Work Text:
"I love the way you laugh," Darcy says, peeking out from the corner of the pillow. The pillow that was her only shelter and safety from secondhand embarrassment. She is never watching Modern Family again.
She was not going to blush.
Nope.
Well, not any more than she was already flushed red from listening to a show she wasn't really watching.
Ugh, God.
Steve wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, shoulders still shaking a little. "Surprised you can see or hear anythin' from behind your fortress of solitude there."
On second thought she may never talk to Rogers again.
"It's an indestructible barrier against evil."
"Evil being Phil Dunphy?"
"Shut it,” Darcy says, swotting the pillow at him. The pillow flops against him and Steve catches it with his left hand holding it tight to his chest. “Hey, gimme.”
“I dunno, you mighta bruised me.”
Forget never talking to Steve again; she was going to kill him. “You’re a jerk.”
“Please tell me the evils of the Dunphy clan and you can have the pillow back.”
“It’s my pillow.”
“It’s a pillow on the couch, in the house, on the farm of the Bartons.”
“Fuck you, Steve.”
“Language,” he says, voice dry and face carved in stone. His eyes put the lie in the word. That and the fact she’s heard him swear. Swear a lot. It may or may not be her newest kink. She wasn’t telling him that. Not yet anyway.
“Oh my god,” Darcy huffs out a laugh. She grabs another pillow and tosses it at Steve’s head, and the pillow smacks him in his stupid pretty face. Darcy's aim was always awesome. Eat your hearts out Hawkeyes.
Steve's left eyebrow ticks up, way up, and his hand snakes out to to run his thumbnail along the bottom of her bare foot.
An indignant squeak falls from Darcy's lips. She jerks her foot away and fumbles for another pillow. Steve is quicker though, knocking the pillow from her grip with one of his own. He's careful with his strength, but it still shocks her into a fit of giggles bordering on braying.
She twists to the side and pokes her fingers into his ribs. Steve squirms to the side and captures her wrist in his warm rough hands. They wrestle a little, legs tangled up and stupid grins on their faces. It's dumb and juvenile and the best thing since they moved the bunk mattresses onto the bedroom floor. (Even if the plastic dinosaurs eyes followed their every move. The perverts.)
Darcy jerks her arm and unbalances herself.
Instead of sprawling on the floor in an ungainly heap of embarrassed laughter she brings Steve along for the ride.
His pink lips part in a crooked smile that just lights up his whole face. Steve's hand cradles her head as they tumble from the couch to the thin bit of rug covered floor between the couch and the coffee table.
They look at each other eyes wide and dissolve into hopeless laughter.
"Oh my god," Darcy laughs.
“So tell me again how you like my laugh,” Steve asks, grinning down at her.
“You’re a goof,” Darcy says, rolling her eyes and letting her thighs fall open. Steve slides his knee between her legs. His eyes flick up to the tv, the open doorway and back to her face.
“You know this is a bad idea.”
"Too late for that. I think even the cow knows I'm bangin' Captain America. Do you think I'll get a medal for services rendered?"
"Christ, Darcy," he says and brushes his mouth over hers. He sucks her bottom lip into his mouth. Darcy gasps and her leg arches up over his hip. Strands of her hair are caught in his fingers, and they pull with each twitch of Steve’s hand still cradling her skull.
“So good,” she whispers. Darcy rolls her hips up and Steve lowers his body weight on her, pressing his hips down against hers. He groans and his teeth graze her mouth. God, Steve could kiss. She could feel it down to her cold bare toes.
The weight of him was a solid warm mass of muscle and sass pressing her down into the thin rug. Something sharp digs into Darcy's shoulder and she shifts and pushes up on Steve's arm. "I wanna be on top," she demands.
Steve wiggles his eyebrows and rolls them over. His right elbow bumps the edge of the coffee table and he sucks a breath in through his teeth. Darcy straddles Steve, feels the hard ridge of his cock through his sweats and her thin shorts.
She circles her hips nice and slow and Steve's hands slip up under her t-shirt to cup her breasts. Forget his mouth, as pretty and red as it was, Steve's hands were fucking magic.
"Christ on a fucking cracker," Clint swears, and Darcy and Steve freeze. "I didn't need to see that."
"I did," Laura says peering over Clint's arm.
"Sorry," Steve murmurs, hands sliding down from Darcy's sensitive breasts to grip her hips and lift her up off of his lap. Steve helps Darcy stand up, carefully avoiding each other's gaze as they toss the cushions back on the sofa.
If Darcy thought she was red from watching a tv show before, well, Iron Man's suit has nothing on her now. Laura's hands are over her mouth and her swollen belly, her eyes however aren't so still as they take in Darcy and Steve's dishevelled appearance. Laura's eyes drop to Steve's waist and widen. Her hand drops enough to mouth 'Wow' at Darcy. Steve makes a strangled sort of sound and takes a half step behind Darcy.
"That's...impressive," Laura says.
"Laura," Clint splutters at the same time Darcy says "I know, right?" with a wide grin and a nod of her head.
"Christ, Rogers, what if my kids walked in?" Clint says, rubbing his hand over his eyes.
"It wouldn't be the worst thing they've seen," Laura says, patting Clint's arm.
"Honey, please."
"Did you forget we live on a farm?"
"No."
"Or that the kids walked in on this one's conception?" Laura says spreading her fingers wide over her abdomen. "On the-"
"TMI, guys, TMI," Darcy says covering her ears with her hands. "Come on Steve, let's go to bed."
"Just please keep it down. Lila thought there was a poltergeist in the house last night," Clint says.