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Asgardian Diplomacy

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This situation, Darcy thinks during a brief lull, is probably not covered in the employee handbook.

Actually, scratch that, if it were in the employee handbook, Darcy would be questioning someone’s sanity. Which, you know, is kind of a normal thing for her to do these days. Everyone in SHIELD is a little nuts. And it’s not like the handbook can get much weirder, not after they added the bit about How to Interact with Aliens Who May or May Not Be Deities or Something.

Still, the SHIELD handbook’s section on diplomacy definitely doesn’t cover How to Deal With Being the Happy Sandwich Filling Between a Hot Lady Assassin and a Hot Amazon-Goddess-Type-Person. If it did, Darcy probably would’ve paid better attention while reading. In private. More than once.

Then again, even if she’d been the type to read up on lesbian threesomes at work (which she was not, she was a professional, thank you very much), Darcy still would’ve had no clue what to do right now.

In any case, Darcy somehow finds herself standing, naked, between the two aforementioned Hot Ladies, and it goes like this. Exhibit A: Sif’s gloriously muscular arms are wrapped around Darcy from behind, cupping her breasts and gently fondling them. And Exhibit B: Natasha is kneeling in front of Darcy -- holy crap, when did this become her life -- while kissing down her stomach with tiny love bites.

It’s all Darcy can do to stay on her feet. Her legs really, really want to turn to mush. Instead, she jumps when Sif tweaks one nipple, and ends up mashing her stomach into Natasha’s (perfect) face.

“Oh God, Nat, I’m so sorry,” Darcy says quickly. Natasha’s shoulders are shaking. “Are you okay?”

Then Darcy hears a snort, and realizes with a shock that Nat is laughing. “I’ve had many worse things shoved in my face,” says Natasha, eyes twinkling.

Ignoring Darcy’s half-hearted glare, Sif leans down and murmurs, “Yes, I hardly think your soft belly would be injurious.”

“Oh yeah?” Darcy tries so hard to keep her composure around these two amazing specimens of womanhood, she really does. Her pride is at stake. Kind of. “Well, I-- I bet I could kill a man with this belly!”

“Undoubtedly,” Sif says. She sounds amused, and Natasha’s lips are still twitching, dammit. “But I do not expect that his death would be an unhappy one.” She leans down to nip at Darcy’s earlobe, and whoops, there go Darcy’s legs again. Sif’s supporting at least half her weight by this point.

One of Natasha’s small hands works its way up to cover Sif’s on Darcy’s left breast. She squeezes lightly. “I can’t disagree. Our first encounter was definitely...eye-opening,” says Natasha.

“Are you guys seriously making boob jokes?” Darcy demands, trying to keep from just melting into a puddle. That would be slightly embarrassing. They haven’t even gotten to touching below the waist yet!

“Never fear, Lady Darcy,” says Sif, “you have many attractive features, and we will worship to each of them in due course. But I must agree that your breasts are particularly alluring.”

Nat raises her eyebrows at Darcy in a clear “see?” gesture. “I, uh, guess I can’t argue with that,” Darcy manages, swallowing hard. “I’m kind of at your mercy, here.”

She must have said the right thing, because Sif chuckles. The rumbling sound makes the soft leather at Darcy’s back vibrate. “Mm, yes, I believe that is the purpose of this encounter.”

God save her from snarky goddesses, thinks Darcy. There’s something wrong with that statement, but her higher brain functions can’t be reached for comment. Not with two sets of callused, delicate hands caressing her, and two wicked smiles turned her way.

“You guys are way overdressed right now,” Darcy slurs.

“True enough,” says Natasha, stepping back to unzip her dress. She drops it to the floor without any hesitation.

The way Natasha strips down used to confuse Darcy. It’s not that Nat’s confident, exactly; she just shows absolutely zero self-consciousness. Not that Natasha has anything to be ashamed of, body-wise! It’s just that Darcy’s so used to women talking about parts of themselves they hate, and it’s awkward and uncomfortable to listen to. Natasha doesn’t do that. And after a few post-mission “debriefs,” in bed, Darcy just finds Nat in general hot as hell. Because while a striptease can be great, a partner who’s that confident in themselves and their body is just...wow.

When Natasha moves to stand chest-to-naked-chest (again, wow) with Darcy, they turn to watch as Sif steps back and shucks off her own outer garments. The complicated leather buckles and straps only take her seconds to disassemble. Darcy feels a little like a creeper, standing here watching while her partners disrobe, but when Sif steps forward and Darcy finds herself staring directly at a beautifully-sculpted collarbone, she feels a lot better. In several ways.

Two pairs of hands settle on Darcy’s hips, holding her in place. Darcy looks up and sees a complex series of blinks and smiles that mean that Sif and Natasha are wordlessly talking over her head. Kinda literally. But instead of feeling bothered, Darcy feels a hot coil of anticipation curl in her belly. These ladies are going to take good care of her. She just has to wait to see what they’ve got planned.

And sure enough, only a few more seconds pass before Natasha is fitting herself more closely up against Darcy’s back, her soft breasts brushing against Darcy’s ribs. Darcy gasps and tries to push backward for more friction, but is stopped by Sif’s hands at her middle. Darcy’s arms stay slack at her sides. She really is at their mercy. God, that’s hot.

Sif slips her hands slightly upward to cup Darcy’s waist. A smaller hand -- Nat’s -- buries itself in Darcy’s loose curls, and rubs her scalp gently. The sound Darcy makes is somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. Waves of pleasure radiate outward from the top of her head.

Darcy feels like she’s starting to float away, but just then Nat’s fingers tighten viciously, grabbing Darcy’s hair firmly at the base. The little shock of pain makes Darcy unconsciously try to thrust forward again, but she’s still held fast between Sif’s strong hands.

“F-fuck, Nat, what are you--” Darcy gets out, just before Nat pushes her head down to Sif’s breast. And oh, nobody ever said Darcy can’t take a hint, and she eagerly opens her lips to lick one dusky nipple.

Sif’s gratifyingly loud groan makes Darcy smile. She moves to lap at Sif’s other breast, Natasha’s hand still buried in her hair. Then Nat clenches her fingers again, just slightly. “Suck,” she orders, and Darcy does, moaning along with Sif.

While she licks and suckles at Sif’s lovely, small breasts, Darcy feels rather than hears Natasha’s pleased hum. God, she loves when Nat gets bossy. They’ve only been a “thing” for a few months, but Darcy trusts Natasha with her life, and Nat knows it. And takes advantage of it as often as possible. Not that Darcy’s protesting. If anything, she’d love to steal Nat away more often. The woman gets, like, zero time off.

Which is part of why Nat and Darcy had both volunteered for this little diplomatic “mission.” They’re on some secluded island in the Pacific Ocean, having a so-called meeting for a solid week with only Thor, Jane, a couple other Asgardians and SHIELD agents, and the other Avengers for company.

Darcy couldn’t have planned the trip better herself.

(Natasha probably could’ve, she concedes. But then, Nat plans everything perfectly. Up to and including sexual encounters. Present encounter included. God, Sif’s skin tastes amazing. Like almond and brown sugar. Is that an Asgardian thing, or just a Sif thing?)

As if noticing Darcy’s wandering thoughts -- and hell, why wouldn’t she, she’s a freaking spy -- Natasha grabs Darcy’s hair again and gently yanks her away from Sif. “Back with us?” she murmurs, and Darcy nods.

Breathing heavily, Sif steps back, bringing Darcy’s face level with her collarbone again. Silvery scars criss-cross her sharp bones. That particular pattern speaks of many years in battle, and Darcy’s familiar with the sight of soft, scarred skin from being with Natasha. The warriors’ scars are like tattoos telling her where they’ve been, and what they’ve survived, and they’re beautiful. Darcy leans forward slightly and places a light kiss on the nearest pale line. Natasha allows this, which tells Darcy that she’s in a good mood.

Sif pets Darcy’s cheeks and gently tilts her head up for a kiss. Darcy parts her lips eagerly. She knows how to do this. With Sif cupping her jaw and Natasha’s hand warm on her skull, Darcy relaxes and lets Sif explore her mouth. She tastes like iron and rain and something sweeter, and Darcy can’t help but contrast Sif’s taste with Natasha’s copper-and-spice -- both equally delicious in their own ways.

When Sif pulls her tongue away after running it along Darcy’s lower lip (why is that so hot? that shouldn’t be as hot as it is), Darcy can’t help but whimper a little at the loss. “Shh,” Sif says. “We’re just moving you somewhere more comfortable.”

Not just moving, moving her. And damn if the idea of Sif and Nat just doing what they want with her doesn’t go straight to her lady parts. Darcy shivers.

“Come on,” echoes Nat, slipping her hand down to Darcy’s neck to gently lead her to a chaise lounge in the corner. When did that get there?

Another bolt of lust shoots straight to Darcy’s core when Sif sits on the lounge, legs spread, and Nat gently pushes Darcy down to kneel in front of her. On the ground. At eye-level with the tangle of rusty curls between Sif’s legs. Good Lord.

“Is this alright?” Sif asks with a little smirk.

“Yes please,” Darcy groans. Nat laughs softly and pets her head.

“Not just yet, dorogaya,” Natasha says, and releases Darcy as she goes to get something from the field pack she’d brought with -- ohhh.

“Oh my God, Nat, did you bring a sexy bag?” she blurts.

Now grinning, Sif glances over to where Natasha is rummaging through the bag. “I admit to some curiosity myself.”

Nat looks really focused, which could be either a really good sign for Darcy, or a really bad sign. Or both. Probably both.

Soon, Natasha turns, holding a huge bottle of lube along with a black thing that looks vaguely like an L-shaped silicone nightstick, but thicker. (Aw yeah, double-ended dildo!) So that’s what Natasha has planned.

Or not. Darcy sees Nat palm something else out of the bag, but she's not quick enough to tell what it is. She shivers. Natasha always has the best surprises.

Without stopping to acknowledge either of the women in the room, Nat drops to her knees behind Darcy -- Darcy doesn’t try to look; it would run the surprise if she were allowed to see -- and sets up shop.

"Towels?" Nat asks over Darcy's shoulder, and Sif gestures to a hidden cabinet by the chaise. Nat grabs a few and sits back down. "No peeking, Darce."

"Yes, ma'am." Darcy gives an entirely fake put-upon sigh.

Scooting forward on her cushion, Sif looms over Darcy. A sexy sort of looming. The woman's already Amazon-goddess tall, and it doesn't take much to tower over Darcy when she's not in heels, but from this low position Darcy can really appreciate the view. The close up view of Sif's tanned, muscular thighs make her want to lick them.

Apparently Darcy was unconsciously leaning forward or something, because Nat suddenly murmurs in her ear, "Go ahead. Not above the knee."

Damn. That woman is evil. But Darcy is more patient than Nat might think. She can tease along with the best of them. So while Nat's back there doing mysterious things that rustle and make really distracting wet-squishy sounds, Darcy is going to take advantage of Sif's knees.

Huh. That sounded sexier before she thought it through. Oh well.

Darcy leans forward slowly, keeping her eyes locked on Sif's, watching her pupils blow wider when Darcy licks her lips. But Sif stays perfectly still. It makes Darcy feel powerful to be wanted like that. She kind of wants to keep teasing, but instead she bows down a little, breasts hanging low enough to brush the floor (wow, that's cold), and places a light kiss on Sif's right calf.

The woman above her shifts a little. Slowly, Darcy turns to the other leg, which is resting against her right side, and pushes it gently outward. Sif's legs spread wider. A little lick to the back of her knee makes Sif gasp. Darcy kisses down her calf to her ankle for good measure. (Natasha said not above the knee, so this is totally fine. Probably.) Anyway, it's worth it to see that pretty flush on Sif's face and breasts darken. Her hips twitch upward ever so slightly when Darcy sits up again.

"Not yet," Darcy says regretfully.

"I know," replies Sif, glancing over Darcy's shoulder at whatever Natasha is concocting. Then she looks back down, eyes dark. "But you are very tempting."

"Thanks," says Darcy. And she means it. Coming from a centuries-old goddess, that’s a serious compliment.

“Always in a hurry,” Natasha says. Sif shoots her a grin. “Darcy, lean forward. Hands and knees.”

“Yes!” Darcy resists the urge to fistpump. She eagerly assumes the stated position.

“What was that?” Natasha asks, low and dangerous. Darcy knows what that means.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” says Nat. Darcy smiles happily at the praise.

Sif tilts her head. “Is this a typical mode of address between Midgardians?”

“Not for everyone, but it works for us,” Darcy replies, trying not to wiggle too obviously.

“Sometimes,” Natasha adds.

“Well, yeah, not in public,” says Darcy. “Come on, Nat, please?”

Raising her eyebrows, Sif looks at Natasha for confirmation. Nat huffs. “Impatient little brat.” Her fond tone softens the words, and Darcy shakes her ass some more because she knows Nat secretly likes it. “Fine. Hold still.”

To her credit, Darcy tries. She really does. But then she hears the lube cap pop and suddenly two cold, wet fingers are reaching between her legs to spread her lips. She just can’t help the little surprised noise that escapes her, nor the involuntary jolt forward.

Natasha hums her displeasure. She gives Darcy’s ass a light slap. “Sif. Please hold her still.”

The evil grin Sif shoots down at Darcy should probably be a little bit scary, but Darcy’s sense of self-preservation has always been...special. Instead, the look makes Darcy quiver. “Please,” she says -- not sure whom she’s asking, nor even what she’s asking for, but wanting it anyway.

Sif stretches forward, settling Darcy’s shoulders between her knees and squeezing. From here, Darcy’s close enough to Sif’s belly to smell how aroused she is, and Darcy’s suddenly really eager for Natasha to put her fingers in her again. But she can’t move backward or to the side. She’s well and truly trapped between these two powerful women. They could do anything they wanted to her. And fuck if that idea doesn’t go straight to her crotch.

“That’s better,” Natasha says after a moment. She sounds cool and collected, but Darcy knows better. There’s a telltale quiver in her words that says Nat’s just as affected by all this as she and Sif are.

But Darcy doesn’t have much time to analyze her voice, because a second later Natasha’s fingers are stroking up between her legs again, and Darcy’s brain just shuts down. She moans as two fingers slip inside her. Sif caresses her face with one hand, and Darcy manages to turn her head and press a kiss to her palm.

Something soft touches Darcy’s lower back, and she realizes it’s Natasha’s lips just as Nat pulls out and pushes three fingers back in. It’s impossible not to gasp at the feeling of Nat’s knuckles sliding past her G-spot as she starts thrusting down and in.

The heat in Darcy’s belly loops and curls around Natasha’s clever fingers. It’s so intense that she barely feels Sif’s hand stroking through her hair. Darcy cries out when Nat bites the curve of her ass.

“Come for us,” Nat murmurs. “We want to watch you.”

And oh God, if that doesn’t hit every one of Darcy’s exhibitionist kinks that she didn’t know she had-- “A-ah, please!” she bites out. “I--”

“Let go, little one,” Sif says, and right then Nat’s fingers scissor open, pushing hard as her thrusts speed up. Natasha flicks her thumb against Darcy’s clit once, twice, and a bolt of lightning shoots up Darcy’s spine. She yells long and hard as she clamps down around Natasha’s hand, shaking wildly and gasping through her climax. Nat keeps thrusting until Darcy’s shudders have calmed, and Darcy drifts back down to Earth feeling soft and warm and floaty.

After a second -- or maybe a few minutes, who knows -- Darcy returns to the land of the conscious. She feels a nice firm pressure around her ribs, and oh right, those are Sif’s legs.

And wow, Sif. The goddess’s adoring expression is a hell of an ego boost. Lips parted, breathing heavily, she’s the picture of feminine arousal and want. Darcy can smell Sif now more than ever. There’s a dark spot on the chaise where Sif’s positively dripping slick. God, Darcy needs to taste her, like, yesterday.

“You can let her up now,” Natasha says. When Sif parts her legs, Darcy sits up on her knees and turns for a kiss. Nat obliges, as usual, nipping at Darcy’s lips and slipping an arm around her shoulders. “That was beautiful.” Nat pulls away and wipes her lubed hand on a towel. She keeps one hand on Darcy’s back, stroking in small circles.

Darcy can’t help but smile goofily. She likes being praised; so sue her.

Then Nat’s eyes turn crafty. Turning so that she and Darcy are both visible from the chaise, she kisses Darcy deeply. Darcy can’t help but moan when Nat’s tongue flicks against hers. Judging by the way the chaise is squeaking, Sif is quite interested, too.

Seriously. How is this Darcy’s life?

While Darcy is busy sucking on Nat’s tongue, the sneaky spy lady somehow works a hand back into her hair. A gentle tug at Darcy’s messy curls ends their kiss. (And Darcy has to force herself not to lean back in when Nat licks her lips. Good Lord, those lips.)

Nat releases her head and bends down, coming back with the double-ended dildo in one hand and the bottle of lube in the other. She looks Darcy up and down. “How are your knees feeling?”

“Uh.” Darcy does a quick self-evaluation. The carpet in here is pretty cushy, and the towels are plush, so. “They’re fine.”

Natasha nods once and throws a clean towel down on the floor. “In that case, hands and knees again. Sif?”

The other woman sits up straighter and nods.

Wait, what just happened here?

A moment later, Darcy realizes that she’d paused to think instead of obeying Natasha’s command. Nat shoots her a wicked little smile -- crap -- and grabs a handful of Darcy’s hair again.

“Ow! What is with you and my hair today?” Darcy whines, but lets Nat lead her back to the chaise.

“Hush.”

Darcy can’t seem to shut her mouth. “What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. We’ve talked about this.”

“We who?” Did Natasha mean she and Darcy had talked this over? Or her and Sif?

The focused glint in Nat’s eye is a little worrying. It’s kind of weird that Darcy’s self-preservation is kicking in this late in the game, but whatever. The tiny thrill of fear really only adds to the hotness of the whole situation.

“I promise that we will not do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Nat says seriously, still with that odd look on her face. Is that anticipation?

Darcy swallows. She can feel her own slick dripping down the insides of her thighs. “Okay.”

“Do you trust us?”

“Of course,” Darcy scoffs. What kind of question is that?

Then Natasha grins, and it’s more than wicked, it’s a little on the gleeful side, and Darcy understands. She’s not going to get a say in any of what happens next, except to call a stop to it all. And Darcy really does not want to do that right now.

“Good,” Nat says, satisfied. As though Darcy had said all that aloud. Well, who knows, to a mind-reading spy person, maybe her facial expressions spoke just as clearly. “Ready?”

Darcy nods, once, decisively. That was all Nat needed. The hand in her hair twists, and Darcy gasps, and finds herself back on her hands and knees at Sif’s feet. “H-hi,” she says, and Sif smiles.

Above her, Natasha untangles her hand from Darcy’s hair. “Here. Take care of this for me.”

Wait, what?

Sif apparently understands Hot Domme Lady just fine, and leans forward to replace Nat’s hand with one of her own. Her thicker fingers are nevertheless gentle on Darcy’s scalp.

And oh, Darcy understands now, as a rush of arousal chokes her. Nat is giving Sif permission. To use Darcy. Dear God.

Another hand tips Darcy’s chin up. Despite the intensity of her gaze, Sif waits. Silently asking if Darcy is okay. “Please,” is all that Darcy can manage, but Sif doesn’t seem to mind. Her other hand comes to rest at Darcy’s temple, and she pulls Darcy’s head down until her nose brushes that lovely nest of curls.

“Lick,” says the goddess, voice raw, as Darcy breathes in her scent. Licking, yes, licking she can do. Eating girls out is one of her top five skills. Not one she could put on a resume, for obvious reasons, but still. It’s definitely something Darcy takes pride in.

So she nuzzles Sif’s folds apart just enough to slip her tongue between them, and by God, she licks. Sif tastes just as amazing as Darcy had thought she would. Her slick is tangy, with a hint of musk and sweat. And Sif is so responsive, moaning at the first touch of Darcy’s tongue and bucking up into her mouth.

Not having the use of her hands is a bit of a handicap, and Darcy would seriously love to finger Sif before the night is over. Still, she moves as much as the hands clamped around her head will allow, and after a few tries she manages to find just the right pattern of lap-circle-flick against Sif’s clit to drive her crazy. Darcy’s in heaven.

Of course, that’s when Natasha decides she’s had enough voyeurism for one night. She comes up behind Darcy and lays one hand on her ass. That’s all the warning Darcy gets before yet another cold-wet finger touches her. Nat’s finger trails its way up Darcy’s vulva, completely avoiding her clit, and then -- keeps going.

Darcy pauses in her licking to take a deep breath. Oh boy. That dildo wasn’t meant for her pussy after all. Oh no.

Oh yes, Nat’s finger seems to say as it circles Darcy’s asshole, spreading lube as it goes. More cold wetness drips down her tailbone. Darcy muffles a squeak in Sif’s crotch and gets a pat on the head.

“Don’t worry,” Sif says. “You’ll be fine.”

I know I’ll be fine, Darcy wants to say. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to sit for a week! But instead, she just murmurs some kind of assent, and Sif’s hands cup her head again. Darcy obeys the unspoken command and leans in.

As her tongue finds Sif’s clit, Natasha pushes one finger slowly into Darcy’s tight hole. It burns a little, but they’ve been working up to this over the past few weeks, so it’s not hard for Darcy to bear down and relax like they’ve practiced. “Good girl,” Nat murmurs. She pulls out to slick up another finger. Again Nat presses them into Darcy, and then a third, and Darcy can’t help but moan against Sif’s sex at the stretch of it.

The hands at her head tremble and quiver as Darcy moves. Noting how Sif seems to shudder and groan each time Darcy makes noise, she begins to hum against Sif’s lips as she laps and nibbles. Each swipe of her tongue makes the goddess writhe.

An interminable length of time passes as Darcy licks Sif and pushes back against Nat’s fingers. Finally Darcy feels the blunt tip of the silicone toy at her hole. It pushes into her slowly, interminably, and God it hurts at first, but she knows it’ll get better. And it does. The burn of penetration eases more with each shallow thrust, morphing into white-hot pleasure.

“You’re doing so well,” Natasha coos, planting her hands at either side of Darcy’s hips as she starts that lovely push and pull. Darcy just groans louder. The toy pushes at her G-spot as Nat changes the angle of her hips.

Sif curses in some strange language as Nat pushes Darcy’s face harder into her. The goddess whispers words of praise -- “such a lovely girl, beautiful” -- that make Darcy perversely feel like crying. Her body and mind just aren’t sure what to think. Between these two, Darcy feels safe and helpless and thoroughly fucked, and it’s glorious.

Even though she’d thought it wasn’t possible, Darcy feels herself gasping as she gets close to orgasm. Her toes curl and white zings of arousal shoot down her legs every time Natasha’s thighs slap against her ass. And her tongue is going numb. She’s going to be feeling this for weeks.

Natasha’s thrusts get deeper, harder, and Darcy frantically licks at Sif, desperate to make her come. Darcy’s face is covered in Sif’s slick, and her ass is dripping with lube. It’s filthy and hot and she’s so full, and--

Fuck,” Natasha grunts, shoving deep and hard, and Darcy distantly feels Sif’s fingers yanking on her hair so roughly it brings tears to her eyes. But she keeps licking, and thrusting backwards, because she can’t not. And finally, something just snaps, and Darcy is screaming and clenching and flying as pleasure crashes over her.

As she comes down, Darcy vaguely feels Natasha shudder one last time, digging her fingernails hard into her hips. But Darcy feels like she’s wrapped in cotton. The tiny sparks of pain register only as mute sensation.

After a moment, she thinks of Sif and looks up. “D’ju come?” she slurs.

Sif’s eyes widen. “Truly? You didn’t--? Norns, yes, I had my pleasure at least twice. You were wonderful.” And she pets Darcy’s face. The sweet gesture makes Darcy smile.

Natasha pulls the toy out of her with a gross, wet sound. Darcy scrunches up her nose, but she can’t stop smiling. Nat pats her ass as she cleans up. Someone’s laughing.

Then Sif slides down to lie in a boneless heap next to Darcy. Her secret super-spy girlfriend flops down next to them -- and when did Darcy lie down? Well, anyway, she’s staring at the ceiling, it’s fine -- and all is right with the world.

(No one says a word when they’re late to the diplomats’ dinner.)