One thing she and Clint have in common is that neither of them likes to back down. So when she wins their little wager over costuming for Tony's thing, and she offers him an out (he's a guy, they can be weird about ego, the hero guys more than most, and she has no desire to live with a moody assassin for the next month) he turns her down. Because apparently that would be worse for his ego than this is. Considering how their friends and colleagues are dressed, he may have had a point. This isn’t traditional black-tie. Still. She's appreciating the particular qualities of this view.
Darcy is maybe a little disappointed he didn't go for a dress. Clint has good legs. Not of the girly, shapely ankles variety, but his arms don't qualify for that either and those muscles are still bared to Tony's mood-lighting. Clint is wearing a sleeveless leather catsuit and thigh-high boots with killer heels. It's clinging around his ass and padded in some fashion at the chest, though he still isn't quite passing for curvy. It looks a little like the versions of Natasha’s uniform she squashes SHIELD agents for suggesting. But it works for Clint, though Darcy doesn’t know how manoeuvrable it would be with a bow. The ensemble is topped off with a dark-blonde shoulder-length wig, and when Clint turns to look at her, his mouth is the colour of plums and his eyes are framed dark.
Darcy is wearing a black three-piece pinstriped suit with a white shirt and black tie. She's binding her chest tight like for a strenuous workout, and she’s got lifts in the flat shoes (although Clint is taller in his heels). She scraped her hair back flat and, in the last minutes before leaving the apartment, added her tinted glasses and a grey fedora. She feels like she could take on the world and she isn’t even halfway through her first drink.
Clint grins at her. "So? Am I the prettiest girl in the room?"
"Loki's the prettiest girl in the room," Darcy replies. Because she is. Darcy is cool with that. In male form, Loki is gorgeous in a lean, pretty kind of way. In female form she’s every inch the Goddess, all long legs and sleek curves. So Darcy could be jealous, but instead they had a really interesting conversation about cross-cultural gender norms (Tony protesting all the way about her even asking the question, but Darcy figures that while it’s all well and good to have mortal enemies-slash-reluctant allies, you should still do them the courtesy of addressing them with their chosen pronoun. Apparently Loki goes with whatever body she’s wearing at the time, at least on Midgard).
And now Clint is pouting at her. Darcy says, “Though you’re pretty hot too. We are clearly the best-looking couple.”
Clint wraps his fist around her tie and pulls her close. “So, gonna ask me to dance?”
That’s not an offer she was ever going to refuse. Darcy pulls him out onto the floor and settles her hands onto his waist. Clint sways in time to the music, warm to her touch beneath the thin leather. He leans into her and she giggles. “So, did you like strap it up, holster it or whatever?” She pulls him a little tighter. “There’s barely even a bulge.”
Clint groans. “Something like that. But not actually immune to- Christ, Darcy.”
“Good.” She spins him round, ending up with her hands on his ass. Clint just laughs, waiting for the music to change to something faster, and raises his arms in the circle of hers. This is the part she didn’t anticipate, when she got in with the SHIELD crowd. Sometimes it’s all explosions and weapons training and international incidents. And sometimes your sort-of sometimes boyfriend goes out to a team party with you and dances to Lady Gaga with his temporary curves brushing against the swing of your tie.
Darcy hooks her fingers in the V of his halter neck. “Come with me.”
He shrugs. “Anywhere you wanna go.”
This is one of Tony’s parties, so there are plenty of discreet hallways. Darcy pulls Clint into one of them and slides her hand down the crease of his thigh until she finds the line of the zipper. “So. Which way does this thing go?”
“Either- fuck- either way.”
“Neat.” She reaches behind him to pull it open just enough that she can get her fingers inside and tug at the thin underwear he’s wearing. She slides her fingers under the elastic and onto the damp spot where it’s pressing against his cock. Darcy examines the scrap of red-purple lace she can see. This means a) he really did keep to all terms, and b) he’s basically come here tonight as kinky bondage Hawkeye, in colour-scheme and all. Darcy looks him very seriously in the eye. “You are my absolute favourite person right now.”
“And are you going to do something about that?”
She smiles. “Maybe if you’re a very, very good girl.”
That kind of just slipped out, and she is absolutely not expecting the way Clint’s hips roll towards her and his tongue dampens his lips. He looks a little surprised himself.
“Okay. So was that a wearing lace and leather thing, or a ‘ma’am, yes ma’am’ thing? Because I can work with either.”
Clint growls low in his throat, and drops onto his knees on the carpet in front of her. Darcy can work with that too. He looks up at her through his mascara-lined eyes and unbuttons the fly on her pants. She’s wearing boxer-briefs, packed a little, and Clint huffs soft laughter down there that makes her toes curl. His tongue darts out again, pink between his shiny lips, and parts her open.
Clint’s hands brace on her thighs and she hadn’t even noticed before, but his short fingernails are painted to match the lipstick and panties. He presses against her with his tongue, curling around her clit. Pulling away briefly, he swaps that for two fingers, so he can use his mouth to leave a bite-mark on her inner thigh. Darcy grabs his shoulder with one hand and runs the other through the waves of hair that have fallen over his face. Her fingers clench in it and release; she hopes it’s not pinned tight enough to hurt him. Darcy hits the back of her head on the wall when she comes, and knocks the hat off. She doesn’t notice right away.
Clint holds the hat back up to her, still on his knees, his mouth shiny with her and the remnants of lipstick. “Come here,” Darcy says. “Come up here right the fuck now.”
He climbs onto his feet and she covers his mouth with hers, reaching between them for the zipper and the way he is still strapped up a little underneath the lace. Darcy gets her hand around him and the noise he makes is so grateful/startled that it makes her tremble with the aftershocks of her own orgasm. “Chill,” she says. “I don’t renege on my terms either.”
She takes her hand away to tap the corner of his mouth. Clint wrinkles his nose at the taste of himself on her fingers, but still sucks obligingly on them until they’re wet. She wraps them around his cock, slick, and keeps a steady rhythm until his own thrusts into them turn erratic. Darcy tilts her head and presses a kiss to the side of his neck, followed by a sharp bite. When she tightens her hand, he spills all over it.
Neither of them are much for afterglow either. Clint catches his breath, and she wipes off the mess. He grins at her again. “I’d suggest another go-around, but I don’t think I’d be fit for much in the morning, and we both have meetings.”
Darcy blots the mess of his lipstick. “All true. Want to dance some more instead?”
Clint blinks his eyes slowly closed and open again. His mascara is smudgy, but there’s not much she can do about that, and the overall effect isn’t bad. He murmurs, “Ma’am yes ma’am.”
Darcy links her arm in his and leads him back towards the music. “And this is why you’re my favourite person.” Clint smiles at her, and sets her hat back on her head.