Shut Up And Kiss Me (Loki x Darcy)

Talking Tactics

Washing her hands in the basin, Darcy's alcohol-impaired brain was neither processing nor fully appreciating what had just happened between herself and the God of Mischief.
Even as she lathered the bar of soap between her palms and rinsed away every last sticky trace of their encounter, her neurones weren't firing on all cylinders.

If they had been, she would probably be feeling incredibly guilty, and possibly even a little panicky about what she may have inadvertently begun.
Could it simply be labelled as a harmless, drunken dalliance? Would they have to talk about it? Because that was a conversation she didn't think she'd ever be ready to have, but maybe, just maybe, if they did need to discuss things, then she reasoned that doing so whilst tipsy, would be easier than having to do it stone cold sober. The only problem was, alcohol was like truth serum. So she wasn't sure she could trust herself.

What she should tell Loki, was that a line needed to be drawn under it now. They'd explored the uncharted territory and crossed a line, and indulged their sexual curiosity. Now they needed to move on, without taking things any further. The trouble was, the lines had all become blurred now.

"Enough now." She warned her reflection sternly in the mirror. "This stops now. It ends here."

She haphazardly laced-up her dress, took a deep breath, and turned toward the door.
And it was then she was suddenly struck by a wave of unexpected nausea.

No. No no no no no no no!

She closed her eyes and did her best to ignore the way her guts twisted and turned violently. Breathing slowly, she tried to keep swallowing but her throat kept clenching. No matter what, despite her best efforts, she couldn't stop the sickly feeling rising through her chest. Then she tasted it at the back of her mouth.

This just wasn't fair. Why did she suddenly feel like her stomach was a set of bag-pipes being vigorously squeezed? She had felt fine a couple of minutes ago. More than fine in fact.
She stumbled back towards the toilet, dropped to her knees and clumg to the bowl as if it were the last life raft on a sinking ship.

Maybe once she was sick she would feel better, she hoped, as with a heaving lurch of her stomach, she couldn't prevent the stream of rancid liquid that spewed from her mouth.

"Shit, it's so gross!" She muttered to herself, between retching.

Darcy -- like all people -- hated being sick at the best of times, and she certainly wasn't a casual vomiter. She wasn't able to just throw up and then go about her business. No, all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball, and sleep for as long as she could before it was deemed as hibernation.

Just then there was a soft knocking on the bathroom door -- much lighter than usual -- followed by Loki's voice...

"Darcy.....as much as I am not in the habit of disturbing bathroom ablutions, I am in need of the facilities myself."

She couldn't respond, as she was mid-retch, and although she was trying to be quiet, being sick quietly was a physical impossibility.

"Darcy? Are you....unwell?"

"Uugh, I'm...f-fine." She managed breathlessly between heaving.

"You don't sound fine."

She heard the door open a crack, and internally screamed. She knew she should've locked the damn door. And now the last thing she wanted on earth was for him to see her in such a state. Straining and retching and shaking, crouched on the floor, leaning over the toilet bowl, heaving her guts up.