Bodyswap - PG-13 - Darcy/Maria Hill
If there was one thing that Darcy didn’t like about her steady work with superheroes it was the ridiculous amounts of paperwork. There were forms for literally everything. She had a form for her preferences if she was hit with sex pollen. She had a form for her preferences if tower residents were forced into arranged marriages for the benefit of procreation. She had forms for who was and was not allowed to pretend to be her spouse should she end up in the emergency room or suddenly develop amnesia and need a super-advocate to take care of her affairs--because, you know, they couldn’t just call her mom or something.
“Oh, come on!” she cried when Maria Hill pushed what had to be the eight hundredth form across the desk to her. “Bodyswap Contingency and Non-disclosure? How likely is it that we will ever even have to use this?”
The answer to that question ended up being an average of bi-monthly except during Loki visits when being bodyswapped became an hourly hazard. Then, of course, there was the time Thor had brought Loki in from some galactic crime spree he’d been on with the intention of keeping him around for a month. In the first week alone there were forty-three cases of bodyswaps. And for some reason, NO ONE WOULD BAN LOKI FROM THE FUCKING TOWER. There really weren’t words to describe how disheartened every member of staff had been when their petition for a ban was rejected the thirty-second time. Loki was too much of a risk to keep anywhere else on earth, and apparently being around Thor actually kept him calmer a large portion of the time.
Personally, Darcy thought that assessment was actually submitted by Loki posing as the staff psychologist. The ‘psychologist’ dismissed her theory as paranoia. And then turned into a snake and slithered off after Thor while hissing something to the effect of “No one will believe you.”
By the time Loki was on his fourth visit to the tower, Darcy was seriously regretting signing the non-disclosure portion of the form. She officially knew the exact specifics of every Avengers genitalia. Length, girth, circumcised versus uncircumcised, ratio of cock to balls, manscaping details, prominent areas of sensitivity… You name, she knew it. She’d been every one of them. Some more than once. A couple more than twice. And one particular individual whose rank and definitely never been Sergeant a whopping sixteen times. (The things she could tell you about certain vibranium prosthetics…)
But, of course, she couldn’t talk about any of those experiences. Couldn’t share any of those details. Couldn’t have a girl’s night trading details, stories, and experiences over an excellent glass--fine, multiple bottles--of wine where all the prominent ladies of the tower cackled like hyenas and generally scared the living hell out of the menfolk.
Well, she wouldn’t have been able to do that last one if Natasha hadn’t insisted. Really, she was coerced. So were Maria, Jane, Helen, and Pepper. Totally no female conspiracy there. Who would be stupid enough to take them to task for it anyway?
It was the morning after one such non-existent story-swapping slumber party when Darcy woke up in a bed that was distinctly not her own. This, of course, was no longer a new experiences. She heaved a sigh, closed her eyes, and started the usual ritual. She ran her hands over her head and face, making note of hair that felt very much like her own unruly mane of curls and the distinct distinct lack of stubble. She jumped when a voice piped up from the pillow beside her.
“Are you seriously doing a bodyswap check?”
Startled, Darcy’s eyes flew open. She lifted her hands in front of her face and stared at her own chipped fingernail polish. Tiliting her head to one side, she blinked owlishly at Maria Hill where she lay on the neighboring pillow. The night before came back in a rush. Wine led to truth or dare, which in turn led to confessions. Confessions led to a very good night. “Oh, thank fuck,” she babbled before she could stop herself. “I really hate having to pee with a penis.”
The day started with naked laughter, and when the giggles stopped they couldn’t really find a reason to put on clothes.