to hear as she stared up in wide-eyed surprise.
"Making sure Miss Potts gets her well-deserved winnings," he said, just before his lips slanted across hers.
Darcy moaned softly before wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into him. His hands slid up and down her back, despite the fact that she knew he was particularly fond of squeezing her ass. He was still very much aware of their audience, even as he met every move of her mouth, every flick of her tongue, and every graze of his teeth with one of his own.
When they finally parted, her lips were swollen, they were both panting, and she was squeezing his shoulders, her knees a little shaky, and her heart pounding in her ears. "Did you just out us?" she asked, slightly dazed.
"There's no way that follows protocol," Tony said. "Pepper, what's the sexual harassment code at SHIELD?"
"Oh, this is wonderful!" Pepper said, ignoring him. "Phil! I didn't know you and Darcy were seeing each other!" She rolled her eyes. "No wonder you've been turning down all of my set-ups!"
"You've been trying to set him up?" Tony was incredulous. "Who were these poor women?" He paused. "No offense, Lewis. You seem to be doing just fine…"
"Gee, thanks, your approval for my personal life was what I'd always wanted in life."
Bruce snickered.
"And you're welcome," Tony said, smirking.
Coulson merely raised an eyebrow. "I believe there was a bet going around on what I did on my Saturdays," he said.
"That's right!" Pepper's eyes widened. "And I won, didn't I?"
"You and Romanov," Tony said sulkily. He frowned. "I should've known she knew what was going on…"
"She's my best agent," was all Coulson said, though he looked almost smug. Turning, he looked back at Darcy, who was leaning into his side, her hand on his chest. "Lunch?" he suggested.
She grinned slowly. "Maybe we could go over SHIELD protocols again… Make sure we've got everything covered."
He stared at her, his eyes dark. "You know what they say about all work and no play, Miss Lewis…"
"I'm sure we'll find a healthy balance," she said, tugging on his tie.
"Oh God, he's flirting… This is foreplay." Tony shook his head. "Bruce, how far are we on that memory scrubber?"
Rolling his eyes, Bruce told him simply, "No."
"You better go before you break his brain," Darcy said.
"My brain is kind of a big deal," Tony agreed.
"Plus they're playing with explodey things…"
"Aren't they always?" Coulson mused, but he leaned down and kissed her once more before releasing her, straightening himself out, and giving the group a nod goodbye.
Darcy watched him go, admiring how well his suit fit him.
When she turned back around, she had three sets of eyes staring at her, wanting answers.
Bruce had wandered back to their project, not as much a gossip-monger as the others.
The only thing that saved her from having to explain was the small scale explosion and Bruce's quietly muttered, "Oops."
All in all, she didn't think things could've gone any better. She had an awesome boyfriend that she loved and who loved her back and it was no longer some sordid secret. They were normal; or, well, as normal as Darcy could ever be, especially with a secret agent for a boyfriend. That was more than enough.
[End.]