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sarea
Title: Wet Hot Avengers Summer (AO3)
Author:sarea_okelani
Rating: PG-13, for teenagers getting up to what teenagers get up to
Pairings: Clint/Natasha, Tony/Pepper, Thor/Jane, minor Clint/Bobbi and Phil/Cellist, Clint & Coulson, Clint & Tony
Other notes and stuff can found in part one.
Summary: At summer camp, Clint’s met the girl of his dreams. Then he meets her four brothers.
//\\
Their weekends are generally theirs to do with as they please, so after lunch one day Clint and Phil head down to the lake to play some one-on-one water volleyball. It seems like the entire camp is there. Towels are spread out everywhere, and sun worshippers, shiny from tanning lotion, are sleeping under the sun’s merciless rays.
Clint spots Natasha immediately. He seems to have some sort of homing beacon on her, some sixth sense of wherever she is at any given moment. She’s sitting on a towel under an oversized umbrella, keeping her fair skin protected. Phil identifies the girls she’s with: Pepper, an extremely thin strawberry blonde who was rumored to be dating Tony; Jane, a petite brunette; and Darcy, another brunette who has a decidedly less childlike figure. But in Clint’s eyes, none of them can remotely compare with Natasha, who looks simply amazing in her baby blue bikini. He’s never understood why it’s taboo for a girl to go around in her underwear, but a bikini, being technically a bathing suit, is okay, even if it reveals more than any girls’ underwear Clint has ever seen (outside of a magazine).
He wants to go over and say hello, but they don’t really know each other all that well, and anyway she’s with her friends. Girls in packs are kind of scary. Anyway, he’s not sure she’d want him to. Clint’s not ashamed of his body; it’s perfectly adequate given all the time he’s spent over the years doing yard work for his various foster families and their neighbors, but he is wearing a rather garish pair of purple swim trunks that Steve found in the Lost and Found bin that has items from time immemorial. Clint’s grateful, of course, that Steve was able to even find a pair that fit him, or he wouldn’t get to swim, but did they have to be purple? Clint has zero doubt that their previous owner had “forgotten” them at camp on purpose.
“Don’t even go there, Barton,” Phil says, reading his friend accurately.
“I wasn’t,” Clint protests, lying through his teeth.
“Uh huh.”
It doesn’t matter, anyway, as presently Natasha’s brothers show up, heading toward the girls in question. Thor and Natasha immediately start arguing – from what little Clint is able to overhear, and from their gestures, it seems there’s some disagreement over the decency of Natasha’s bathing suit. Natasha flat out refuses to change, a stubborn look coming over her face, and she gestures toward Jane, which makes Thor take notice of what the brunette is wearing, and the same argument seems to start again, except with Jane instead of Natasha this time. Tony and Bruce have stayed out of the argument. Tony has engaged Pepper in conversation, while Bruce, unsmiling, takes a seat next to Darcy.
Clint follows Phil out to the middle of the lake, where it’s deeper, and they hit the water polo ball back and forth. Phil is on the water volleyball team at their high school, and while Clint doesn’t participate in school sports, he’s always been a natural athlete and keeps up with Phil easily. Since they’ve known each other – going on six months now, which is twice as long as the last two foster homes he’d been at before Anna and Paul had taken him in – Phil has tried to get him to join a team, any team, but it’s just not Clint’s style. He’s never really gone in for any of that, and anyway, there’s no point joining a team at school when he might have to leave unexpectedly before the season’s even over. Phil serves the ball toward him and it’s at the perfect angle for Clint to deliver a beautiful spike, the ball smacking down in the water in front of Phil’s face, splashing everywhere. Phil splutters, and the waves from his movements float the ball fairly far.
“Go get it, asshole,” says Phil.
Clint laughs. “As if. You got owned. Loser gets the ball.” As they argue, the ball drifts further and further away, especially as it approaches other swimmers, whose activities cause it to drift away even faster.
Grumbling, Phil swims after the ball. Clint treads water and takes the opportunity to glance toward shore. Natasha’s brothers are still there, scowling suspiciously at anyone who approaches. Well, Clint thinks, at least if he can’t be near her, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else getting near her, either. Except... he frowns. Natasha’s no longer there. He looked just five minutes ago and she was still in the same spot, but now she’s gone. Maybe she decided to go swimming. He tries to spot her, but there are just too many people. His sixth sense is failing him, he decides.
Suddenly, a hand clamps around his ankle, and by the time he registers this, Clint’s pulled hard underwater. He barely has time to catch a breath, and he tries to twist away from the grip. The hand lets go and taps him on the leg instead, a greeting. Clint makes out a cloud of red hair, and his heart still pounds, but now it’s from something other than panic. He makes for the surface, takes in a lungful of air, then dives back down.
Natasha grins at him under the water. Shapes are a bit murky and green, but he can make her out just fine. She gives Clint a little wave, which he returns. He points upward, but she shakes her head. She holds her hands out to him, so he takes them. When she pulls, he floats toward her easily.
Without warning, she kisses him.
He’s so surprised he doesn’t respond at first, but then he realizes what’s happening and with who, and he kisses her back. It’s weird to kiss someone underwater, he thinks, because they feel cold and warm at the same time, and there’s no breathing, no sound except for the water in their ears. It’s kind of surreal. After what seems like hours, but is in reality only seconds, Natasha makes to pull away. At some point he’d wrapped his arms around her and her bikini-clad chest was pressed up against his, their legs entangled. Clint doesn’t want to let go, but he also doesn’t want her to drown, so he releases his hold on her.
She puts a finger to her lips, our little secret, and Clint nods to show he understands. Then she swims away and Clint kicks to the surface. He scans the water, looking for her, and it seems to take forever, but he sees her head pop up out of the water some distance away. No one would suspect – no one does suspect – what she’d been doing with Clint just seconds ago.
Water flies in his face as a ball lands in front of him, and Clint coughs, rubbing water out of his eyes.
“It’s your turn next time,” Phil says. “It kept getting away from me. Every time I’d get close, something would happen that would send it rolling away — Barton, are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, bro,” Clint says, but looks toward shore. Natasha has settled back into her original position, and everything seems exactly as it had been six minutes ago.
If it wasn’t for the fact that her hair is damp, Clint would swear he imagined the whole thing.
//\\
He replays the scene over and over in his mind. He definitely hadn’t imagined it. Natasha had actually kissed him under the lake like some kind of mythical mermaid. He can vaguely remember the feel of her lips, the light touch of her tongue, but the water obscured the finer details, and Clint’s determined to find out what it’s like to kiss her on dry land.
“Mr. Barton, is this class interrupting your daydreaming?”
Clint snaps back to the present, feeling his face warm as the other students titter and Mr. Barclay looks at him with irritation.
“Sorry,” Clint says, abashed, resolved to concentrate on the class. Mr. Barclay resumes his lesson, having each of the eight students play a short selection in turn. Clint’s the second player to go, and he plays his selection without making any mistakes. As the others each have their turn, he can’t prevent his thoughts from drifting to Natasha again.
After class, Mr. Barclay keeps him back. “Clint,” the older man says, lifting his glasses slightly so he can wipe at his watery eyes, “I got the distinct sense that you were not completely with us today.” He holds his hand up when Clint opens his mouth to apologize. “I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry. I just want you to pay attention in class. You have natural talent, but some of these other kids aren’t so lucky—”
“I know, Mr. Barclay,” says Clint. “I wasn’t—”
“I expect more from you. I know you’ve been working on Anji and that’s great. I’d like you to strongly consider playing it for the talent show.”
Clint blanches. Performing, in front of a crowd? At the end-of-camp talent show? He can’t think of anything he wants to do less. Music is a private thing for him. He has no desire to put it on display. “I won’t be ready in time,” he says.
“I have confidence in you, Clint,” Mr. Barclay says, in a tone that Clint recognizes from adults that means they’ve made up their mind and no one’s going to change it, especially not some belligerent sixteen-year-old. “Use some of your free time to practice. And I’m available any time for extra sessions.”
“Yes, sir,” Clint says glumly.
As Clint makes his way to the clearing, he wonders if he can somehow fake an illness the night of the talent show. He has no problem working on the song; he was going to do that anyway. But to have to perform it? He'd rather be tortured. There’s a patch of poison ivy not too far from the arts and crafts area; he seriously considers rolling around in it the day before the show.
He’s too distracted to play properly, so he forces himself to put the talent show and other distractions out of his mind. Only then is he able to get lost in the music, and he plays Anji all the way through without stopping, just to see if he can. There are still runs that give him trouble, and he stumbles over the trickier parts, but overall it’s a good effort; the best he’s ever done, actually.
There’s light applause when he’s done. Clint looks up, startled, and sees Natasha leaning against a tree. “It’s almost there, isn’t it?” she says, approaching.
“Yeah,” Clint says. “I guess it is.”
Natasha settles down next to him, a lot closer than she’d been the first time. Suddenly Clint is conscious of the fact that his palms are sweaty, and the bulk of his guitar is an unwelcome obstacle. The sun shines off her scarlet curls in an eye-catching way, and he notices that her teeth, while even and white, are just slightly off center. But this imperfection makes her even more impossibly beautiful to him.
“Wow, well don’t sound so thrilled,” she teases.
Clint is somewhat reluctant to explain, but does anyway. He doesn’t know what it is about Natasha that makes him act so strangely, telling her things he’d never tell anyone. At least, not anyone he’s known for as little time as he’s known her. It’s not like he thinks she’ll understand – after all, what would a girl like Natasha know about feeling uncomfortable around other people? She’s never appeared particularly bothered by the attention she draws, though she doesn’t seem like a big sharer, either. He suspects that she gets more out of people than they get from her. Clint doesn’t think the same applies to him.
Natasha looks at him with unfathomable eyes, and Clint waits for her to tell him he’s being silly or immature. What she says is, “What if I go up there with you?”
“You?” he says in surprise. “You know how to play the guitar?”
“No,” she says. “I’ll just sit with you, and you can play for me. You can pretend no one else is there.”
It should sound conceited, but somehow it doesn’t. The thought of it actually makes some of his tension ease. “That’d probably work, but it might look a little weird,” he sighs. “Think I just have to suck it up.”
“You’ll do great.” She puts a hand on his arm, and Clint knows it can’t possibly be any warmer than the average human hand, but he swears it burns through him. “Now are you going to kiss me, or what?”
Natasha doesn’t give him time to put his guitar away. She just leans forward and kisses him. Her lips are moist, in a nice way, and taste like watermelon Lip Smackers. When they pull apart Clint licks his lips and they stare at each other for a moment. He lifts the guitar strap from around his neck and leans the instrument gently against the bench. Then they lean into one another again, her arms going around his neck. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he keeps them braced against the bench as they kiss. But she scoots closer and closer to him until she’s practically in his lap, they’re actually kissing with tongue now, and he’s finally decided to put his hands on her waist when a loud voice makes them jump apart.
“What the fuck?”
Clint is unceremoniously dragged to his feet, Tony’s fists twisted in his shirt. “You little shit—”
“Tony, stop it!” Natasha says, unsuccessfully trying to get him to let go of Clint. She hits at her brother, and while he grunts when she lands her blows, it doesn’t deter him.
“Do you know whose throat you had your tongue halfway down?” he demands.
Clint doesn’t think it’s a good idea for him to answer that question. He finally frees himself and gives Tony a shove. Natasha immediately springs between them.
“Go away, Tony,” she demands, glaring at him. “This isn’t any of your business.”
“Not any of my— It is my business. You’re my sister. I’m not going to let you get knocked up by some guitar-playing dweeb. I mean, you could have at least gone for a drummer.”
Natasha lets out a sound of rage that makes Tony flinch. Even Clint is a bit worried.
“It’s okay, Tasha,” he says gently, the diminutive slipping out.
“You stay out of this,” Tony says, giving Clint a withering look.
“You don’t get to talk to him!” Natasha snaps.
Tony wags a finger at her. “Wait till Thor hears about this. He’s going to pound him into the ground like a geekstake.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” she rejoins angrily. “No one’s touching him.”
While appreciative of Natasha’s fierce defense, Clint kind of feels that he should be fighting his own battles. “Look, I’m sorry. I get it. She’s your sister—” but you don’t own her is what he was going to say, but Tony’s fist stops him. It catches him on the left cheek, pain exploding there, making him stagger.
Now Clint’s pissed. He clenches his left hand and swings at Tony, and there’s a satisfying crack as his fist connects with the other boy's face. He follows Tony down, and the two of them trade blows as Natasha shouts at them to stop being idiots. As a foster kid Clint has been in his share of brawls and knows how to defend himself, how to land blows that hurt, that incapacitate. Certainly more than this rich boy, though Tony is holding his own pretty well. He isn’t as soft as Clint might’ve assumed from what he knows about the guy.
“Since you two are more interested in each other than in me, I’ll just leave you to it,” Natasha says, and starts stomping away. “Let me know if you decide to get married.”
Clint shoves at Tony, but by the time he stands up, she’s already gone.
“There’s four of us, you know,” Tony says, breathing hard and wiping the corner of his mouth as he stands. “I hope you brought diapers.”
Author:
sarea_okelaniRating: PG-13, for teenagers getting up to what teenagers get up to
Pairings: Clint/Natasha, Tony/Pepper, Thor/Jane, minor Clint/Bobbi and Phil/Cellist, Clint & Coulson, Clint & Tony
Other notes and stuff can found in part one.
Summary: At summer camp, Clint’s met the girl of his dreams. Then he meets her four brothers.
//\\
Their weekends are generally theirs to do with as they please, so after lunch one day Clint and Phil head down to the lake to play some one-on-one water volleyball. It seems like the entire camp is there. Towels are spread out everywhere, and sun worshippers, shiny from tanning lotion, are sleeping under the sun’s merciless rays.
Clint spots Natasha immediately. He seems to have some sort of homing beacon on her, some sixth sense of wherever she is at any given moment. She’s sitting on a towel under an oversized umbrella, keeping her fair skin protected. Phil identifies the girls she’s with: Pepper, an extremely thin strawberry blonde who was rumored to be dating Tony; Jane, a petite brunette; and Darcy, another brunette who has a decidedly less childlike figure. But in Clint’s eyes, none of them can remotely compare with Natasha, who looks simply amazing in her baby blue bikini. He’s never understood why it’s taboo for a girl to go around in her underwear, but a bikini, being technically a bathing suit, is okay, even if it reveals more than any girls’ underwear Clint has ever seen (outside of a magazine).
He wants to go over and say hello, but they don’t really know each other all that well, and anyway she’s with her friends. Girls in packs are kind of scary. Anyway, he’s not sure she’d want him to. Clint’s not ashamed of his body; it’s perfectly adequate given all the time he’s spent over the years doing yard work for his various foster families and their neighbors, but he is wearing a rather garish pair of purple swim trunks that Steve found in the Lost and Found bin that has items from time immemorial. Clint’s grateful, of course, that Steve was able to even find a pair that fit him, or he wouldn’t get to swim, but did they have to be purple? Clint has zero doubt that their previous owner had “forgotten” them at camp on purpose.
“Don’t even go there, Barton,” Phil says, reading his friend accurately.
“I wasn’t,” Clint protests, lying through his teeth.
“Uh huh.”
It doesn’t matter, anyway, as presently Natasha’s brothers show up, heading toward the girls in question. Thor and Natasha immediately start arguing – from what little Clint is able to overhear, and from their gestures, it seems there’s some disagreement over the decency of Natasha’s bathing suit. Natasha flat out refuses to change, a stubborn look coming over her face, and she gestures toward Jane, which makes Thor take notice of what the brunette is wearing, and the same argument seems to start again, except with Jane instead of Natasha this time. Tony and Bruce have stayed out of the argument. Tony has engaged Pepper in conversation, while Bruce, unsmiling, takes a seat next to Darcy.
Clint follows Phil out to the middle of the lake, where it’s deeper, and they hit the water polo ball back and forth. Phil is on the water volleyball team at their high school, and while Clint doesn’t participate in school sports, he’s always been a natural athlete and keeps up with Phil easily. Since they’ve known each other – going on six months now, which is twice as long as the last two foster homes he’d been at before Anna and Paul had taken him in – Phil has tried to get him to join a team, any team, but it’s just not Clint’s style. He’s never really gone in for any of that, and anyway, there’s no point joining a team at school when he might have to leave unexpectedly before the season’s even over. Phil serves the ball toward him and it’s at the perfect angle for Clint to deliver a beautiful spike, the ball smacking down in the water in front of Phil’s face, splashing everywhere. Phil splutters, and the waves from his movements float the ball fairly far.
“Go get it, asshole,” says Phil.
Clint laughs. “As if. You got owned. Loser gets the ball.” As they argue, the ball drifts further and further away, especially as it approaches other swimmers, whose activities cause it to drift away even faster.
Grumbling, Phil swims after the ball. Clint treads water and takes the opportunity to glance toward shore. Natasha’s brothers are still there, scowling suspiciously at anyone who approaches. Well, Clint thinks, at least if he can’t be near her, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else getting near her, either. Except... he frowns. Natasha’s no longer there. He looked just five minutes ago and she was still in the same spot, but now she’s gone. Maybe she decided to go swimming. He tries to spot her, but there are just too many people. His sixth sense is failing him, he decides.
Suddenly, a hand clamps around his ankle, and by the time he registers this, Clint’s pulled hard underwater. He barely has time to catch a breath, and he tries to twist away from the grip. The hand lets go and taps him on the leg instead, a greeting. Clint makes out a cloud of red hair, and his heart still pounds, but now it’s from something other than panic. He makes for the surface, takes in a lungful of air, then dives back down.
Natasha grins at him under the water. Shapes are a bit murky and green, but he can make her out just fine. She gives Clint a little wave, which he returns. He points upward, but she shakes her head. She holds her hands out to him, so he takes them. When she pulls, he floats toward her easily.
Without warning, she kisses him.
He’s so surprised he doesn’t respond at first, but then he realizes what’s happening and with who, and he kisses her back. It’s weird to kiss someone underwater, he thinks, because they feel cold and warm at the same time, and there’s no breathing, no sound except for the water in their ears. It’s kind of surreal. After what seems like hours, but is in reality only seconds, Natasha makes to pull away. At some point he’d wrapped his arms around her and her bikini-clad chest was pressed up against his, their legs entangled. Clint doesn’t want to let go, but he also doesn’t want her to drown, so he releases his hold on her.
She puts a finger to her lips, our little secret, and Clint nods to show he understands. Then she swims away and Clint kicks to the surface. He scans the water, looking for her, and it seems to take forever, but he sees her head pop up out of the water some distance away. No one would suspect – no one does suspect – what she’d been doing with Clint just seconds ago.
Water flies in his face as a ball lands in front of him, and Clint coughs, rubbing water out of his eyes.
“It’s your turn next time,” Phil says. “It kept getting away from me. Every time I’d get close, something would happen that would send it rolling away — Barton, are you listening to me?”
“Yeah, bro,” Clint says, but looks toward shore. Natasha has settled back into her original position, and everything seems exactly as it had been six minutes ago.
If it wasn’t for the fact that her hair is damp, Clint would swear he imagined the whole thing.
//\\
He replays the scene over and over in his mind. He definitely hadn’t imagined it. Natasha had actually kissed him under the lake like some kind of mythical mermaid. He can vaguely remember the feel of her lips, the light touch of her tongue, but the water obscured the finer details, and Clint’s determined to find out what it’s like to kiss her on dry land.
“Mr. Barton, is this class interrupting your daydreaming?”
Clint snaps back to the present, feeling his face warm as the other students titter and Mr. Barclay looks at him with irritation.
“Sorry,” Clint says, abashed, resolved to concentrate on the class. Mr. Barclay resumes his lesson, having each of the eight students play a short selection in turn. Clint’s the second player to go, and he plays his selection without making any mistakes. As the others each have their turn, he can’t prevent his thoughts from drifting to Natasha again.
After class, Mr. Barclay keeps him back. “Clint,” the older man says, lifting his glasses slightly so he can wipe at his watery eyes, “I got the distinct sense that you were not completely with us today.” He holds his hand up when Clint opens his mouth to apologize. “I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry. I just want you to pay attention in class. You have natural talent, but some of these other kids aren’t so lucky—”
“I know, Mr. Barclay,” says Clint. “I wasn’t—”
“I expect more from you. I know you’ve been working on Anji and that’s great. I’d like you to strongly consider playing it for the talent show.”
Clint blanches. Performing, in front of a crowd? At the end-of-camp talent show? He can’t think of anything he wants to do less. Music is a private thing for him. He has no desire to put it on display. “I won’t be ready in time,” he says.
“I have confidence in you, Clint,” Mr. Barclay says, in a tone that Clint recognizes from adults that means they’ve made up their mind and no one’s going to change it, especially not some belligerent sixteen-year-old. “Use some of your free time to practice. And I’m available any time for extra sessions.”
“Yes, sir,” Clint says glumly.
As Clint makes his way to the clearing, he wonders if he can somehow fake an illness the night of the talent show. He has no problem working on the song; he was going to do that anyway. But to have to perform it? He'd rather be tortured. There’s a patch of poison ivy not too far from the arts and crafts area; he seriously considers rolling around in it the day before the show.
He’s too distracted to play properly, so he forces himself to put the talent show and other distractions out of his mind. Only then is he able to get lost in the music, and he plays Anji all the way through without stopping, just to see if he can. There are still runs that give him trouble, and he stumbles over the trickier parts, but overall it’s a good effort; the best he’s ever done, actually.
There’s light applause when he’s done. Clint looks up, startled, and sees Natasha leaning against a tree. “It’s almost there, isn’t it?” she says, approaching.
“Yeah,” Clint says. “I guess it is.”
Natasha settles down next to him, a lot closer than she’d been the first time. Suddenly Clint is conscious of the fact that his palms are sweaty, and the bulk of his guitar is an unwelcome obstacle. The sun shines off her scarlet curls in an eye-catching way, and he notices that her teeth, while even and white, are just slightly off center. But this imperfection makes her even more impossibly beautiful to him.
“Wow, well don’t sound so thrilled,” she teases.
Clint is somewhat reluctant to explain, but does anyway. He doesn’t know what it is about Natasha that makes him act so strangely, telling her things he’d never tell anyone. At least, not anyone he’s known for as little time as he’s known her. It’s not like he thinks she’ll understand – after all, what would a girl like Natasha know about feeling uncomfortable around other people? She’s never appeared particularly bothered by the attention she draws, though she doesn’t seem like a big sharer, either. He suspects that she gets more out of people than they get from her. Clint doesn’t think the same applies to him.
Natasha looks at him with unfathomable eyes, and Clint waits for her to tell him he’s being silly or immature. What she says is, “What if I go up there with you?”
“You?” he says in surprise. “You know how to play the guitar?”
“No,” she says. “I’ll just sit with you, and you can play for me. You can pretend no one else is there.”
It should sound conceited, but somehow it doesn’t. The thought of it actually makes some of his tension ease. “That’d probably work, but it might look a little weird,” he sighs. “Think I just have to suck it up.”
“You’ll do great.” She puts a hand on his arm, and Clint knows it can’t possibly be any warmer than the average human hand, but he swears it burns through him. “Now are you going to kiss me, or what?”
Natasha doesn’t give him time to put his guitar away. She just leans forward and kisses him. Her lips are moist, in a nice way, and taste like watermelon Lip Smackers. When they pull apart Clint licks his lips and they stare at each other for a moment. He lifts the guitar strap from around his neck and leans the instrument gently against the bench. Then they lean into one another again, her arms going around his neck. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands so he keeps them braced against the bench as they kiss. But she scoots closer and closer to him until she’s practically in his lap, they’re actually kissing with tongue now, and he’s finally decided to put his hands on her waist when a loud voice makes them jump apart.
“What the fuck?”
Clint is unceremoniously dragged to his feet, Tony’s fists twisted in his shirt. “You little shit—”
“Tony, stop it!” Natasha says, unsuccessfully trying to get him to let go of Clint. She hits at her brother, and while he grunts when she lands her blows, it doesn’t deter him.
“Do you know whose throat you had your tongue halfway down?” he demands.
Clint doesn’t think it’s a good idea for him to answer that question. He finally frees himself and gives Tony a shove. Natasha immediately springs between them.
“Go away, Tony,” she demands, glaring at him. “This isn’t any of your business.”
“Not any of my— It is my business. You’re my sister. I’m not going to let you get knocked up by some guitar-playing dweeb. I mean, you could have at least gone for a drummer.”
Natasha lets out a sound of rage that makes Tony flinch. Even Clint is a bit worried.
“It’s okay, Tasha,” he says gently, the diminutive slipping out.
“You stay out of this,” Tony says, giving Clint a withering look.
“You don’t get to talk to him!” Natasha snaps.
Tony wags a finger at her. “Wait till Thor hears about this. He’s going to pound him into the ground like a geekstake.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” she rejoins angrily. “No one’s touching him.”
While appreciative of Natasha’s fierce defense, Clint kind of feels that he should be fighting his own battles. “Look, I’m sorry. I get it. She’s your sister—” but you don’t own her is what he was going to say, but Tony’s fist stops him. It catches him on the left cheek, pain exploding there, making him stagger.
Now Clint’s pissed. He clenches his left hand and swings at Tony, and there’s a satisfying crack as his fist connects with the other boy's face. He follows Tony down, and the two of them trade blows as Natasha shouts at them to stop being idiots. As a foster kid Clint has been in his share of brawls and knows how to defend himself, how to land blows that hurt, that incapacitate. Certainly more than this rich boy, though Tony is holding his own pretty well. He isn’t as soft as Clint might’ve assumed from what he knows about the guy.
“Since you two are more interested in each other than in me, I’ll just leave you to it,” Natasha says, and starts stomping away. “Let me know if you decide to get married.”
Clint shoves at Tony, but by the time he stands up, she’s already gone.
“There’s four of us, you know,” Tony says, breathing hard and wiping the corner of his mouth as he stands. “I hope you brought diapers.”
