Lady Sif had lovely legs, Darcy thought, carefully sipping her daiquiri. It was bright pink and Sif was looking at it curiously. They were incognito, a concept that the Asgardians found rather amusing. Some evil aliens (not the Asgardians, because of course there were more aliens) were selling alien drugs to humans. There were apparently laws in place against all this, but Darcy had drifted off into a Men in Black fantasy. She would be D, she realised, and had to stifle some very inappropriate giggling. She swore every Shield agent had a steel stick implanted inside them.
Darcy had been tasked with outfitting the Asgardians with more human-y attire. Thor when he found out they were going undercover, had muttered something about needing a dress which Darcy had decided she wasn’t going to touch. That was best left up to Jane to explore. Sif had raised a careful eyebrow at the silvery-blue dress that Darcy had foisted on her and insisted on keeping her boots.
“Do you want to try?” Darcy asked, offering the glass. Sif took a small sip and swallowed the rest of the contents in one gulp. “That was fifteen dollars!” Darcy exclaimed, one hand rising to her mouth in horror. She was still adjusting to what New York considered reasonable alcohol costs. Good thing she wasn’t a huge drinker.
“That is a bad thing,” Sif said solemnly, but spoiled it by licking her lips, eager for the last drop of the daiquiri. Darcy reminded herself that Sif’s eyes were up higher. She could pay attention!
Darcy wasn’t sure how much Sif knew about the costs of drinks in New York (very little, she assumed) but she must have figured out by her tone. Darcy had often been told she had a lot of tone. Often by stern teachers who didn’t understand that sometimes you needed a little flexibility because the government stole your laptop with all your notes.
“Ah it’s okay,” Darcy said, waving a hand – was it supposed to blur so much like that? She may have had a few more drinks than she had thought – “I’ll just expense it to Shield. They have plenty of money,” Darcy said, nodding authoritively. She sure hoped she could.
“I do hope we can fight soon,” Sif said wistfully, looking over the roiling mass of humanity attempting to dance. The sheer number of people made anything more than a grind difficult. “Though I do find your Midgardian dances... very interesting.”
Darcy watched a young man mostly covered in stickers and glow sticks flail almost uncontrollably to the beat of some subpar techno.
“Well,” she said, drawing out the word, “They’re something. Most people just move to the beat,” she wriggled her shoulders and grinned brightly at Sif. “Like that, but you know, usually better.”
Sif nodded thoughtfully. A pensive expression crossed her face. “And that?” She said, pointing to a couple who appeared to be attempting a line out of Hallelujah, two bodies rubbing furiously against other, Darcy was surprised that smoke wasn’t coming off their jeans.
“That, my friend,” Darcy said, because they were totally friends now. They had shared a cocktail glass! That was totally friendship amongst broke women. “Is grinding. Usually performed by two, or more! I doubt judge, people.”
“Is it a mating dance?” Sif asked.
Darcy snorted. “Of sorts,” she said. “Sometimes it can just be fun to rub against someone hot.”
“Thor told me that Jane said that hot is a Midgardian expression for physically attractive human specimen,” Sif said seriously. “Is that correct?”
“In Jane speak, yes,” Darcy said. That conversation had probably originated when a trio of women had called Thor, amongst other things, a ‘hot stud’. Jane had to explain that no, they didn’t want to farm him out. That had lead to a very detailed and somewhat uncomfortable explanation of every other term. When Jane started to get breathless as Thor intently looked into her eyes, Darcy had decided she was out of there.
“So, I would not be mistaken if I said that you were very hot?” Sif said, and oh, were their knees touching? They were, weren’t they.
Darcy, breathe! She told her and she took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. I suppose you would.” Sif was basically a knight in shining armour. Darcy had a used set of political science text books. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work. Darcy also wasn’t sure what her super Jewish grandmother would say if Darcy started dating a Norse goddess. Or alien. She wasn’t sure which was better. “You have lovely legs!” She squeaked. She suddenly wished she still had her drink. Then she could stare into it.
Instead she had Sif’s steady gaze. “Thank you,” she said gravely, but there was a hint of a smile at the edge of her mouth. “Would you like dance?” And the way she said dance, oh, it made Darcy shiver down to her very practical sneakers.
“Um, sure?” Darcy said, grace personified and all that jazz. She internally winced. Be cool, Darcy! She told herself.
Sif took her by the hand and guided her carefully to a mostly free area. The hand was calloused, but Sif was gentle and it felt like a soft whisper as Sif rested a light hand against her waist and brought Darcy closer to her.
“Is this how the dance goes?” Sif murmured against Darcy’s earlobe, her breath sending every nerve in Darcy’s body scrambling for a direct order. Darcy’s brain was in high alert unfortunately.
Darcy nodded jerkily. “Yes,” she said, and she was surprised by how normal she sounded. She put a hand on Sif’s lower back and slipped a leg between Sif’s thighs. “This is exactly how it goes ,” she said and rubbed her hips against Sif.
Sif was watching her with a heavy lidded stare, her eyes stormy in the dark club. “Oh good,” she said, leaning in again and pressing a feather light kiss against Darcy’s temple. She pushed in closer, her dressing riding higher as she moved against Darcy’s leg.
“Do tell me if I’m doing something wrong,” she said, rubbing against Darcy.
They were moving faster to the beat, Sif’s hand tracing maddening patterns on Darcy’s back. Darcy bent backwards and shook her hair, loving how Sif’s expression lit up.
Sif’s dress was probably riding up at an almost indecent level, which Darcy totally didn’t mind, Darcy just had to lick her lips. Sif must have seen her, despite the darkness of the club; despite how close they were because she laughed.
“Like this dress, do you? Is that why you picked it out?” Sif said her breath warm against Darcy’s face. She smelled like elderberries and warm yellow days.
Well yes, Darcy thought but she grinned at Sif and shrugged. “Maybe!”
They’re smiling at each, really silly expressions on their faces, when Sif leaned in and said, “May I kiss you, Darcy?”
Darcy bobbed her head, very grateful for Sif’s strong hand on her back because she had, honest to god, gone weak at the knees by how sincere Sif had sounded.
So she took the initiative and went on her tippy toes – damn giant Norse gods – and kissed Sif warmly and sweetly on the mouth. Sif sighed into her mouth, tongue gently teasing hers. They drew away, but not before Darcy drew her teeth over Sif’s lower lip, making it redder and juicer.
Darcy hoped the aliens never showed up.