Tensor

Who: Hank and Clint
Where: Hank's room
What: Make up and make out (log in progress; rated adult!)

( I think I've forgotten how to start and end the day without you. )

"Here," Clint said, shoving a block of knives at the first person who came into the kitchen. "Do me a favor and throw these at me, okay?"

His blue eyes were wide and just a little crazy.

( Cut for eventual adult themes )

Clint didn't bother knocking. If Teddy was in his altogethers, he could clutch his pearls and dive for a towel for all Clint cared.

(Though his lizard brain was quick to add that Teddy didn't seem the type to stand around in his altogethers which was really too bad for the rest of the world, who would have naturally enjoyed the show.)

He slumped against Hank's doorframe, leaving a muddy streak, and looked forlornly around the room. No Hank. Not even buried under a threatening pile of books.

Library? Cafeteria? The great outdoors? There were so many places Hank could be hiding... Fuck it. He pushed himself up and, leaving the door open, stumbled toward the bed. Some lingering sense of decency had Clint stripping off his muddy clothes and shoes, tossing them to where they'd do the least damage. He grabbed one of Hank's towels and tossed it onto his bed, curling up on it to keep the mess off his sheets, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes as he buried his face in Hank's pillow and fell immediately into painful sleep.

The far end of the lake was distant enough from the dorms that they could be as loud as they wanted, within reason. It was hidden enough by trees that carefully placed lanterns wouldn't give them away, though the vast majority of the light came from the moon.

Clint had taken the time to hang up ropes to swing into the deeper waters. There were a few pool toys borrowed from the shed and plenty of towels. Music played, switching genres almost schizophrenically as each song ended, and some food and drinks sat in hastily gathered coolers. There was even alcohol held in a cooler that proclaimed, probably not for you.

A throng of later high school and college students were there, roughly a quarter skinnydipping thanks to one of the high schooler's abilility to keep the water warm and comfortable. Everyone seemed to be having one hell of a time.

( Work cut, just in case )

Ali had called in favors from her contacts in the music business. There was something to be said for having taken a few years off to pursue her recording career. She at least knew all the people to buzz up in order to get something awesome thrown together in a relatively small amount of time. And Lawrence had not disappointed her in the least. The venue he had chosen was one of his lesser known, smaller place. It made it even sweeter than she had played there during her short lived "I am Glam Diva" tour so there was a little nostalgia with it all as well.

It was tucked into a corner and made of red brick. During the day it was a noodle bar but once the sun went down and the dinner crowd went home, there was a whole other side of the Pink Door that came out. Upon walking in there was a mahogany bar that ran the length of the right wall and wrapped around in a L-shape. To the left there were brick arches that separated the bar area from the dance room. There was a projection screen on the wall. As the room went back, it shifted into seating. There were a couple of couches and tables back there as well as the audio station that was equipped with a computer, mixer, etc.

If you kept following the hallway back past the seating area and the audio station, you came to the bathrooms and then a stairway that would take you upstairs to another small section. There was another bar upstairs and more seating. The middle of the floor was open with a balcony so you could look down at the dance floor. If you followed the balcony around you would reach an outside balcony for people who might need a little fresh air without wanting to fight through the crowd.

The lights were flipping around the dance floor. Lawrence himself had agreed to DJ for the party, and he was spinning something hot for them. A projection show of random images was playing on the screen. He had also loaned her a bouncer to stand at the door and check IDs so they could easily mark the people not old enough to drink.

A number of the college students and Cadets were already milling about in the bar area, though no one seemed to have the guts yet to get out there and dance.

OOC: Open to 18+ crowd.

"Come on, it's okay," Clint said, adjusting his grip. "I'm not going to let you fall."

Marissa shook her head, dark curls flying. The wind whipped through them, making them billow like a cloud about her pretty face. Her lips were pressed tight. "Uh-uh, no way--you're crazy if you think I'm going out there with you."

"It's perfectly safe. See?"

Clint let go of the building and took three confident steps backward. Marissa's scream was shrill, piercing, but he just grinned and spread his arms, balancing effortlessly on the tiny beam that ran along the top of the buttress. Below him--very far below him--people crawled like ants in the mosaic courtyard. "If you hold on to me, you'll be safe as houses."

"Why the hell would I want to be out on that ledge, safe as houses or not?"

He fought the urge to show off and instead extended one hand, lips curving up into a warm, sexy grin. "Because I'm out here," Clint teased, meeting her eyes. "And because I have something I want to show you."

He could see her hesitating, slowly relenting. It was just their second date, but things always seemed to move fast with him. Already, she trusted him not to hurt her. Already, she was visibly itching to take his hand. "Well," Marissa said slowly, reaching out. Clint felt his heart lurch when her fingers curled around his, and he was sure she could see it on his face, judging by the way she softened, warmed, began to smile back. "If you promise you're not going to let me die."

"Cross my heart," he said, carefully helping her out onto the ledge with him. It was small, it was high up, it was windy, and it was a very long drop to certain death below, but he didn't feel a moment of fear, and now, neither did she.

Turning toward her warmth, Clint wrapped an arm around Marissa's waist and pulled her close, letting her breath touch his face as he began to move back along the beam, bringing her with him. By the look in her eyes, they could have been safely anchored to the ground.

But the rest of him was soaring.

"You asked for rock-and-roll," Clint said with a quick, wicked grin. He reached behind him to snag the motorcycle helmet, tossing it casually toward Marissa.

She caught it with a surprised laugh, dark curls spilling over her shoulders. "I was thinking a little more Brandon Flowers," she said, quirking a brow. "But I guess this will do."

"Hey, I'm just glad you didn't ask for Justin Bieber. Come on," he added, glancing toward the front of the store. Marissa's co-workers were all standing by their cash registers, staring at them. Her manager was already barreling out of his office. "You coming?"

He didn't need to ask; she was already yanking off her Home Depot apron and shoving on the helmet. Clint grinned again, gunning the bike, as she slung one long, shapely leg over the seat and settled her pelvis snugly against him.

"Don't be so smug," Marissa murmured, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. "I was looking for an excuse to get out of here. You were just the first tolerable option to come along."

Clint revved the engine again, and they were taking off, tires squealing, customers staring. A few of them cheered as Clint and Marissa zoomed toward the exit, sliding glass doors parting just in the nick of time. "Guess that makes me one hell of lucky guy," he said, threading them effortlessly into the early evening traffic. Deep inside, his heart was racing at the first thrill of freedom. He didn't know her last name. He couldn't even remember exactly where they'd met.

It didn't matter. She smelled like expensive perfume and sawdust and he could get lost in her eyes for hours. He wouldn't have to worry about things getting messy; she'd been clear from the start that she didn't want strings of any sort, which suited him just fine--he couldn't afford the attachment. He never could.

But he was good at pretending.

Marissa squeezed him tighter, full breasts pressed snugly against him, hands lightly trailing up and down his white undershirt, his leather jacket. His heart gave an odd little lurch and began to pound faster.

"So, seriously," she finally said, shouting to be heard over the blare of traffic. "Who are you supposed to be? Like, Chester Bennington or something?"

The roaring wind made an easy excuse not to answer. Pretending could only go so far.

Hank knocked on Clint's door. Then again, and a third time, now rapping out the opening strains of The Marriage of Figaro. It was his secret friendship knock...not that Clint necessarily noticed.

But he was fairly sure Clint noticed it was annoying, and that was the most important thing of all.