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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
Summary: At summer camp, Clint’s met the girl of his dreams. Then he meets her four brothers.
If you missed them: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
//\\
They stop to grab Natasha’s jacket, then head out along with a few others who want to get some cold, fresh air after the heat and din of the dining hall. But instead of stopping right outside as the others do, they continue on. Natasha seems to know where she’s going, so Clint follows her lead.
To his surprise, she takes them to the camp counselors’ cabin, the one they use as a break room during the day.
“Won’t—” he starts.
“They’re all chaperoning at the dance,” she replies. “Come on. It’s perfect, it’s heated in here.”
She’s right, the room is heated – and empty. A couple of squashy-looking couches, a pool table, a small kitchenette, and an old television set that’s seen better days are all that make up the room. Clint doesn’t see how they’re going to be able pull this off; Natasha can’t guarantee that one of the counselors won’t come here at some point.
“Help me with this,” she says, and points to a chain that dangles from the ceiling. Clint grasps it and pulls, revealing a short ladder that leads up to an attic. Without needing further direction, he helps Natasha up, then follows behind her, pulling the stair closed once they’re both up and Natasha has turned on a small lamp in the corner. The attic is filled with junk – mostly arts and crafts materials, Clint realizes. They probably store it all here and only ever come up when they need this stuff, which now won’t be until next summer.
“How’d you know this was here?” he asks.
“You mean, have I ever brought other boys up here?” Natasha grins.
That wasn’t what he meant, but come to think of it, that is a good question. Clint just doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer.
“No,” Natasha says, moving some things around so that there’s room to lay down a blanket. “I helped clean up when we did arts and crafts with the kids that one day, found out about it then. Came by the other night and stored some things I thought we’d need.”
Her penchant for thinking ahead is arousing. Actually, everything about her is arousing. Suddenly Clint realizes that he can kiss her if he feels like it, that she actually wants him to, that for some reason Natasha finds him attractive. So he does. He takes the few steps that separate them, pulls her into his arms, and plants one on her. It’s kind of messy and not all neat like in the movies, when all the body parts seem to align perfectly, but he puts all his feelings behind it, and she seems to like it.
When Natasha pulls back, her lips look swollen, her eyes are bright, and she’s breathing more heavily than usual, which does interesting things to her chest. “You taste like punch,” she muses.
“Yeah, I had some,” Clint admits, and his breathing’s not normal either.
“Are you too drunk for this?” she asks, her eyes crinkled with amusement.
“Nah. What I had tonight was nothing. Hank – one of my foster dads – used to make me drink with him,” Clint explains. “Said it’d put hair on my chest. Laughed the first time when I puked my guts out. But by the end I could say the alphabet backwards even when he’d pass out.”
“Did you know being able to do that is what gives it away to a cop that you’re drunk?” Natasha says, settling down on the blanket and pulling him down to her. “Sober people can’t even do it, so if you can it means you’ve memorized it for when you’re drunk.”
Clint considers this. “Is that true? About the cop?”
“I dunno. I heard it somewhere. Why, you always drive drunk?” she teases.
“I don’t drive at all,” Clint says. “Never really stayed in one play long enough to learn.” And no one wants a new foster kid near their car. It’s always public transportation for him, or if he’s lucky, a bicycle. More often than not it’s his own two legs. And amazingly, Natasha seems not to be bothered by this, by any of the things she’s learned about him.
“What?” she asks softly, interpreting his change of mood accurately.
“Nothing.”
“You look like you want to ask me something.” Her fingers move gently over his, so that they’re playing with each other’s hands without actually clasping.
“It’s just... Why me?” Clint is surprised to hear himself ask the question. It’s been there, at the periphery since they met, but he vowed that he’d never say it out loud, even to himself, because to do so would be to acknowledge it, and acknowledge the possibility that she might say something like, “Because you were there.” Or worse, “Because I feel sorry for you.”
“You’re cute,” Natasha answers with a little smile.
It would be so easy to let it go at that, to put the question back in the box, but it’s out now and he has to know. “No, seriously,” he says.
Natasha’s eyebrows rise. “What, I can’t find you cute?”
“I’m not cute,” Clint says, a bit indignantly. “Baby penguins are cute.”
“You’re cute, too. Just in a different way,” she says. “But that’s not the only reason.”
“Then what?”
“Because,” she says softly, eyes wide and unblinking. “Because we’re the same.”
Clint repeats her words in his head, and they sound right. Of course Natasha would understand this, that she would be the one to recognize it and be the one to tell him the obvious. He kisses her, and the taste of her, the feel of her is as familiar to him as his own heartbeat and how could he have not seen it before? Of course they are the same, they always have been and always will be, even when he’s not Clint and she’s not Natasha and they’ve left all this behind.
They’ve done this now enough times, the physical part at least, that they’re able to keep kissing even as they undress each other, with only a pause here and there to allow for Clint’s shirt to be tugged over his head, or for Natasha to shimmy out of her dress. And then there are no barriers at all, and this part is entirely new. During previous interactions, when one of them was naked, the other was at least partially clothed; it was their way of resisting temptation. Now they don’t have to.
“Clint,” Natasha says, putting a hand on his shoulder. Not pushing him away, but holding him in place. “You should probably know... I haven’t, you know, actually done this before.”
“What?” Clint can only stare at her.
“Why is that so hard to believe? Should I be insulted?”
She looks amused more than angry, but Clint still feels the need to backpedal. “No! No, it’s just... you seemed so sure and not nervous at all...” Unlike me, he doesn’t say.
“Why would I be nervous? I know I want to do this with you,” Natasha says matter-of-factly. Clint’s starting to realize that she doesn’t have doubts the way normal people have them. When she wants something, she acts on it. Things are black and white for her.
“Well, I want to do this with you, too,” Clint reassures her so quickly that she laughs. “I just thought maybe... you’d tell me what to do. What you like.”
Natasha’s gives him a considering look beneath lowered eyelashes. “I can do that,” she says finally. “And you tell me what you like.”
Clint can’t imagine her doing anything to him that he won’t like, and he tells her as much. “What about you?”
“I don’t mind if you touch me,” she says softly, and takes one of his hands, cupping it around one of her breasts. Clint loves the weight of it in his hand. Her skin is so soft, and the feel of her nipple pebbling against his palm is amazing. He puts both hands on her.
Slowly, by turns, they explore each other, using their hands at first, but eventually their lips get involved, and tongues, and even noses. Clint wants to drown in her, wants to stop time for everyone but them, because otherwise there won’t be enough time in the world to learn all of her by taste and touch and smell, and that’s what he wants. He wants to know her as well as he knows himself. Better, in fact. Any time he does something that she seems to like, he does it again. It’s blowing his mind a little that she’s letting him.
Then the time comes when Natasha wants to take it further. She fetches one of the condoms from her discarded jacket, handing it to Clint, who takes it with slightly trembling fingers. She knows he doesn’t want her to help him, not this first time when he’s right on the brink, so she just watches patiently as he puts it on, and thank god it’s as easy as the dude with the banana in health class had said.
The act itself is somewhat awkward, and for Natasha, clearly painful. She doesn’t say it but Clint can tell from the grimace on her face that he’s hurting her. He tries to pull away but she won’t let him; she clasps him tight and god her thighs are freakishly strong. “It’s okay,” she says breathlessly. “It’s supposed to hurt. Keep going. Please.” It’s the please that does it.
It doesn’t last too long, which they’re both grateful for. It’s the greatest thing Clint’s ever experienced, and his euphoria is only tempered by the fact that Natasha so obviously doesn’t feel the same. She reassures him that this is how it is for girls their first time, and that the times that follow will be much better. She seems so certain, he trusts that she knows what she’s talking about, and just hearing the words next time has him pretty much ready for action again. One day he’s going to miss this part of being a teenage boy, but right now he doesn’t see anything unusual about it. It’s only to be expected when he’s skin to skin with a gorgeous, sexy girl whose virginity he’s just taken, and who’s taken his.
Afterward, when they're both red in the face and breathing hard, when Clint feels that this is the best thing that will ever happen to him, that it's all going to be downhill from here, Natasha reaches over for his t-shirt and pulls it over her head. "You don't mind, do you?" she asks, and Clint shakes his head no, because he can't actually speak at the moment. It's a small request, but he can't imagine refusing her anything, not when she's given him this.
When she was reaching for the shirt Clint saw something he's never noticed before; not that he would have cause to, as it's on her derriere, her right cheek to be exact, and he's so taken with it that he reaches out to run his finger over the spot.
Natasha smiles knowingly, raising herself up a bit more so he can see the tattoo more clearly. It's small, as far as tattoos go, and an interesting choice, but somehow completely fitting for Natasha.
"You have a spider on your butt," says Clint. The blood is only gradually going back to his brain.
"It's a latrodectus," she says, looking over her shoulder at him. "A black widow."
Clint notices then that there's a red hourglass in the body of the spider. He traces it. "It's really cool."
Natasha lies back, the tattoo disappearing from view and trapping Clint's hand under her. They wiggle a bit, until she's resting her neck on Clint's arm, his hand curled into a slight fist on her shoulder. He feels drowsy. "Yeah," she says. "The hourglass marking is supposed to be on the abdomen, but...” She shrugs.
"When'd you get it?" he asks, closing his eyes.
"After my parents died," Natasha answers. She doesn't volunteer more information, but snuggles closer to him, so Clint knows she'll tell him more in time.
"Why do they call it a black widow, anyway?" Clint yawns. "Are they more likely to kill guys?"
Natasha giggles, then lets out a huff of air. "Not like you're thinking. They're female spiders that eat the male spiders they have sex with."
This makes Clint's eyes open. "Seriously?" He playfully starts to edge away from her. "That's been your plan all along?"
Natasha doesn't let him get far, using her arms and legs to pin him down. She bares her teeth and sinks them gently into his shoulder. "Now I have you in my web. There's no escape."
Clint makes only a perfunctory effort to prove her wrong, all too satisfied with being caught. Her words, however, only serve to remind him that they're going to be saying goodbye in just a few hours' time. He can't imagine it. The idea of not seeing her every day, possibly ever again, is a physical pain. Clint has said too many goodbyes to hold out any real hope that this is one goodbye that won't last. She's tried to reassure him, and he finds it easier to nod and agree than share his pessimistic predictions.
Natasha's happy to believe it's true, so why should he take that away from her?
Note: OK, so remember when I said that this story was likely going to have 8 parts? I lied, it's going to be 9.jade_okelani insisted that I had to extend the ending to make it better. It's so annoying when she's right. Soooo there will be 2 more parts after this. Hope you enjoyed this one!
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
Summary: At summer camp, Clint’s met the girl of his dreams. Then he meets her four brothers.
If you missed them: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
//\\
They stop to grab Natasha’s jacket, then head out along with a few others who want to get some cold, fresh air after the heat and din of the dining hall. But instead of stopping right outside as the others do, they continue on. Natasha seems to know where she’s going, so Clint follows her lead.
To his surprise, she takes them to the camp counselors’ cabin, the one they use as a break room during the day.
“Won’t—” he starts.
“They’re all chaperoning at the dance,” she replies. “Come on. It’s perfect, it’s heated in here.”
She’s right, the room is heated – and empty. A couple of squashy-looking couches, a pool table, a small kitchenette, and an old television set that’s seen better days are all that make up the room. Clint doesn’t see how they’re going to be able pull this off; Natasha can’t guarantee that one of the counselors won’t come here at some point.
“Help me with this,” she says, and points to a chain that dangles from the ceiling. Clint grasps it and pulls, revealing a short ladder that leads up to an attic. Without needing further direction, he helps Natasha up, then follows behind her, pulling the stair closed once they’re both up and Natasha has turned on a small lamp in the corner. The attic is filled with junk – mostly arts and crafts materials, Clint realizes. They probably store it all here and only ever come up when they need this stuff, which now won’t be until next summer.
“How’d you know this was here?” he asks.
“You mean, have I ever brought other boys up here?” Natasha grins.
That wasn’t what he meant, but come to think of it, that is a good question. Clint just doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer.
“No,” Natasha says, moving some things around so that there’s room to lay down a blanket. “I helped clean up when we did arts and crafts with the kids that one day, found out about it then. Came by the other night and stored some things I thought we’d need.”
Her penchant for thinking ahead is arousing. Actually, everything about her is arousing. Suddenly Clint realizes that he can kiss her if he feels like it, that she actually wants him to, that for some reason Natasha finds him attractive. So he does. He takes the few steps that separate them, pulls her into his arms, and plants one on her. It’s kind of messy and not all neat like in the movies, when all the body parts seem to align perfectly, but he puts all his feelings behind it, and she seems to like it.
When Natasha pulls back, her lips look swollen, her eyes are bright, and she’s breathing more heavily than usual, which does interesting things to her chest. “You taste like punch,” she muses.
“Yeah, I had some,” Clint admits, and his breathing’s not normal either.
“Are you too drunk for this?” she asks, her eyes crinkled with amusement.
“Nah. What I had tonight was nothing. Hank – one of my foster dads – used to make me drink with him,” Clint explains. “Said it’d put hair on my chest. Laughed the first time when I puked my guts out. But by the end I could say the alphabet backwards even when he’d pass out.”
“Did you know being able to do that is what gives it away to a cop that you’re drunk?” Natasha says, settling down on the blanket and pulling him down to her. “Sober people can’t even do it, so if you can it means you’ve memorized it for when you’re drunk.”
Clint considers this. “Is that true? About the cop?”
“I dunno. I heard it somewhere. Why, you always drive drunk?” she teases.
“I don’t drive at all,” Clint says. “Never really stayed in one play long enough to learn.” And no one wants a new foster kid near their car. It’s always public transportation for him, or if he’s lucky, a bicycle. More often than not it’s his own two legs. And amazingly, Natasha seems not to be bothered by this, by any of the things she’s learned about him.
“What?” she asks softly, interpreting his change of mood accurately.
“Nothing.”
“You look like you want to ask me something.” Her fingers move gently over his, so that they’re playing with each other’s hands without actually clasping.
“It’s just... Why me?” Clint is surprised to hear himself ask the question. It’s been there, at the periphery since they met, but he vowed that he’d never say it out loud, even to himself, because to do so would be to acknowledge it, and acknowledge the possibility that she might say something like, “Because you were there.” Or worse, “Because I feel sorry for you.”
“You’re cute,” Natasha answers with a little smile.
It would be so easy to let it go at that, to put the question back in the box, but it’s out now and he has to know. “No, seriously,” he says.
Natasha’s eyebrows rise. “What, I can’t find you cute?”
“I’m not cute,” Clint says, a bit indignantly. “Baby penguins are cute.”
“You’re cute, too. Just in a different way,” she says. “But that’s not the only reason.”
“Then what?”
“Because,” she says softly, eyes wide and unblinking. “Because we’re the same.”
Clint repeats her words in his head, and they sound right. Of course Natasha would understand this, that she would be the one to recognize it and be the one to tell him the obvious. He kisses her, and the taste of her, the feel of her is as familiar to him as his own heartbeat and how could he have not seen it before? Of course they are the same, they always have been and always will be, even when he’s not Clint and she’s not Natasha and they’ve left all this behind.
They’ve done this now enough times, the physical part at least, that they’re able to keep kissing even as they undress each other, with only a pause here and there to allow for Clint’s shirt to be tugged over his head, or for Natasha to shimmy out of her dress. And then there are no barriers at all, and this part is entirely new. During previous interactions, when one of them was naked, the other was at least partially clothed; it was their way of resisting temptation. Now they don’t have to.
“Clint,” Natasha says, putting a hand on his shoulder. Not pushing him away, but holding him in place. “You should probably know... I haven’t, you know, actually done this before.”
“What?” Clint can only stare at her.
“Why is that so hard to believe? Should I be insulted?”
She looks amused more than angry, but Clint still feels the need to backpedal. “No! No, it’s just... you seemed so sure and not nervous at all...” Unlike me, he doesn’t say.
“Why would I be nervous? I know I want to do this with you,” Natasha says matter-of-factly. Clint’s starting to realize that she doesn’t have doubts the way normal people have them. When she wants something, she acts on it. Things are black and white for her.
“Well, I want to do this with you, too,” Clint reassures her so quickly that she laughs. “I just thought maybe... you’d tell me what to do. What you like.”
Natasha’s gives him a considering look beneath lowered eyelashes. “I can do that,” she says finally. “And you tell me what you like.”
Clint can’t imagine her doing anything to him that he won’t like, and he tells her as much. “What about you?”
“I don’t mind if you touch me,” she says softly, and takes one of his hands, cupping it around one of her breasts. Clint loves the weight of it in his hand. Her skin is so soft, and the feel of her nipple pebbling against his palm is amazing. He puts both hands on her.
Slowly, by turns, they explore each other, using their hands at first, but eventually their lips get involved, and tongues, and even noses. Clint wants to drown in her, wants to stop time for everyone but them, because otherwise there won’t be enough time in the world to learn all of her by taste and touch and smell, and that’s what he wants. He wants to know her as well as he knows himself. Better, in fact. Any time he does something that she seems to like, he does it again. It’s blowing his mind a little that she’s letting him.
Then the time comes when Natasha wants to take it further. She fetches one of the condoms from her discarded jacket, handing it to Clint, who takes it with slightly trembling fingers. She knows he doesn’t want her to help him, not this first time when he’s right on the brink, so she just watches patiently as he puts it on, and thank god it’s as easy as the dude with the banana in health class had said.
The act itself is somewhat awkward, and for Natasha, clearly painful. She doesn’t say it but Clint can tell from the grimace on her face that he’s hurting her. He tries to pull away but she won’t let him; she clasps him tight and god her thighs are freakishly strong. “It’s okay,” she says breathlessly. “It’s supposed to hurt. Keep going. Please.” It’s the please that does it.
It doesn’t last too long, which they’re both grateful for. It’s the greatest thing Clint’s ever experienced, and his euphoria is only tempered by the fact that Natasha so obviously doesn’t feel the same. She reassures him that this is how it is for girls their first time, and that the times that follow will be much better. She seems so certain, he trusts that she knows what she’s talking about, and just hearing the words next time has him pretty much ready for action again. One day he’s going to miss this part of being a teenage boy, but right now he doesn’t see anything unusual about it. It’s only to be expected when he’s skin to skin with a gorgeous, sexy girl whose virginity he’s just taken, and who’s taken his.
Afterward, when they're both red in the face and breathing hard, when Clint feels that this is the best thing that will ever happen to him, that it's all going to be downhill from here, Natasha reaches over for his t-shirt and pulls it over her head. "You don't mind, do you?" she asks, and Clint shakes his head no, because he can't actually speak at the moment. It's a small request, but he can't imagine refusing her anything, not when she's given him this.
When she was reaching for the shirt Clint saw something he's never noticed before; not that he would have cause to, as it's on her derriere, her right cheek to be exact, and he's so taken with it that he reaches out to run his finger over the spot.
Natasha smiles knowingly, raising herself up a bit more so he can see the tattoo more clearly. It's small, as far as tattoos go, and an interesting choice, but somehow completely fitting for Natasha.
"You have a spider on your butt," says Clint. The blood is only gradually going back to his brain.
"It's a latrodectus," she says, looking over her shoulder at him. "A black widow."
Clint notices then that there's a red hourglass in the body of the spider. He traces it. "It's really cool."
Natasha lies back, the tattoo disappearing from view and trapping Clint's hand under her. They wiggle a bit, until she's resting her neck on Clint's arm, his hand curled into a slight fist on her shoulder. He feels drowsy. "Yeah," she says. "The hourglass marking is supposed to be on the abdomen, but...” She shrugs.
"When'd you get it?" he asks, closing his eyes.
"After my parents died," Natasha answers. She doesn't volunteer more information, but snuggles closer to him, so Clint knows she'll tell him more in time.
"Why do they call it a black widow, anyway?" Clint yawns. "Are they more likely to kill guys?"
Natasha giggles, then lets out a huff of air. "Not like you're thinking. They're female spiders that eat the male spiders they have sex with."
This makes Clint's eyes open. "Seriously?" He playfully starts to edge away from her. "That's been your plan all along?"
Natasha doesn't let him get far, using her arms and legs to pin him down. She bares her teeth and sinks them gently into his shoulder. "Now I have you in my web. There's no escape."
Clint makes only a perfunctory effort to prove her wrong, all too satisfied with being caught. Her words, however, only serve to remind him that they're going to be saying goodbye in just a few hours' time. He can't imagine it. The idea of not seeing her every day, possibly ever again, is a physical pain. Clint has said too many goodbyes to hold out any real hope that this is one goodbye that won't last. She's tried to reassure him, and he finds it easier to nod and agree than share his pessimistic predictions.
Natasha's happy to believe it's true, so why should he take that away from her?
Note: OK, so remember when I said that this story was likely going to have 8 parts? I lied, it's going to be 9.
jade_okelani insisted that I had to extend the ending to make it better. It's so annoying when she's right. Soooo there will be 2 more parts after this. Hope you enjoyed this one!
