#antpool

Scott: Where was he?

Jimmy: Eating Cheetos and crying in his car.

ANONYMOUS BUDDY how did you know I’ve totally written this in a fic-in-progress featuring an Unspecified Pair of Pals [spoilers] that totally doesn’t go down the way you think it will?

Besides that one, uhh, this is all your fault, nonnie:

The shriek from the bathroom was at just the right pitch, coupled with the way it reverberated off of the shower tiles, such that it nearly blew out Clint’s hearing aids, and he almost did not notice the loud thump that followed.

“Katie?” he shouted from the foot of the bed, hopping out of his jeans, “what the hell?  You ok?”

The scene before him as he rushed to the bathroom door, one pant leg still flapping awkwardly underfoot, would have to anyone else been highly out of the ordinary, but they were superheroes, after all.

There was Kate, short of breath but wholly unscathed, still stood soaking under the shower, bow in hand.  The shower had fared less well, however: several tiles were cracked and broken, and on the shower floor lay a somewhat - but not remarkably - long-legged spider, perfectly speared by an arrow.

“I turned around to rinse my hair, and it was staring right at me,” she said, setting her bow down.

“Yikes,” said Clint, examining its fuzzy little legs.  “Still, you could have just grabbed it in a tissue and put it out the window?”

“Clint, it saw me naked,” she said, unwaveringly serious.  “It had to die.”

“Sure,” said Clint, scrubbing a tired hand over the back of his neck.  “Whoa, hold on a sex - sec - I probably shouldn’t be admitting this, but I’ve seen you naked too.”

“Yeah, but I granted you permission first,” she reminded him, shimmying herself dry behind the soft hotel towel before slipping on one of Clint’s tshirts.  “That’s the difference.”

“That’s a good difference,” he agreed, shaking off the last of his trousers and falling back into the small bed.

“Don’t think just because you paid for gas that you get to hog both of those to yourself,” she scolded him, yanking one of the pillows from beneath his head, and snuggling down.

“Hey, what do you think the odds are that it was radioactive?” he asked, reaching for the light switch by the bedside lamp, switching on the overhead lights by mistake, then the lights over the television, then the lights by the front door, before switching everything off for the night.

“Pass,” said Kate, curling an arm around his chest.  “Who cares?  Our superpower is cooler.”

“This is great,” enthused Wade, dumping his bag o’ weapons at the door and bounding into the room.  “Free snacks, free robes, ooh, free fridge!  Think it’ll fit in your suitcase?”

“Yeah,” Scott shook his head, “I don’t think that’s included in the standard room rate.  I mean, hey, I’m not against a little light hotel-theft, but come on man, you’ve got to be kind of subtle.”

“Ooh, they’ve just handed the one-bed-left-in-the-hotel trope to us on a platter,” said Wade, and Scott was fairly sure he could see eyebrows waggling beneath the mask.  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Listen, Wade, you seem like a really nice guy, but - ”

“BLANKET FORT!!!”

“Definitely not what I was thinking,” shrugged Scott, “but what the hell.”

“Oh hell no, I definitely asked for a - ”

“It’s fine, I’ll take the floor,” said Natasha, already balling her jacket into a neat little pillow.

“Nat, no,” he said, levelling what he hoped was a stern gaze at her, but may not have made it beyond pathetic exhausted pleading.  “We’ve been driving since before sunrise, and it’s - shit, it’s almost midnight.  You’re taking the bed.”

“And what about you?” she asked, carefully unpicking her hair from the messy bun it had miraculously held since morning.

“I’ll take the floor,” he said.

“How the hell is that any better?” she asked him.  “What makes you think I want to listen to you complaining about a stiff neck all day tomorrow?  I’ve squeezed into smaller beds before.  Come on.”

She had perched herself on the edge of the mattress, patting the space behind her.  Sam had to admit she was right.  They toed off their shoes and socks with barely a word, and he lay down, as close to the edge of the bed as possible, and closed his eyes for the night.

It was always either too warm or too cold in hotels, no matter how you tried to set the thermostat.  This was a room that ran cold, and Sam knew by an hour into attempting to sleep, he would be alternating between hauling the blanket around himself like a sad little coccoon, and kicking it all off in an exasperated sweat, and so on, and so on.  Natasha, however, had already claimed her stake of the duvet and held fast, such that Sam was left grasping at what scant inches were left.  And so it went until he was just about to fall asleep, when:

“You smell good,” she said quietly into the dark.  “What is it?”

“Uhh, apricot,” he said, and he was sure he was blushing.  “Thanks.”

“I like it,” she said, and he was sure he could hear a smile.

“Try to get some sleep, Romanoff,” he said.

But she was already gone, mumbling something that melted into a soft snore.  This was nice, he thought.  Oh shit, this was really nice.  Oh hell.

Scott: What?!

Wade: Your butt. Your butt is the bomb and there will be no survivors.

Scott [scratches his head]: My… gay name?

Wade: Yeah, it’s your first name-

Scott: Ha ha, very funny.

Wade [getting down on one knee]: -and my last name.

Scott : …I’m sorry. I’m rambling, aren’t I? People say I talk too much. Just tell me if I start to get annoying.

Wade: You’re not annoying. And I love listening to you. Talk all you want, sweetie.

Peter: You two must’ve gotten wild.

Scott: Haha yeah…

(The night before):