Darcy/Rumlow 12
Darcy looked up at the man draped across the motel bed. He was fast asleep on his stomach, one arm sprawled across the empty space that probably still held the heat from her body. She’d left the light on in the bathroom, it was enough to see him by.
She was sitting on the heavy curtain in the window, perched on the central air unit, wearing nothing but her t-shirt. Her feet were tucked up under her as she watched him sleep. He’d stirred a little when she’d slipped out of bed, but he hadn’t appeared to have woken up. It was probably for the best, he’d been in pretty rough shape when she’d found him. She’d stitched up his back- the things you learn scientist-wrangling- and cleaned him up. He hadn’t appeared to have lost too much blood, but he definitely needed rest.
“What the fuck am I going to do?” she breathed, her eyes picking out the dark lines across his back. She wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, she’d just found Brock on his stomach in the rubble, back all sliced up
“Come back to bed,” came the dry response. His head came up off the pillow and he turned to look at her, wincing a little as the movement pulled at his stitches.
Her eyebrows raised as she considered him. “I’m pretty sure you’re literally going to fall apart if I go anywhere near you again.”
“I’ll make it.” He paused, brown eyes following the shape of her legs. “I’ve had worse.”
Sighing, she pushed herself to her feet. He was probably right, too. She moved across to the bed and got into it, pulling the cooling sheet up over her. His hand slid over her stomach, arm settling heavily around her waist. “You’re a wanted man, aren’t you?”
Slowly, painfully, his head turned so that he was looking at her again. This close, she could see the dark shadows under his eyes. “You want me…” His mouth moved up into a familiar smirk, and she shook her head, the corners of her own lips turning up just a little. “By both sides, probably.”
“You…” She sighed again, reaching over to push her fingers through his thick hair. “I’m beginning to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
“If I really thought you meant that, I’d leave.” His words were slurred a little, a combination of the drugs she’d given him and the trauma done to his body, no doubt.
“Leave?” Darcy shook her head. “Look at you, you can’t even leave bed.” She shifted forward, careful not to move the bed too much as her lips brushed against his shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”
“Stay with me.” His fingers tangled in the hem of her shirt as his eyes drifted shut again. It wasn’t long before his breathing deepened, evened out.
“Fuck,” Darcy whispered into the dim night.