darcy lewis

Until he blew it out of the water.

"Damn it," she exhaled, letting go of the strings of her hoodie."No thanks, I'm taking the pill instead." It took a moment for her to replay that in her head. "The iron pill, jesus," she hurried to correct, scrubbing a hand down her pale face. That definitely could have been less embarrassing. She didn't care if he was an EMT, she usually liked to catch coffee before casual discussions on prophylactic methods. She was a lady, after all.

Unfortunately, that makes Darcy the youngest-person-besides-Clay in the building by about 30 plus-definitely-not-thinking-about-it years and she doesn’t quite have the Clay’s advantage of wearing a uniform.  The number of times Clay has woken up to a neighbor informing him of a suspicious, hooded-jacket-wearing youth haunting the mailroom/laundry room/hallway is far higher than the number of times Clay can fit a hyphen in a single sentence.

Clay’s not even a cop!

It's probably wrong that she saw Clay first not as a valuable public servant, but as the hot piece of ass that was only technically 20 yards away at most when she was showering. (It wasn't like their apartments were huge.) To make matters worse (better?,) she was pretty sure what she'd caught him doing a few times hadn't been reading the graphic on her t-shirt.

So maybe they were even.

"Damn," she whistled, leaning against the doorway with a tiny yawn, one hand tucking the collection of envelopes into the kangaroo pouch of her hoodie. "When do you sleep?" And do you need company?

But this time he lingered at Darcy’s side, his nose twitching curiously for several minutes as he examined her extremities, his whiskers a bare breath above her skin. Phil watched amusedly from behind his tablet as Clint started at her shoulder, then spanned down one arm to her fingertips before getting as far up the arm across Phil’s chest as he could reach. When he was close enough to Phil that he actually felt Clint’s huffing breaths the cat retreated again, starting the process over at her ribcage and moving down before he located the leg Phil had sank his teeth into.

Then, when Darcy rolled over, he froze. Pale, wide eyes crept slowly toward him, wide with something Phil too to be incredulity before they narrowed and flickered to his mouth in time that Phil was sure he caught the bloom of his grin. "He’s been at this for about ten minutes," he remarked amusedly down to Darcy as he watched on. The twitch of his tail screamed Bastard (or I’m telling Tasha, either was as possible as the other) and after a moment more Clint sashayed up and around the bed, taking deliberate care to walk across Phil’s unoccupied shoulder with his full weight on the way down to curl up over Phil’s midsection.

"What is my liiiife," she groaned into the pillow, two fingers reaching to find the bruise near the join of her thigh. (Right where it should be; it was a nice reminder.)

"I think that's my cue," she drawled sleepily, leaning over to brush a kiss to Phil's cheek in thanks. "But I'm keeping this shirt, furball." She brushed a kiss to his head too, neatly dodging the paw that swiped playfully at her hair. The pale curve of her ass peeked out when she stood to sweep her hair into a a ponytail, arms making the hem rise before she shimmied back into her jeans.

"You'll let me know next month?"

It sounded like a question, but it wasn't one. She had a supply of iron pills and wasn't likely to change her mind; she'd break him of the habit of not asking, even if it killed her.

He returned the gestures when he had the capacity to move a limb, trailing his own hands over the pale slope of her thighs and up over her side to reverse the path at her collarbone. The warmth under his skin was sharp enough to almost tingle where her bare skin met his, the residual heat well worked into his usually cold bones. He was definitely gonna miss this the next night, but for now, when he was still riding high on the satisfaction of being full and not alone afterward, it was more than enough.

Near the end, she tossed a little, curling first away from him and then back into the muscle of his bicep, her toes pressing down into the sheets as her breathing hitched. Whether it was the dream or the tossing that woke her didn’t matter, and she blinked in the mostly-dark up at Phil. It took her a moment to remember where she was, but it didn’t occur to her to worry, Her body knew him, and curved toward him before her brain could follow it.

"Mmmm… you’re still here," she slurred against the pillow, snugging her hips up to his thigh as she rolled close.

"No, I don’t." It was a quiet admission and barely audible even to his own ears, but he acknowledged the question with a slightly firmer squeeze just in case. It was true. Phil didn’t make a lot of time to socialize, so moments like this were few and far between. But honestly, that made it even better when it finally did happen, especially with someone who he clicked with so easily.

It had been a bit of a debate whether or not he should have pulled on a shirt or not. Skin to skin contact seemed to be what he was craving the hardest, but navigating these waters was apparently far more difficult for him than he initially imagined. Maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea to push it. Next time, maybe, if she even wanted a next time.

He definitely wasn't her type. He was older, sure -- but he also had his act together, more or less, didn't speak science, and ate something besides breakfast 24/7.

...But damn if she didn't love where she was. He was even more likable in the scruffy moments before bed -- who knew?

"I think you just called me 'non-intimidating'," she laughed softly, wedging a leg between his before remembering that she wasn't wearing pants. Not that it mattered much; she honestly couldn't say she minded the way his hands swept over her.

Next time, maybe. If he still looked at her like she was a steak even after he'd fed, she'd bring it up. Maybe she'd run it by Clint first to see what she could get out of him, and maybe not. In the meantime, she pressed a kiss to Phil's Adam's apple, breathing in his slightly unfamiliar smell.

"I tend to be a bed hog, so the middle’s my domain," he admitted as he scooted to the left under the sheets. If he had his way, half the Thermos would be empty by the time they fell asleep. But Clint had only partially filled it to begin with, and she didn’t seem like she was all that shaky as she moved up the bed. Speaking of Clint, he was gonna be over the moon that she chose that shirt: it was one of the oldest in his collection, and Phil had spent many a night with his forehead buried between well-defined shoulderblades covered in that same soft cotton.

As soon as she was close he hauled her in gently, giving her the right side (the one that put him in between her and the door) to gently scoot in and settle with his frame curled behind hers. Perfect. That was the only word for it. Even with two layers of clothes between them, the heat from her skin radiated into him and lingered with each thrum of his pulse. It had been years, literal years since he’d lit up like this around someone. He couldn’t help tugging her into his chest; anything less would have allowed spaces between their torsos, and that just seemed inappropriate.

The sheets were fine against her bare skin as she slid between them, especially the hip she propped up on as he pulled her close. Her hum of agreement at the gesture was unconscious, but she didn't try and hide it.

"You're not," she assured him, trading a finger around the edge of his tshirt collar. "You don't get touched a lot, hmmm? By anyone other than Thackery Binx out there, I mean." She also knew Clint had the habit of sleeping in cat form as often as not -- and while he was an awesome space heater, it wasn't quite the same.

The hard part was telling himself that and making himself believe it.

But Clint helped, probably more than he knew. Phil carried a faint taste of him when he rose from the freshly made bed, casual suit from earlier already swapped out with a well-worn tee shirt and a pair of sleep pants as he rose from the bed. A few minutes of staring at the ceiling had cleared his eyes; that alone was helping a lot. Not looking like a freak helped him truly believe he wasn’t one.

"Remind me to tell you about the last guy who made me health food," she deadpanned, squinting at the contents before taking a tentative sip. "Okay, this is better than tofu. Thanks."

The smile she sent his way made clear the fact that he hadn't looked away, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from outright grinning.

Yup. Still got it.

She didn't mind in the least that he was looking, and so made no fuss about dropping her towel to trade it for a t-shirt so faded that she had no way of knowing what the design had been. She normally would've opted for pants, but she knew from experience that even with her hips, she would swim in his. At least the well-worn cotton of the shirt was heaven, and she all but purred as she tipped the towel into the laundry chute, finally looking back to see if he was still looking.

He was.

"Not exactly a secret once you’ve been in my house," he remarked as he pulled them both upright, lingering long enough to make sure she’d hold herself up before letting himself step back. "I’m not that secretive of a person. I’m just picky about who comes here.” Because there were a lot of people in the world who would pay solid, cold cash to get their hands on his personal address.

"I'm gonna buy you a bell!" she threatened over her shoulder, only to hear Clint's low laugh, telling her he'd shifted over for a moment to talk with Phil.

Predictable.

After the shower, it seemed a little in poor taste to slip back into the clothes she'd worn out tonight. So she piled damp hair on top of her head with the spare elastic around her wrist, the heat encouraging tiny wisps of curl to fall into her eyes, which she brushed back with an impatient palm. The massive towel wasn't exactly flattering, but it covered her boobs, which was more than she could ask of most shirts.

He paused then, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Pale in a not-so-sexy way.” In case his earlier interest wasn’t enough of an indicator. “Sorry.” That much came out of nowhere, and pulled his head into a low slump with it. “I didn’t mean to throw out any sort of weird signal. Protective drive.”

And goddamn it all, he was not gonna let himself slide into another massive explanation of his own instinctive habits. If Darcy wanted to sleep on the couch, he wasn’t gonna begrudge her that with any sort of weird guilt-trip over why he liked keeping people close. She’d already given him far more than he deserved.

If she looked pale, she sure didn't sound it; there was steel in her voice when she called him out.

"I was just saying that I get the need for privacy is all." She'd been so desperate for some from Jane, she'd hidden her vibrator a little too well; she hadn't seen the thing in over a month. "So if you'd rather keep the West Wing all secret, that's cool with me. Otherwise..." Her mouth softened as she leaned against the wall a little. "Yay, mattress."

She turned to make her way to the shower suite, looking forward to soap and shampoo (and knowing that Clint would likely want to check in on Phil,) but paused again before ducking out completely.

"And don't worry about me. I've been on iron supplements for a month now. I've got this."

It was off his tongue before he had the thought process to realize he’d said it. They were in his nest, and she clearly didn’t have any plans to go anywhere soon. Not that he’d let her, even if she objected to a night in his house; his couch pulled out into a rather comfortable full-sized bed, and she was far too pale to be driving a car. Had he taken too much?

It didn’t seem so. Her pulse was still defined under her skin, her eyes were still focused and reactive to emotion, and her touch wasn’t lagged so much as fatigued. That much he could deal with. Seeing someone through an iron booster wasn’t the sort of thing that rounded out as intense of a night as this had been so far.

There was a barely audible rustle behind the couch Phil recognized as a large, brushy tail slinking over the upholstery, and he took it as his cue to move them to the next room. The only thing better than being this warm and vulnerable and happy was having the source of it next to him while he slept. This was the rare moment where his own skin wouldn’t leach heat from the person he was next to, and God he wanted that contact so bad that, in his moment of indulgence, he couldn’t turn it down.

"I..." Her brain didn't have the capacity to sort through more than one thought at a time, so she prioritised. "I don't mind the taste; it's not something I really notice after a few seconds." She kissed him against to prove it, swiping her tongue against his bottom lip.

"But yeah... a shower sounds great." It'd been a long day before the date, and she wanted to scrub the hairspray from her curls.

"Ah, but I could sleep on the couch? Totally fine with me." She held up the Girl Scout pledge sign. "I'm not fancy." A cat meowed down the hallway at the admission, and she shot Clint the finger out of habit.

Darcy had seen it before. He just had to keep telling himself that. She’d seen it, she wasn’t afraid of it, and she wasn’t going to judge him. Since when are you a paranoid weirdo about other people’s opinions? When professional bled into super personal, apparently.

He didn’t reply verbally, merely increasing his grip when he felt her pulse flutter against his palm. She wasn’t lying. It was getting easier to make himself believe it on reflex; the longer his hand lingered under the hem of her dress, the warmer his arm got and the better it felt to grip into her skin.

It was the quickest drive home Phil had ever made. Usually the drive from the Upper East Side took at least half an hour, but he’d made it home in just under twenty with enough time to grab the last parking spot in the covered garage. The sun wouldn’t kill him, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Darcy’s grab for his tie at the front door was expected and he managed to get the front door of his flat open before she tugged him toward her, turning them both with his body weight and pulling the door behind himself to close it and immediately jump into her space.

The car handled like a dream, but as they got out of the car, it was her turn to drive. She heard nothing inside the house, but managed a "Hey Clint!" before Phil's grip tightened down.

"Mmmph," she groaned in surprise. nipping at his bottom lip encouragingly as she held onto his forearms.

It had started off as meals on wheels, plain and simple. She'd met him partially out of curiosity and partially out of a favour to Clint, but she'd been the one to make the decision to flirt with him. It hadn't gone far enough in her opinion, but usually the endorphins didn't wear off until she was plopped at his kitchen table with a juicebox and a cookie.

And the thought smacked dead-center against his baser instincts.

He rumbled in acknowledgement and let her settle, arms circled around the seam of her waist to keep them close while the heat spikes plateaued. It never took long. Even when he’d gone for too long it usually never took more than a minute for results to show, and with how potent she seemed to be for him he was bound to bounce back.

"So alright," she assured him with a tiny nod, her hair raking against his palm. It was a little charming every time, watching the way he watched her, like this was when he expected her to have a change of heart.

"You?" She smiled contentedly for a few moments before her forehead wrinkled. "I asked that already," she remembered with a soft sigh. Too soon for conversation then.

Instead, she nuzzled against his shoulder, nipping playfully at him through the fine material of his shirt before she could think better of it.

"When I sleep this time, will you come with me?"

And that was as eloquent of a response as he could conjure at the moment. His remaining brain power was focused on not falling completely into her lap as he remained at her inner thigh, nuzzled with his lips half-pressed to her temporarily marred skin. Phil wasn’t an idiot and he was fairly good at what he did, if he could say so himself. It wasn’t hard to figure out how to keep still and minimize scarring. The only times he left marks that lasted more than a few months was when he wanted to.

Every time he swallowed he could feel the coppery slick that coated most of his throat. That mixed with the nails she was using to explore his scalp was a potent combination with the liquid fire running through his bloodstream, his eyes still pinched shut against her skin for the several long seconds it took him to regain his breath.

This was usually an itch she scratched with him. She used to feel bad that being Jane's lab bitch left no time for an actual relationship, but whatever she had with Clint was enough to drop the issue from her hot list. The status quo was just fine, thank you.

Except she wasn't sure what Phil's status quo was. In fact, at first, she'd been sure he was pretty gay.

Now she wasn't so sure.

"You good?" she ventured carefully. She knew why he wouldn't look up at her, and instead of reasoning -- which she wasn't sure she was capable -- she slid down to straddle his lap instead, putting them face to fang.

There’s no accurate way to compare what it’s like to feed, unless you’ve ever found yourself in a riptide. Your feet disappear from under you but you never hit the ground. Your head spins in a thousand different directions and all you can see is one color: blur. Your lungs scream for air but the pressure keeps them calm as much as it compresses them. For a few seconds, you lose touch with reality in a single disorienting, overwhelming rush.

The moment her skin broke around his teeth, he was gone to the world. She was copper and cinnamon and silk against his tongue and he braced a hand on the other side of her thigh, more to keep her level than to give himself any sort of advantage. If she pulled away before he could get her skin to heal over, she risked bleeding out on his office carpet. That much they’d already discussed.

She made an exception for Phil.

While his mouth was on her, the only sounds she made were the tiny, unnamed noises of want she couldn't suppress. What it was she wanted, she might never know, but it was part of what kept her coming back to this arrangement. Her fingers were soothing against the crown of his head, slow and steady in time with the way her heartbeat poured out for him.

By the time he licked her closed, she'd about hit her limit for quiet, non-threatening Darcytime.

"Jesus good goddamn," she breathed reverently, letting her toes curl inside her boots. She was going to sleep like the dead when the adrenaline rush wore off, but for right now there was nothing like it.

It was a split-second decision. Most of him was itching to shove her against the entry wall and take her neck on the spot, but that seemed… crude. And Darcy deserved better than that. Besides, she’d offered something he’d never had the chance to do. Call it curiosity.

Whatever it was, it was strong enough to pull him abruptly away from her face and down the hall with her in tow. The first time had been in his living room. This time, this office seemed to be a good middle ground: there was a cat door, cameras, and a stain-sealed couch big enough to facilitate to people laying comfortably. His bedroom still felt too intimate for whatever this was.

He backed into the office first, his hands still on her waist as guiding points to pull her along toward the dark sofa on the dimmer-lit wall. This was his territory. His lizard brain knew what was coming, and his skin was crawling with the force of it now that the door was shut. He didn’t need to be self-conscious about how he sat her back and promptly nuzzled at her knee, eyes closed in case they blacked over before he realized it.

The office was new, but the sofa was great. It didn't help her nerves now, but she knew she'd be thankful of the comfort later.

In the meantime, this was like the initial climb of a rollercoaster. The cool breath at her knee was the deceptive moment of calm at the top, but she knew how to handle this. Her lungs heaved with a deep breath, doing wonderful things for her cleavage, and she hitched the hem of her skirt of for him, spreading her knees.

"Do it." Waiting to fall was the worst. "Please."

Darcy had seen it before. He just had to keep telling himself that. She’d seen it, she wasn’t afraid of it, and she wasn’t going to judge him. Since when are you a paranoid weirdo about other people’s opinions? When professional bled into super personal, apparently.

He didn’t reply verbally, merely increasing his grip when he felt her pulse flutter against his palm. She wasn’t lying. It was getting easier to make himself believe it on reflex; the longer his hand lingered under the hem of her dress, the warmer his arm got and the better it felt to grip into her skin.

It was the quickest drive home Phil had ever made. Usually the drive from the Upper East Side took at least half an hour, but he’d made it home in just under twenty with enough time to grab the last parking spot in the covered garage. The sun wouldn’t kill him, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Darcy’s grab for his tie at the front door was expected and he managed to get the front door of his flat open before she tugged him toward her, turning them both with his body weight and pulling the door behind himself to close it and immediately jump into her space.

Inside was quiet except for the heavy shuffle of her boots. Phil made no sound, and there was no cat-shaped shadow as far as she could see. She managed a "Hey Clint!" before Phil tugged her into a kiss.

"Mmmph," came her surprised groan, her teeth grazing his bottom lip sharply at the way his grip tightened down. It was a huge improvement over the first time. She'd met him out of curiosity, and partially a favour to Clint, but it hadn't gone any further than blood.

Not that she could complain; she was usually already tucked in at the kitchen table with a juicebox and a cookie before the endorphins wore off.

Tonight felt different, and she raked blunt fingernails against the back of his neck as she stretched her neck temptingly.