The Pursuit of Phenomenally Unlikely Payoffs
V. Quidditch
It's a clear October afternoon and perfect for the first Quidditch match of the year – a hotly anticipated match between Slytherin and Gryffindor.
Clint has managed to jostle his way next to Natasha by virtue of being nice and disarming and looking very much like not-competition when other guys give him the fisheye. She's wrapped in a Slytherin scarf – which, by the bye, goes nicely with her hair and skin – and trying not to look like she's looking forward to this match.
"You know," he says, offering her a Caramel Beetle, "this is America. You're allowed to enjoy sporting events."
She gives him a look, but smiles as she takes a Beetle. "Will you be cheering for Slytherin?"
"Of course. But only because you said you'd hex me if I didn't."
Behind him, Phil snorts, resplendent in red and gold to show his support for Gryffindor – and specifically for Steve Rogers. Darcy calls it 'Phil's man-crush' and teases Phil mercilessly about it.
Then the teams march out of the changerooms – scarlet and gold vs. green and silver. Hands are shaken, and brooms mounted. The Keepers take up position in front of the goalposts and Professor Sheppard blows the whistle as he stomps on the box containing Quaffle, Bludgers, and the Snitch.
"And Gryffindor has the Quaffle, Odinsson dodging Strange to pass to Sigismund – back to Thor who just avoids a Bludger hit by Rhodey – still arrowing in to the Keeper, a Zupo pass to Rogers and a shot—Oh! Blocked by the exquisite Hill!"
"Exquisite?" Clint asks beneath the roar of Slytherin supporters.
Natasha's hair smells of lemon and mint as she turns her head – the new haircut suits her – jaw length curls that show off the line of her neck. "Tony knows it annoys her."
"He's a Slytherin annoying the Slytherin Keeper?"
"It's all about the opportunity for Stark," Phil says. "And I'm not complaining."
Annoyed or not, Maria has a steely glint in her eyes as she does what she can to block the Gryffindors. Unfortunately it's not enough against the combined flying skills of Thor, Sif, and Steve, who are turning out to be a deadly combination of scorers.
The Slytherin Chasers and Beaters do their best amidst the cheers of their house and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who've decided to cheer for them. They make a little headway, but the Gryffindors stay ahead - thirty points, forty points, fifty points...
It's going to come down to the Seekers and the Snitch.
Up high, Janet Van Dyne flits around, her eye out for the Snitch, while Loki sails almost casually from one side of the field to the other, his cloak flapping in the wind.
Suddenly - startlingly - Loki dives, his broom zipping through the air like an arrow from a bow, Janet following him in hot pursuit. The noise in the Slytherin stands swells to a roar - the Snitch! The Snitch!
Clint frowns, his gaze skimming the field, looking for the glint of gold on the field.
He can't see it. Which, maybe, means that he's not looking at the right place. But which also, maybe, given that this is Loki Odinsson, means that the Snitch is not actually there…
"It's a Wronski," he says, more to himself than Natasha.
She glances at him. "A Wronks—?"
A cry goes up as Loki pulls out of the dive – and Janet almost doesn't. She yanks her broomstick up into a climb that makes Clint's arms ache in sympathy, but which pulls her clear of the ground, although her flying's no longer so steady. Clint's been there; he knows how it feels to be shaken at the near-miss.
And now the flitting gold glint of the Snitch is visible – up the other end of the pitch.
Loki's a green and silver streak across the field, leading Janet by easy, almost casual lengths. Natasha's nails claw at Clint's arm, excitement making her thoughtless. The noise of the crowd rises, rises, rises as Loki dodges the Bludgers that zoom his way, zips past his brother's frown and seizes the Snitch to the tune of a hundred and fifty points and the triumphant roar of the Slytherin supporters.
Dragged up by Natasha's nails, Clint doesn't have more than a moment to grin at her before he's wrapped in a hug: arms, legs – oh Merlin, breasts – squished up against him and his mouth is full of her hair, and Phil's eyebrows are halfway up his forehead in shock, but he gives Clint the thumbs up while Darcy rolls her eyes.
Clint gets to enjoy it for just a moment longer before Natasha realises what she's done, squeaks, and almost shoves him away so he nearly sprawls on the benches.
She spends the rest of the afternoon blushing furiously every time she so much as looks in his direction.
Clint spents the rest of the afternoon grinning.
tbc