Saturday mornings in Darcy’s off-campus apartment have turned into the laziest part of a visit. Darcy usually sleeps in and then does some complicated thing involving eggs and avocados and her hair. (Clint does not ask--he’s not that stupid.) Clint might go for a run, or, like this round, he might just sit out on the steps with his coffee and make friends with the dogs who come running by with their owners. Even in late November, people are up early and getting some miles in, but it’s too cold to stay out for long, so he’s back inside contemplating the contents of Darcy’s fridge and how the remains of what looks like two weeks of varied takeout might be turned into breakfast when she flounces into the main room and throws herself on the couch.
“Okay,” she sighs. “Before I ask this, you have to swear to me that you will say no if you want to.”
“Uhh--” Clint starts, but she’s not finished yet.
“Seriously. I swear I will not be offended or hurt or in any way if you don’t want to do this.”
“Okay,” Clint says slowly, giving up and admitting to himself that he really doesn’t have the first fucking clue what’s going on. On the theory that caffeine never hurts, he fills Darcy a mug and tops off his own. “I swear I will turn you down flat.” He hands her the mug and edges her feet out of the way so he can sit on the couch next to her. “What is ‘this?’”
Darcy sighs again, looking very pathetic and pitiful. She manages to drink half her coffee in a single gulp though, so Clint throttles himself back down to about a DefCon 4 and nudges her to answer.
“Well, you know I haven’t been home a lot, and I missed the High Holy Days ‘cause of that stupid, stupid group project--” She glowers at the mention of the disaster. Clint hides his smirk; he has a hell of a lot of fun out of listening to her verbally shred the rich kids that overrun her campus, but he figures that admitting that right now won’t do anything but distract them both. “Anyway, so it’s not the same, but it’s Hanukkah next weekend and my dad sent me money for a plane ticket.” She drains the rest of her coffee and makes grabby hands for Clint’s. He hands it over (there’s another whole pot brewing) and she buries her face in it while she adds, “Andhesentmoneyforyoutocometoo.”
“Huh,” Clint says slowly. She’s watching him like she’s expecting him to already be out of the room and running for his car. “Aside from how I can pay my own way and that I know nothing about Hanukkah, I’m okay with that.”
“Really?” Darcy can do dubious with the best of them (and by that he means Nat and Bobbie.) Clint shrugs. “You’re not freaked out about meeting my family?”
They haven’t talked a lot about what they’re doing together, which isn’t going to surprise anyone who knows either of them. He’s not exactly sure what the hell a smart, pretty, normal girl like Darcy is doing with a guy like him, but he’s not going to be the one to point that out to her, and he sure as hell isn’t going to screw himself out of the best thing he’s had in years just because of shit that happens in normal relationships. He's an Avenger: he can fake his way through a family visit.
“It was either gonna happen sometime or we were gonna break up,” Clint says, going for a variation on his Let’s Keep The Civilians Calm voice (a variation because she knows that voice and she’d probably be pissed that he’s pulling it out in personal conversation. He’s not sorry about sliding into it, because the civilians in this case most definitely include his own damn brain, but there’s no need to push his luck.) “I vote for the plan where we stay together.”
“Oh,” Darcy says, putting her (his) coffee down on the floor and smiling a slow, easy smile like she’d forgotten that part of it (which to be honest, she probably has, because she tends to take a while to wake up on the weekends.) “I vote for that plan, too.”
She twists around on the couch, tugging at him until he’s settled between her legs. The other thing about weekends now that she’s not out running around in the middle of the night with Foster and Selvig is that they usually get a long, hard fuck going as soon as Clint walks in the door on Friday night, which leaves Saturday open for a little more variation. Clint considers the matter while he leans in for a kiss. It’d be easy enough to carry her right back into the bedroom, but so far as he knows, they’ve got nothing planned for the rest of the day, so he might as well save the fully involved action for a little later. Right now, with her hair still wild from sleeping and her face bare of any make-up so he can watch the flush creep across her cheekbones and down her throat, she’s tousled and gorgeous, and Clint wants to take his time and see how long she’ll let him play.
He starts with kissing--she loves it and Clint’s discovered a new appreciation for it since they’d stopped just flirting casually and started stitching together whatever this thing is between them. Darcy’d be perfectly happy to lie around all day and make out, but he’s already decided he’s going for more, so he slides both hands up under the camisole she sleeps in. She mmm’s into the kiss, a lazy, wanting little noise that Clint loves to hear. He drags his hands across as much skin as he can, stroking up along her abdomen and then back down over the curve of her hips. She squirms a little--he’s almost tickling her, which she both loves and hates--but she knows what’s coming, so she doesn’t try too hard to get away.
Clint eases off the kiss and leans back enough that he can watch her face as he starts teasing her nipples. Her eyes half-close and that gorgeous mouth drops open at the first brush of his thumbs.
He keeps it light and easy for another few passes, just long enough for her her to be sinking her teeth into her bottom lip and her breath to quicken. Her nipples are already tight and hard, and normally he’d step things up a little at a time, maybe stop being quite so careful with his nails, but this morning he skips right to pinching at them, one after the other. She hisses and whimpers, everything tensing up as her eyes fly open.
“Too much?” Clint asks, ready to back off, but not changing what he’s doing until she tells him to. That’s their deal: anybody can stop anything anytime, but they trust that everything’s good until they hear otherwise. He knows Darcy thinks it’s because she’s relatively inexperienced compared to him--which is definitely true--but he’s had a couple of times when something’s hit him wrong and he’s needed to call a timeout.
“In--Intense,” Darcy says through gritted teeth. “Everything’s still a little … tender after last night.” She groans as he adds a little twist at the end of each pinch, but she still doesn’t ask him to do anything differently.
“You tell me, Darce,” Clint reminds her. “We can stop whenever you say.” Last night had been one of those nights when neither one of them had been too concerned with subtlety or delicacy; he’s not exactly surprised that she’s still feeling it. He knows he’s gonna be carrying marks from her nails and teeth for a while. It tends to get a little crazy between them when he’s been out with the Avengers before he comes to see her: he’s happy to be alive, he guesses, and she’s wound up at being too far away to do anything but watch shit fall apart on the news, and they take it out on each other. Usually, they’re back to what passes for normal by the next day, but today, watching her writhe and whimper under his hands, Clint faces the fact that it doesn’t look like that crazy streak is quite done with them yet.
He’d only meant to start her off like this, and he still plans to push those little shorts she sleeps in down and off and tongue-fuck her until she’s screaming, but right this second he’s not thinking about anything beyond the next shuddering gasp he can pull out of her and how much further she’ll let him push her.
“Oh, god,” Darcy whimpers as he tightens his fingers deliberately. “Oh, god, oh, god.” Her voice breaks on the cry, but he’s paying attention and it’s the good kind of noise, the kind that says she’s riding the edge of too much but hasn’t gotten there quite yet. It’s been a long time since he’s cared as much about a partner’s pleasure as he does here--he probably needs to think about that at some point, but since he generally fucks things up when they get too serious, for right now he’s just going to keep pretending this is some excellent sex layered on top of a fun friendship.
Clint tightens his fingers again, and then once more, dropping his head down so he can drag his mouth over the tears that are leaking out of the corners of her eyes. Darcy still doesn’t call him off, but he gets to some point in his brain where he wants to see her, all of her, so he stops teasing her long enough that he can push her shirt up. The flush has crawled down below her collarbones, a jagged line of red across her pale skin, halfway to her breastbone. Clint traces the edge of it and lets the shuddery, quick breaths under his finger sink into him.
“You want more?” He ghosts a touch along her curves, the smooth soft skin on the underside of her breasts, barely touching her at all and completely ignoring her reddened, still hard nipples. She arches up into him and he smiles. “Just this? Or more?”
“More,” Darcy whispers. “Please.” Her voice hitches on the second word, a tiny little break that trips every switch in Clint’s brain. He might not be what she’s going to want for the long haul, but he can damn well give her whatever she wants right now.
“Look at me, babe,” Clint says, taking his hands off her until she drags her eyes open and glares at him. “Good girl,” he tells her, which really irritates the crap out of her, but since he says it as he starts rolling her nipples, the bitching out he was about to get dissolves into a groaned, “Y’re such a jackass sometimes.”
“Just sometimes?” he asks, tugging sharply when she flips him off, pinching tight and then letting her nipples take the full weight of her tits. Her eyes are dark now, the blue almost totally taken over by the black of her pupils, but she’s watching him like he wanted. He’d said it so he could keep close tabs on where she is with all this, but he’s not going to deny that there’s a part of him that’s getting off on seeing just how far over the line he can push her. He’s pretty sure none of her snappy college boys have gotten her this strung out. It’s a cheap win, but he’ll take what he can get, he always has. “That’s one of the nicer things a woman’s said to me.”
“I’m a nice person,” Darcy gasps, her hands digging into the cushions so hard Clint can see the tendons popping. He gives her one last twist, hard enough that she chokes out a harsh cry, holding it until she's clawing at the couch, and then lets go, pinning her hands so she can’t put any pressure on where the blood’s slamming back into her nipples, making it so she just has to feel it all.
“I don’t know, babe,” Clint says, holding her easily despite her twisting and struggling. “You’re looking pretty dirty to me.”
“Frustrated,” Darcy grits out. “The word you’re looking for is ‘frustrated.’”
Clint grins at her, but then drops his head down and draws a nipple into his mouth, sucking carefully, soothing away some of the hurt. He looks up as her breath shudders out of her and almost can’t breathe himself at the long, beautiful arch of her throat and the spill of her hair. He lets go of her hands and she throws one arm up across her eyes.
“I’ll get you there,” Clint promises. “You know I will.”
“Yeah,” Darcy answers. “I’m putting in a request for a having a brain left when you do, though. I still have another semester to get through, you know.”
“Noted,” Clint says, turning back to work a little at the other nipple. She huffs out a shaky laugh, and her other hand comes up to comb through Clint’s hair. “Keeping that thought,” he murmurs against her skin, “get naked for me, babe.”
He backs off enough to let her squirm around and get her little bits of clothes off, but still keeps his mouth on her tits, licking and sucking and very, very gently biting. He hadn’t been at all gentle the night before--which is what had made it so easy to wind her up this morning--and he isn’t planning on much more of it going forward, but for now, he just wants her to know he hasn’t forgotten how it makes her cry and beg and whimper.
When her clothes are scattered across the room, Clint sits up and nudges at her legs until one is up on the back of the couch and the other is on the floor and she’s spread wide for him. She watches him steadily, not looking away even when he goes back to fingering her nipples again and she can’t keep still. He reminds himself that it takes a lot of trust and guts to open yourself up like that and promises silently to see it through.
“Your turn,” Clint tells her, taking her hands and bringing them up to cup her tits. “Go on.” He waits until she gets started, her fingers plucking at her nipples before he moves his own hands, trailing them down to bracket her hips, his thumbs tracing where her thighs hit her torso. “I have some other things I want to play with.”
“Classy, Bar-- Barton,” Darcy answers, and this time she’s not trying to hide the break in her voice. Clint grins at her and goes straight for her cunt, pushing four fingers inside her without any warning. “Fuck,” she chokes out, arching up off the couch. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh, god.”
Clint waits, but she doesn’t say anything more, so he curves his fingers forward and drags them back out, and then does it all again. She keens through a tightly set jaw and a quiet little voice in his head wonders what she might sound like if he got his whole fist in her. He bites back a groan at the thought--later, he promises himself--and fucks into her again, rougher, deeper, drawing another helpless noise from her throat.
“Tender again?” Clint asks, deliberately using her earlier description. For all that she can out-talk him a hundred words to his one, he’s figured out that she’s not just throwing details around randomly. She says what she means and he wants her to know he’s listening.
Darcy mmm’s a little affirmative sound that’s impressive in its casualness, like she’s doing nothing more than having a mildly interesting conversation while checking her email rather than being naked and half-desperate to come. If he’s being honest, that attitude is one of Clint’s favorite things about her. He hasn’t met many people who can roll with the crazy things in life like she can, especially when they’re not actually in his own line of work. It’s pretty goddamned impressive.
In case she’s calling it, Clint holds off another couple of seconds before he starts in again. This time he watches her face as he fucks into her, because it’s occurred to him that she’s stubborn enough that she won’t back down once he’s essentially dared her.
Darcy’s wet and slick, and he’s got his fingers wrapped tight around each other, but after he’d come inside her the night before, he’d gotten her spread out on the bed and fucked two more orgasms out of her with her vibrator. The last one had taken a while and she’d nearly jolted off the bed when he went to clean her up after; he’s not surprised that she’s still feeling it even the next morning.
She hisses on every stroke in, and again when he slides out of her, but her hips are moving with him and she’s working her nipples in the same rhythm, not just teasing them with her nails but catching them between her fingers, hard, right at the first knuckle where there’s no give or cushioning, just a thin layer of skin over the bones. Watching her makes his own breath stutter for a couple of seconds, and when he flicks his eyes back up to her face, she’s looking at him with wide, dark eyes.
“We can do more,” Clint says, his voice rough and low as he keeps his hand moving. “Go online, find some clamps you might like.” Darcy whimpers at that. “Pretty ones, with a chain I can grab, or the heavy kind I can screw on tight--” She’s gasping now, every breath close to a sob, her head tossing back and forth like she doesn’t know what to do. “Or if that’ll take too long, I can go down to the hardware store, grab some clothespins, get a whole package so we can use them on your tits and your pussy--” He lays a line of quick, sharp pinches along the outer folds of her cunt, just so she knows what he's talking about. She jerks against him, her body tightening around his fingers, and his mouth and throat go dry at the thought. “I don’t know about the rest of you but your cunt likes that plan.”
The noises spilling out of her mouth are raw and helpless and her hips are moving desperately. She’s so wound up that Clint knows she’ll go off like a rocket as soon as he touches her clit. The thing is, she knows it, too, but she’s not making any move toward making it happen, and that, her letting him do that, her trusting him to take care of her… Yeah, that pretty much threatens to white Clint’s brain out.
He draws it out a couple of strokes longer, lets himself fall into seeing and hearing and feeling her, lets it all burn into his brain for a time when he isn’t going to have it, and then flicks his thumb up over her clit. It only takes that single stroke and she’s coming with a wail, her hips snapping up for more and her cunt clenching down on his hand, and Clint watches it all with a sense of pleasure and satisfaction that’s almost physical himself.
“Not done yet, babe,” he says, letting his hand slide out of her and dropping down to work his shoulders under her thighs. Her panting little whimpers go up a magnitude in decibels and shrillness as soon as he gets his mouth near her clit, turning into wails again as he rubs his tongue over it.
Two, Clint’s brain ticks off, and he starts working on Number Three immediately, starting with holding her down with an arm across her hips. He takes his time with this one, licking her lazily, ass to cunt to clit, again and again, breaking it up by sucking at her clit and fucking her cunt with his tongue. Darcy shakes against him, little shudders that match up with what he can hear of her breathing, but she’s still taking it, letting him do whatever he wants.
“Easy, baby,” Clint murmurs against the soft skin of her thigh. “One more time.” He waits until she chokes out an agreement, and then goes back to licking at her clit, winding her up again while he gets one hand down so he can slick his fingers in her cunt before sliding them down to push just inside her ass. He hasn't fucked her there yet, but they're working on it--she likes ass play, she's told him that over and over, but she's still skittish enough when he first touches her there that he's been taking it as slow as he can. She whines as he teases her, flicking his tongue over her clit, flexing his fingers wide to stretch her ass and edge in deeper. He does it again and again, ratcheting her tighter and tighter until she's sobbing and incoherent and he can finish her with a hard suck at her clit at the same time that he pushes three fingers into her ass. She jerks and writhes and thrashes against him and he keeps on pushing her, not giving her a break until she cries stopstopstop.
There’s an edge of desperation to the words, enough of one that Clint flinches back from her, suddenly aware of how out of his own head he’d gotten, and sickeningly sure he’s just fucked up, but Darcy’s grabbing for him before he can get out of arm’s reach, dragging him down on top of her and clinging to him like he’s the only thing she wants in life.
"Stay," Darcy breathes. "Stay, stay."
The sudden adrenaline rush starts to fade, and Clint gets himself wedged into the space between Darcy and the back of the couch so he can get both arms wrapped around her.
“Holy crap,” Darcy says after a while, her voice still a little shaky and thin. She turns her head and smiles at Clint. “I can-- Do you want--?” She takes a deep breath. “I--uh--?” She laughs. “No words; there’s a first.” She breathes deep again, this time managing, “Good morning, that was awesome. What can I do for you now?”
Clint’s still unnerved enough by the finale that he’s not even tempted to smirk at her struggles with words, just smiles back and brushes a kiss across her temple. “Later, okay? We’ve got all day.”
“‘Kay,” Darcy murmurs. She lays her head back for another few minutes, then stretches and groans. “I was planning on a long, shared shower, but now my thighs are informing me that standing any time soon is a lost cause, so I've moved on to a bath.”
“We could probably manage that,” Clint says, happy to have something to focus on. There’s a fuzzy, handmade blanket at the far end of the couch; he wraps her up in it and lifts her easily for the walk to the bathroom. She loops one arm around his shoulders and tucks her face into the crook of his neck; he's sorry it's only a couple of steps. Sitting her--gently, carefully--on the edge of the vanity, he gets the water started and then braves the giant, under-sink basket of bath stuff she’s forever adding to. “Glitter or not?” he asks, and looks up to see her biting her lip.
“If I don’t put anything in at all, will you come in with me?”
Clint starts to point out that her bathroom isn’t exactly Stark-sized, and that there’s probably not room for both of them in the builders’-standard tub, but--in a dazzling and unprecedented display of brilliance (Nat will be so proud)--the sane part of his brain kicks the rest of it to the curb, and answers, “We could probably manage that, too.”
“Yay,” Darcy says, sounding almost as surprised as Clint is himself.
There really isn’t enough room for both of them, but with a little squirming and creative leg arrangement, Clint ends up in the hottest (actual) water he’s been in for ages, with a double-armful of sleepy, pliant girl tucked up against him, her quickly pinned-up hair tickling his face and neck as he wonders how he’s ever going to do without this now that he’s had it.