Die Young

By: Kesha

Album: Warrior

Clint x Darcy

The woman on Clint's arm was everything Darcy wasn't. Tall, leggy, fit, and blonde. She was perfect in a way Darcy would never be. She was the kind of woman who just came together with little effort, and could sway the state of affairs with a bat of her long eyelashes. Darcy hated her. She felt like such an ass, hating a woman she didn't even know, but she couldn't help it, she honestly thought he had a chance with the Avengers' resident Archer.

Darcy had spent so much time getting ready tonight for Tony's stupid party at this stupid club, and all of it was for him, for the guy who obviously had no interests in her what so ever, despite the shameless flirting they regularly cycled through. She wasn't just imagining it right? He did seem to spend more time in the labs than strictly necessary. And she was fairly certain she had felt a spark of something when they met in New Mexico. Or she was just imagining it. How she could have fooled herself she had no idea. Why would he want her anyway? She was twelve years his junior and clearly not woman enough for him.

She sighed, before downing the last of her whiskey sour. The fact that she nearly killed herself trying to get into her tight little black dress, no longer mattered, it would probably look better on the blonde anyway. The fact that she was wearing heels that could probably kill her with one wrong step was now a moot point. The fact that she had gone completely out of her comfort zone to impress a guy who was in all likely hood, just being nice, made her want to drown her sorrows in tequila at home in her less than habitable apartment.

Darcy had finally decided on one last drink before calling it quits for the night, when it became blaringly obvious someone was standing behind her. She swiveled around, slowly on the bar stool, because any faster and she might hurl (she should probably cancel that last drink), ready to tell off whatever guy was standing right on top of her, practically breathing down her neck. She stopped, however, when she finally noticed who was standing there. "You look amazing." Clint's voice was deep and rough, and he had to lean in close so she could hear him over the loud music.

"Not so bad yourself, Hawkass." She replied, falling so easily into old habits as she took in his appearance. Never let it be said, Clint Barton didn't clean up well. His crooked smirk sent a wave of lust straight to her belly. She tried her hardest to shake the thoughts, but he was doing that thing with his eyes, where he looked at you, and he wasn't just seeing you, but studying you, memorizing everything. It helped to snap her out of it by thinking about the stunning blonde that was nowhere in sight at the moment.

"I was kind of worried I wouldn't get to see you." He told her. "Jane said you had sequestered yourself up here instead of joining everyone at Tony's private booth."

"Well, I was kind of hoping to have some private time with someone." She replied. She was confused by the look of disappointment that crossed his face.

"Is that so?" she nodded.

"Yea, but I don't think he's as interested as I thought." She took a sip from her freshened drink. He was thinking about what she said a little more closely then she thought he would. He leaned in closer as the music got louder.

"And why's that?" his mouth, next to her ear sent goose bumps across her skin. She hoped her voice sounded stronger to him than it did to her own ears.

"He came in with someone else."

Clint pulled away to look her in the eye. His signature smirk was back in place. She quelled the indignation that welled up inside. He reached forward and took her drink from her, setting it on the bar behind her. "Come on." He told her, pulling her off the stool and toward the dance floor. She cursed herself for following him so easy.

Clint finally stopped in the middle of all the dancing bodies, and pulled her close to him to keep her from getting jostled around. Clint began to move to the music, keeping her securely against him. She blushed when she realized she wasn't putting up much of a fight, against the guy who she was so sure, not ten minutes before, wasn't interested in her.

The music got faster and their moves a lot less tame. Clint had mentioned before how clubs weren't really his thing, and the only reason he agreed to go was because Tony promised V.I.P. treatment and free booze. Regardless, he was a much better dancer than she would have thought, given his earlier statements.

She wasn't sure when it had happened, but her breathing had become more labored, and her skin was flushed. She noticed Clint wasn't doing much better. She was half tempted to slap him, and walk off, for getting her all hot and bothered when he clearly came here with someone else. But at the moment he was in her arms and she couldn't think beyond the moment. This is what she wanted, and even though she knew this could only end in heart break she let it continue.

As the night wore on, they only left the dance floor for a drink or two on Tony's tab. Had she cared to know, Darcy might have asked about the blonde, or even wondered why she wasn't around while Darcy was clearly monopolizing his time. By the time midnight rolled around, Darcy was pretty sure she'd have a massive hangover when she woke up. Clint seemed to be thinking about something, when he turned to her with as sincere a look he could muster through the alcohol. He leaned in close and had she not been drinking as well, she might have been offended by his breath. "Her name is Carol." He said a little slurred. Darcy tried not to look upset by the fact that he was bringing her up after they'd had so much fun. "She's just a friend. I ran into on the way in. We didn't come together." If she was less inebriated she may have noticed how his slur seemed to disappear as he spoke. She did however blush when his hand found her upper thigh. She nodded her understanding, trusting her brain to mouth filter even less than she normally did.

She didn't remember exactly how it had happened, but she was pretty sure she was the one who initiated the kiss. It was sloppy and wet and hot as hell. If she were sober, she would have been embarrassed by how fast she had just given in to her emotions. When they pulled away, their faces were flushed. He was trying to catch his breath when he smirked at her and suggested they go somewhere a little more private. Clint took her by the hand and led her right out the door. On the sidewalk he seemed to be debating with himself where to go. Her apartment was closest, so she made the decision for him. She pulled him along behind her until he got the message and followed her the four blocks to her shitty little apartment over the shitty little pizza shop she was pretty sure was a front for less than legal activities. She was pretty sure Clint knew something she didn't, because when he realized where she was leading him, he looked concerned.

Her libido ordered her to ignore it; she listened, and pulled him up to her door on the second floor. She fumbled with the key in the lock until Clint reached around her and took her hand. He chuckled as he helped her unlock to door. If he found her apartment less than livable, she didn't give him the chance to say anything. She pushed him back against the door practically climbing him like a tree, as she took a hold of his mouth again. Without missing a beat, he hoisted her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist.

The next morning, Darcy was pretty sure she hated the sun. It streamed in through the curtains and gave her lingering hangover a painful refresher. The sound of a mug hitting the table prompted her to open her eyes. She was not disappointed. Clint stood beside the bed, her favorite Hawkeye mug in one hand and another he had just left on the table for her. He was shirtless, and his pants were slung so low he might as well have forgone them to begin with. She groaned. "What time is it?"

"A little after noon." He chuckled moving to sit on the other side of her bed. She groaned again as she sat up, taking the coffee he left for her and drinking it greedily. They sat in silence for a while and Darcy was kinda sorta dreading the morning after talk they were to inevitably have. Clint spoke up first. "So, I don't know if you're aware of this, but the pizza shop downstairs,"

"Is a front?" she finished, taken back by the direction he took the conversation.

"To put it in the simplest of terms." She shrugged.

"Oh well, nothing I can do about it." Clint looked a little shocked.

"You're not serious are you? You don't actually think I'm going to let you live here, do you?" he asked. She looked at him incredulously.

"Let me? Just because I let you see my naughty bits, doesn't mean you can tell me where to live." She replied. He shook his head.

"That's not what I'm trying to do." He began. "Especially since I want to see the naught bits again, sooner rather than later, but I'm not even allowed to tell you what they do down there. That's how bad it is." Darcy sighed.

"Well, you find me an apartment that won't eat my whole, very measly paycheck, because regardless of whether or not you finish school they still expect you to pay off the loans, and I'll move." She sipped her coffee. "And are we really having a conversation about my shitty apartment to avoid having the morning after discussion?"

Clint blushed. Nailed it.