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Fuzzy Physics

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Jane’s talking science. Which isn’t exactly unusual or anything. It isn’t even unusual that it’s stupid o’clock in the morning and Jane was clearly asleep or almost there, but then bounced out of bed to share her latest Science Epiphany.

Not that Darcy could tell anybody what that epiphany is.

It’s not that she doesn’t know this stuff or anything. Sure, she’s not exactly on Jane’s level, or anywhere near it. But she’s spent enough time around Jane and Erik that she at least understands the basics. Which is pretty damn impressive, if she does say so herself, because she’s never had any sort of formal education in this area and this shit is fucking complicated.

It’s especially complicated when it’s still dark out and Darcy had finally drifted off on the couch with a bowl of half-eaten cereal in her lap and the E Network moaning about mullet dresses and boybands quietly in the background.

She’s not at her best right now, is the point, which is why all she hears while Jane gushes on is “science science boring sciencey shit did I mention science?”

It’s not even the whole just-woken-up thing or the fact that Jane should probably be sharing all this with Erik, since Darcy is clearly not in the state of mind for a brainstorming session.

It’s that Jane’s hair is everywhere and she smells like her bed, warm skin and lavender laundry detergent, and she’s wearing this white t-shirt, thin and baggy on her petite frame, and Darcy can totally see her nipples through it.

Not just a hint of them, like two darker but indistinct blurry shapes through the fabric. Oh no. The shirt may as well be transparent, it’s doing that bad a job at hiding areola.

It’s pretty damn unfair that Jane apparently expects Darcy to concentrate, or at least pretend she’s not horny as hell.

Thankfully Jane’s all wound up and excited enough about whatever it is rocketing around that big sciencey brain like a pinball that she’s not really paying attention to the way Darcy’s shifting closer. Which is a good thing, because Darcy isn’t being subtle at all. Wriggling along the couch, almost upending her cereal on to the floor before she remembers to set it on the coffee table. Practically leaning out of her seat to inhale that bed-warm scent, brain foggy on sex and sleep and Jane.

Jane stops manically gesticulating long enough to perch on the edge of a couch cushion, and Darcy makes her move.

Apparently it’s not a particularly good move, because Jane keeps talking science, even with Darcy now plastered against her back, face buried in Jane’s hair. Which, okay, isn’t exactly unusual, because Darcy is a total cuddler, and Jane’s learnt to keep functioning around her octopus arms.

The science chatter finally stutters to a halt when Darcy slides her hands up over that t-shirt and palms Jane’s tits.

They’re small, the perfect handful, like they were genetically designed with Darcy’s palms in mind. She lets out a soft little noise of contentment and gets a mouthful of Jane’s hair for her troubles.

“Darcy?” Jane says quietly, one hand settling back over Darcy’s thigh.

Trying to push hair out of her mouth with just her tongue, because her hands are too busy softly massaging Jane’s breasts to be much help, probably isn’t the most attractive look. But Jane can’t see her like this, and probably wouldn’t mind even if she could.

“I guess this means you’re not in the mood to talk astrophysics?”

Darcy pulls back from Jane’s bedhead long enough to answer, “So not in the mood.” She keeps her mouth firmly closed when she dives back in, nosing hair aside until she reaches the skin of Jane’s neck, breathing hotly against it. Which earns her a shiver and Jane’s nipples hardening slightly under her hands.

Jane sighs, but there’s a smile there that Darcy doesn’t have to see to recognise.

“Okay, fair enough,” she agrees. “Science later. Bed now?”

“Bed’s too far,” Darcy grouses, thumbs circling Jane’s nipples, feeling the way she arches forward into the touch.

“Couch?” Jane offers, and her voice is getting thicker now, deeper and heavier in that way that never fails to make Darcy rougher, more insistent.

“Couch is good,” she slurs, lips dragging over the back of Jane’s neck, fingers pinching Jane’s nipples through the fabric of the t-shirt and holding on until Jane’s squirming in her arms, skin beginning to taste saltier with fresh sweat. “Science in the morning.”

“You know,” Jane starts, breathing uneven. “Technically three-thirty-two is morning -”

Darcy cuts her off with a sharp nip of teeth where shoulder meets neck, squeezing at Jane’s breasts when she giggles and digs her fingers into Darcy’s leg. “Morning-morning,” she clarifies. “Normal person morning.”

“Your idea of morning doesn’t start till past noon,” Jane points out, but she’s distracted now, trying to wriggle down the waistband of her pyjamas without breaking contact with Darcy’s body.

There aren’t many things in the world that can make Jane actually back down from science talk, and Darcy’s seriously fucking proud to be one of them.

“Guess science is going to have to wait till then,” she mutters, smiling into Jane’s hair, pushing one hand up under the stupidly thin t-shirt to get at the skin beneath, astrophysics be damned.