Chapter Text
A Knight’s Tale II – The Unnecessary Sequel
“This is absolutely not a good idea,” said Clint Barton, when Kate told him precisely what she intended to do. “There are not enough words in all the languages in the world to describe what a bad idea this is.”
“I am a knight,” Kate replied firmly. “A knight rides to the rescue on a white horse, with his banners fluttering in the wind, brandishing a sword to banish all evil from the world!”
“Granted,” Clint said quickly. “But you’ve already been on a quest,” he pointed out. “And you found the object of that quest, didn’t you? You got the Princess! So why can’t you just be happy and retire your knighthood and enjoy the rest of your life like a normal person?”
“Because,” Kate said slowly, “That quest wasn’t exactly a proper quest, was it? I didn’t rescue the princess – I didn’t even find the princess. She found us, if you would recall,” she said pointedly. “And it was Mason who rescued Yelena from the clutches of the Dark Wizard.”
“I fail to see your point,” Clint lied. He did, in fact, see her point most clearly, as if it were pointed right at him.
He would be the first to agree that the previous epic was not a proper epic at all – it lacked the requisite blood and slaughter and battles that so litter all other epics out there. There had been only one death, and while that may have been grisly (when looked at from the viewpoint of Peter Parker, who had been the one to die), a single death does not an epic make.
Still, while he knew that he had not been on a proper epic, Clint Barton, squire for life, did not particularly want to go on a proper epic, because epics were dangerous. And he suspected that squires died on epics, because knights and their lady loves do not.
Still, he mused, there was always Mason. The thought cheered him up somewhat, but not so much that he was suddenly wholeheartedly on board the new epic quest ride.
“What does Yelena think about this?” he asked quickly. This, he knew, was a smart move on his part. Kate Bishop was in love with Yelena Belova, and if Yelena Belova did not want to take part in this epic, there was no way that Kate Bishop would set out on it.
“She was very supportive,” said Kate, dashing all of Clint’s hopes. “It was her idea, as a matter of fact.”
“It was?” he asked suspiciously.
Kate nodded, and walked off to make preparations for the quest.
Clint narrowed his eyes, and then stared at the figure of Mason walking with his hands in his pockets, whistling a light hearted tune. Clint narrowed his eyes some more.
Princess Yelena Belova could not help but feel like she had being skillfully played – tugged around like a puppet at the end of a puppeteer’s strings. She strongly suspected that the idea of this quest was not in fact hers but did in fact belong to a certain Dark Wizard who was totally not a Dark Wizard, no sir, not at all.
“She seems happy, I guess,” Yelena said. “It’s just…” she shrugged, a little unsure of what exactly to say. “I think she’s a little bored.”
“Of you?” asked Mason, sounding appropriately surprised.
“Not of me,” Yelena replied with a scornful roll of her eyes. “At least I don’t think she’s bored of me, you know. She’s just bored of this life.”
“This life?”
“She’s a knight, after all,” Yelena mused, not really listening to Mason, because his opinion did not really matter, did it? When you ask someone for their opinion, it’s not because you particularly want their opinion at all. You just want someone to listen while you talk to yourself. “She’s a knight, and she craves adventure and stuff like that. She’s not exactly farmhand material, is she?”
“I don’t know,” said Mason carefully. “She seems to be doing all right with it. At least the cows don’t run away whenever she tries to milk them.” Unlike you, he added privately.
Word had spread quickly, it seemed – herds of cattle that would normally be very resistant to the idea of returning to their pens would scurry in quicker than lightning and lock the gates behind them at the mere mention of Yelena Belova’s name. Farmers once confronted with stubborn animals had discovered a new terror to cow them into submission.
“And besides,” Yelena added, “She’s always wanted to travel and see the world.”
“Wasn’t that you?” Mason asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you sure this isn’t about you being bored on a farm?”
“And well, as much as I like it here,” Yelena lied blatantly, “I want to support Kate in whatever decision she makes.”
“Of course you do,” Mason said, giving up entirely. “You are such a good girlfriend, you know?”
“I am, aren’t I?” she beamed happily.
“Kate’s lucky to have you,” Mason said sarcastically, in the full knowledge that the sarcasm would pass right over the blonde’s head. She was that short, after all.
Still, she thought, it was jolly lucky that Mason happened to know of a certain something that needed to be rescued, or something like that. She hadn’t exactly been listening very closely when the man had told her and Kate about the object of this new quest. The moment he had said the words ‘land far away’ and ‘over the Great Ocean’ Yelena Belova had been won over.
She examined her reflection in the mirror critically. Longsword? Check. Silver tipped throwing knives? Check. Silver hilted throwing knives? Check. Small hidden crossbow nestled against her left wrist? Check. Small hidden crossbow nestled against her right wrist? Check. Hidden detachable crossbow attached to her back? Check. Chain mail armor under the thick padded leather vest? Check. Hidden dagger in left boot? Check. Hidden dagger in right boot? Also check. Sliding knife nestled against the underside of each hand? Check and check. Crossbow hanging from the other side of her hip? Check that too.
It paid to be prepared for a quest, in Yelena Belova’s opinion. She was bristling with enough weaponry to fight a small war. She jingled. In a threatening manner.
She smiled at her reflection and turned around on her heel…and promptly fell face first on the hard wood floor.
Mason continued whistling, walking around like a man without a care in the world, until he became aware of someone stalking up behind him. Immediately he turned around, his hands raised in the attack stance of the High-Yeah Monks of A Very High Place Mountain, a deadly martial art that he did not in fact know.
He was rather banking on the person stalking him not knowing that he, Mason, did not know said martial art.
He sighed, and straightened. “What?” he asked.
Clint Barton eyed him suspiciously. “Kate’s heading out on a quest,” he said, slightly accusatorily.
“Is she?” The look of pure innocence on Mason’s face would have put a certain baby in a certain manger to shame. “I didn’t know that.”
“She is,” Clint confirmed. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”
“I just said I didn’t know, didn’t I?” said Mason, contriving to look hurt. “Don’t you believe me?”
Clint Barton took a step forward. In any other person, it would have been a threatening step forward, but in the case of Clint Barton, whose fear of anything that walked or crawled on grass, or swam in shallow waters was well known to Mason, it was the threatening step of a coward.
“Look,” Clint said. “Level with me here, all right? What’s going on?”
Mason glanced at the squire, and then sighed. “All right,” he said. “Here’s how things stand.” He took a deep breath, and then said it. “Treasure.”
That got Clint Barton’s attention immediately. “Treasure?”
“Treasure,” said Mason again. “The long lost treasure of the pirate Bernie Madoff – the same pirate who reputedly made off with the entire treasury of the kingdom of Ponzy. We’re going to look for it.”
“I thought Kate said that we were going to search for the Holy Grail,” Clint replied.
“Of course she is,” Mason said patiently. “You don’t go around expecting knights to go on treasure hunts, do you? They’re too noble for that sort of thing. But chuck the word ‘holy’ in front of something and that immediately turns it into a religious sort of quest, and that sort of thing is allowed.”
“So is there a Holy Grail or not?” asked Clint.
“There’s probably a grail amongst the vast treasures of the pirate Bernie Madoff,” Mason waved the objection away. “Who’s to say that one of those things hasn’t been consecrated to some god or another?” he asked. “Bound to be a Holy Grail in there somewhere.”
“And while Kate and Yelena search for the Holy Grail…”
“We gather as much treasure as we can,” said Mason, adding a certain emphasis on that first word.
There is no greater incentive to a born coward than the promise of a monetary reward.
“That’s a good plan,” Clint said approvingly. “I like it!”
“Good man,” said Mason.
Yelena surveyed the vast array of weapons in front of her and sighed. A slim hand reached forward, brushing a longing finger over each sharp instrument.
“You can’t bring them all, you know,” Kate said, peering over her shoulder.
“I know,” Yelena said, smiling as the brunette wrapped her arms around her waist. “They just look so pretty,” she added, sighing as she leaned into Kate’s arms.
Kate kissed her cheek lightly. “You shouldn’t come along,” she started. “It’ll be dangerous. There’s going to be pirates and sea monsters and – ” What else there was going to be was lost when Kate Bishop’s lips were captured in a kiss.
“Kate,” Yelena said slowly, leaning in to kiss her again. “We met on a quest, didn’t we? That didn’t turn out so bad, did it? And if you think I’m going to allow you to go on another quest so you can meet another girl, you’ve got another thing coming.” She was going to say more, but Kate silenced her with a kiss of her own.
“I don’t need another girl,” Kate said, grinning slightly. “I’ve got you, haven’t I? That’s all I need.”
“It had better be,” Yelena warned, and then kissed the brunette square on the nose. “No arguments. I’m going with you. Someone has to watch your back. And it’s not going to be Clint or Mason. Now…” she pushed the other woman away slowly, and glanced at the weapons. “I can’t choose which ones to take.”
“I’ll pick them out for you,” Kate promised. Her hand slowly stroked down Yelena’s side, moving ever closer to the curve of the blonde’s hip. “Now,” Kate whispered, her voice suddenly turning husky, “Why don’t we…”
Yelena pushed past her suddenly, eyes growing wide. “I’ve got to help Mason with something,” she said hurriedly. “See you, Kate!”
Kate Bishop watched her go, and then sat down with a sigh. This was starting to become a problem.
Contrary to popular belief (at least in the perverted heads of Mason and Clint Barton), Kate and Yelena’s relationship had hit a snag. They liked each other – a lot, and the emotions they felt had certainly translated into their daily actions – holding hands, those small little accidental touches, kissing…and stopped right there. They kissed, and maybe during those heated moments of lip to lip contact certain things had been done, but what had been done was in the opinion of Kate Bishop not nearly enough.
Sex. That was it, plain and simple. Kate Bishop and Yelena Belova had yet to do anything remotely close to sex. No, she was not pressuring Yelena into doing something she did not want to do, and in fact there had been times when it was Yelena who was doing the hinting and Kate doing the retreating.
It was all very awkward, and boiled down to one simple fact. Neither of them knew how to do it. Girl and guy – well, everyone knew what to do there. There was, after all, something remarkably obvious and easy to use about the respective biological appendages that left very little to the imagination. It was when you started putting things into places where they did not belong that the real trouble begins. But really – how much deviation could there be, once you knew the basic functions and mechanics?
Girl and girl…now that was different. There was no actual handbook to detail what a woman should do to another woman, and there was no one to ask. A father telling his daughter about the birds and the bees had failed to mention what would happen when there were no birds and no bees – just flowers.
Kate Bishop sighed. She did not, to be quite honest, actually want to go on this quest. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She did want to go on this quest, and she did want to go on this quest with Yelena, no matter what rubbish she spouted about it not being safe. Privately, she suspected that if confronted by pirates or dragons or fell beasts, Yelena would place her hands on her hips and tell them off in a no nonsense kind of voice that would leave said fell beast running away crying for its mother.
This quest was, however, a distraction – something to do to inject some life in a relationship that had yet to progress in terms of physical involvement. Kate Bishop hoped that it would be enough.Besides, she thought, quests were journeys of discovery, were they not? And if in the previous quest she had discovered Yelena, maybe in this quest she would discover how to make Yelena happy. Very, very happy indeed.
They were getting ready to finally get underway, which means that the author actually hasn’t figured out whether the characters are actually going to go on a full quest and is presently hedging their bets that some inspiration to be funny will strike, hopefully soon.
And, as is always the case, Clint Barton was starting to have second thoughts – and such thoughts inevitably concerned questions about his mortality and the fatality rate of adventurers off in search of treasure. The only difference in this case was the fact that he was not pestering Kate Bishop as he usually did, but had turned his attention to a certain Mason.
“I’m just saying,” Clint said, “Treasure hunts are never conducted by one party alone. There’s always another party in direct competition, and that party consists of a lot of bad people who are willing to sink to low depths to ensure that they are the sole party that arrives at the treasure spot.”
“Will you just trust me on this?” Mason asked irritably. “There is no other party involved. There is just us, and the treasure. No one else knows that we are setting out on this little hunt, and no one else will know until we come back richer than all the other buggers in the world. We’ll be bathing in gold, my friend,” he said expansively. “Gold, and silver, and other precious metals.”
“Are you sure?” asked Clint. “How can you be sure? You can’t, can you?”
“I am a hundred percent positive,” said Mason reassuringly. “There is only one map, and that map is here with me, in my pocket. No one else has a map.”
“They could be following us,” Clint countered. “Maybe they know that we have the only map, and they’re just waiting for us to stop for the night, at which point two people will creep over the hill and cut our throats while we sleep and steal the map.”
“There’s no one following us!” Mason said through gritted teeth, although he did turn his head and peer over the horizon, because one can never be too careful about this sort of thing. “And if you’re so worried,” he continued, “We’ll make it a point to not sleep under a hill, all right?”
“Fine,” said Clint. “But what else is there?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What else is there?” asked Clint again. “Because I know how this sort of thing works. If there isn’t another party in search of this treasure, then there must be something guarding this treasure. Something big, large and nasty. There is, isn’t there?”
There was, but Mason’s philosophy in life was to worry about the great fire breathing dragon only when the great fire breathing dragon was breathing fire on him. “What makes you think there is something guarding the treasure?” he asked, hoping to head Clint off.
“There always is,” Clint said. “A treasure hunt is never easy.”
“You are a pessimist, you know that?”
“You did not answer my question.”
“Fine,” said Mason, glowering at the other man. “There may be something guarding the treasure.”
“I knew it!” Clint crowed triumphantly, and then realized that him being right was not a matter to be celebrated. “So what is it?” he asked anxiously. “Is it a dragon? A giant serpent? A stone guardian?” His imagination was furnishing all sorts of wonderful ideas that would make even the most manic fantasy author stop in his tracks and say “Now hold on just a minute!” in a posh British accent.
“I don’t actually know,” Mason admitted. “Is it a curse? Oooh – it’s a curse, isn’t it? It’s a curse that will attack anyone who dares enter the forbidden tomb and kill them within twenty years, isn’t it?” Clint Barton stopped and gaped at Mason as his mental gears rapidly shifted into reverse. “What do you mean you don’t actually know?” he whimpered.
“It means that I don’t actually know,” said Mason. “The warning on the map was not entirely precise.”
“We need to talk,” said Kate, closing the door behind her. Yelena Belova, who was busy pretending to be busy, stood up hurriedly.
“Can we talk later?” she asked. “It’s just that Clint needs me to…”
“Clint’s with Mason,” Kate replied. “They’re doing something important for the continued development of this epic – though not important enough that the interaction between our characters is overshadowed by the overly convoluted plot.” She leaned against the door, crossing her arms over her chest. “I checked. He doesn’t need your help – which means that we are going to stay here and talk this through.”
“Talk about what?” asked Yelena, who knew precisely what there was to talk about.
“You.” Kate advanced, and Yelena shrank back. “Me.” The brunette took another step, and Yelena found herself back first against the wall, with her shoulder blades trying to carve their way through wood. “Sex.”
The word hung motionless in the air, as pink as a blushing baby.
“I…I…” Yelena found herself stammering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Kate Bishop took a step back, and then sat down heavily on the bed, her head in her hands. “Is it me, Yelena?” she asked suddenly. “Do you not…want me…that way?” She lifted her head, her face a mask of stricken anguish. “Because if you don’t, it’s fine. Really.”
Sex – the unenviable problem. Some couples fall into it almost instantaneously, as seen in numerous movies where man and woman lock lips and bodies with reckless abandon, aggressively touching and kissing and pushing against one another, with frequent collisions against doors and walls, punctuated by gasping moans and sighs and whimpers.
Other couples are more hesitant – the day of marriage is often a blur because bride and groom are both too busy being nervous about marriage night and how things will turn out then.
And then there are some don’t do it at all – they spoon and flick through channels and mutter sweet nothings or nothing at all to each other, because they have reached that certain age where doing the deed is no longer a thing of necessity.
And there are the rare couples who don’t do it at all, even though the both of them want to very very much. Kate Bishop wanted to. Very much. She just wasn’t sure that Yelena wanted to as well.
It was difficult being in a pioneering relationship in a world where the epitome of female indecency was the casual lifting of a skirt to reveal just a hint of an ankle. Especially if said pioneering relationship involved two women who were confronted by prejudices and challenges that shall be hinted at but not fully explored because that sort of story depresses the author.
Long story short, Kate Bishop wanted Yelena Belova, and she was pretty sure that Yelena Belova wanted Kate Bishop back. Pretty sure, which was pretty darn sure, was not however completely sure, because relationships involve insecurities and when said relationship involves two people of the same sex, an often recurring insecurity is the unpleasant thought that maybe the other person does not actually want you the way you want her – a sort of one sided, unrequited physical attraction.
Kate Bishop, female knight, was struggling with this insecurity. And as is the case with all insecurities, a mere shadow of a doubt can become something far more tangible and concrete than it really is because it is bolstered by thoughts propelled by a lack of self confidence.
Yelena moved forward quickly, sitting down beside the brunette. “I do,” she said with feeling. “I really do. It’s just…” She lapsed into silence, looking down at her hands. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know how to do it,” Yelena whispered. “I don’t know what to do. I want to,” she continued, turning to look at Kate. “I really do. I just don’t know what to do.” She lowered her head, feeling the blush warming her cheeks. “I want you,” she said suddenly, turning up to face the brunette. “I do.” A hand reached out to cover Kate’s, fingers squeezing gently. “Don’t you ever doubt that.”
“But you don’t know how to…how to…do it?”
“Do you?” Yelena asked suddenly.
“I…don’t, either.”
It was liberating in a way, to know that Yelena wanted her just as much as she wanted Yelena. A peculiar sort of freedom that came with the knowledge that certain feelings were reciprocated, and that the only bar to consummation was the lack of knowledge with regards to the proper way to conduct said consummation.
“We need help,” Kate Bishop declared suddenly, looking Yelena right in the face. She watched as the briefest shadow of hesitancy flickered in the blonde’s eyes, and then it was quickly displaced by steely determination.
“We need…” Yelena Belova was aware that what she was about to do may possibly be the most difficult thing in the world. “We need to consult…” And found that she could not say it.
“Mason,” said Kate Bishop, and felt the bitter aftertaste of the name on her tongue.
“You want me to…uh…” Mason could scarcely believe his luck.
“Yes,” said Yelena in a voice that just dared him to make one…just one, inappropriate comment. She glared at him. For a girl who was asking for his help in a potentially embarrassing and certainly touchy subject, she looked remarkably belligerent. Kate Bishop just blushed, and gave thanks to whichever god happened to be listening that Clint Barton was nowhere in sight.
“Well…” Mason cleared his throat, and still found himself unable to say a thing. “Well,” he tried again. Images of Yelena and Kate in various positions flickered through his head.
“Can you help?” Yelena cut in dispassionately, because she knew precisely what he was thinking. Well, not precisely, because if she knew precisely what he was thinking, she would need no help from him at all.
“Of course,” he said, and thought twice about smiling reassuringly. A smile, no matter how sincere on his part, would not, he suspected, go down well with the princess now starring daggers at him. He tried to keep a serious face.
“Then help,” Yelena said flatly.
“You…you just want me to tell you?” he squeaked out nervously.
“Yes,” Kate muttered, finding it hard to meet his gaze. She was finding it hard to look anywhere but her feet.
“Oh,” he said. “All right. Sure. I can do that.” The words were coming out – he knew that they were coming out, but he could not help himself. His mouth was quite frankly uncontrollable – it flapped away in the sure and certain knowledge that it would be other parts of Mason that would feel the painful consequences of what it said.
“You know,” his mouth said, despite his best efforts to control it, “I could just show you. The both of you,” he continued, much to his horror. Worse, he felt his mouth smile, and he was pretty sure that it was not a very pleasant smile. “At the same time, even.”
He spent five minutes trying to recover from the very hard punch delivered by the fist of Kate Bishop, courtesy of a nod from Yelena Belova.
“You dare to strike me?” he boomed in a loud voice, and punctuated his words with intermittent flashes of lightning and thunder. The skies darkened as the Dark Wizard raged – clouds whirled around his head in a spiral, skewing the light to cast his profile into a shadowy silhouette. “I am the Dark Wizard Mason, Master of the Blackest Arts, Keeper of the Dark Flame, Bringer of Eternal Night! How dare you lay a finger upon me, you insignificant creature? You, who are naught but dust at my feet! You, who are but a speck of dirt to me! Do not assume yourself my better, for it is only by my mercy that you still live!”
At least, that was what he would have done, if he could summon anything remotely close to a dust cloud. Because he could not, he settled for a childlike wail and rubbed the affected spot to soothe the pain away.
“So what do we have to do?” asked Yelena, once Mason had stopped whimpering like a child.
He glared at her, and then forced his face into an ingratiating smile. He was a Dark Wizard, after all. Or he had been a Dark Wizard. Now he was a protector. A non magical protector. Or something. Go check the previous chapter.
Mentally, he shook his head. Go down that road where you’re breaking the fourth wall, he told himself, and you shall never get the revenge that you so desire. You can take the Wizard out of the Dark, but you can never take the Dark out of the Wizard. If wizardry were real, that would be a very profound point.
“You don’t have to do anything…yet,” he said smoothly. “I’ll have to do some… research.” The way he said it aroused some suspicion in Yelena Belova, and so she stared at him suspiciously, as was appropriate at times like this.
“Research?” she asked skeptically.
“Research,” he confirmed. “I have to delve deep into my dark and unspeakable arts in order to pry the secrets of Sapphic pleasures from the jaws of carnal pleasure.” That, he thought, sounded suitably occult, which was important, because sounding occult and mysterious was half of what wizardry is all about. The other part – actual talent, Mason lacked. It has been theorized by his tutors that if Mason were to die one day, the average magical ability of the entire human race would actually go up by an entire point. Lacking magical talent may have been a bar to many a failed wizard, but Mason intended to beat the odds.
Research. The mere mention of the word brings many a student in universities the world over to their knees. The realization that you actually have to do some work in order to obtain your degree has yet to dawn upon most people entering the ivory gates of higher education. Many a successful career in street side performance and acting in movies of questionable morality has been founded upon the utter lack of this profound realization.
Mason had been a successful student because he actually loved research. He enjoyed the pleasure of the hunt – sifting through tons of dusty manuscripts and reading spidery script scrawled in ancient and dead languages gave him a certain thrill.
This could possibly explain why he was well over thirty and had yet to get any action, besides that which he gave himself (and a brief liaison with a pillow, although that should never be mentioned. Ever.)
And this research would be remarkably easy, he reflected, because he knew precisely what he was looking for. The key to embarking on any investigation on any subject is knowing the answer beforehand – travesties of justice notwithstanding.
He had, thankfully, brought his books with him. And he had enlisted Clint Barton’s assistance, because everyone knows that revenge is more fun when it’s being conducted by more than one person. “The ingredients are simple,” Mason said. “Just a few everyday herbs, maybe one or two exotic spices – nothing we can’t manage.”
If this was anything else, Clint Barton would be hesitant. He was not, however, because this would almost certainly work.
“You’re sure this will work?” he had asked Mason, when the latter had explain the plan to him.
“Almost certainly,” Mason replied. “Almost one hundred percent guaranteed!”
“And there’s no chance of this getting out of hand and, say, causing me to be hurt severely?”
“Absolutely none,” Mason smiled. “In fact,” he grinned, “This may actually work out in our favor.” He stood in place and waited, until Clint’s lips curved in a fair imitation of a wicked smile.
“Let’s do this!” he said.
They did it.
“Well,” said Kate, “That went well, I think.”
“Research,” Yelena replied darkly. “What research could he possibly need to do? He probably knows all about sex already.”
“How would he know?” Kate wondered.
“He reads,” Yelena said, rolling her eyes. “A lot.”
“Books? There are books?” Kate Bishop was aghast. “Books about…sex?” She had never before thought that such a thing was possible.
“Of course.” Yelena looked surprised. “You didn’t know?”
“There are books?” Kate asked again, the disbelief in her voice blatantly obvious. Like anyone who knows that reading is a commendable habit and yet has never ever been inclined to pick up a book, she had a misplaced respect for the value of literature. Books, to Kate Bishop, were sacred, and something so sacred and profound should not be smeared by what can only be called smut. “People write about sex?” Kate asked again. The words coming out of her lips sounded foreign, even to her.
“You didn’t know?” Yelena stared at her girlfriend. It was oddly endearing – this childlike innocence now being displayed by the brunette.
“Why…how…” Kate Bishop was at a loss for words. A sudden realization dawned upon her. “And people read these books?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?” Yelena replied. “Why would anyone write something if there’s not going to be anyone to read it?” She watched for a moment while Kate Bishop performed with her lips a fair imitation of a goldfish drinking water. “Everything written is basically an allegory for sex,” Yelena said, matter of factly. “Sex is foremost on everyone’s minds.”
“Impossible!” Kate Bishop said disbelievingly. “You’re making this up.”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Am not!” Yelena snapped. “Take stories, for instance. They’re all about sex. Even children fairy tales.”
“That can’t be true!” Kate Bishop had never before been confronted with such a heretical thought. “You’re making this up!” she said again.
“Fine,” Yelena said shortly. “Try me. Every story you’ve ever read is an allegory for sex. The writers can’t help it – it just comes out unconsciously.”
“All right,” Kate said, screwing her face up as she tried to remember the admittedly short list of books she has ever read. She brightened. “What about that story…I forget the exact title, oh yeah,” she said, snapping her fingers. “’EVENING’ – that ground breaking epic of a woman who falls in love with a vampire and a werewolf? It’s about love – not sex! There is a difference, you know,” said the woman who loved Yelena Belova but did not know how to have sex with Yelena Belova.
“You may think it’s about love,” Yelena said scathingly, “But it’s actually about sex. Sexual deviance, in fact.”
“Say what now?”
“This girl – she’s in love with a vampire, right? And what are vampires? They’re dead creatures. That’s necrophilia,” Yelena replied smugly. “And the werewolf? The guy who walks around on all fours half the time? That’s bestiality.”
“Fine,” Kate said grudgingly, after giving that point some thought. “But what about that epic about a boy wizard and his battle against the Dark Lord, assisted by his two friends?”
“Sex,” said Yelena, smirking. “They have wands, don’t they? That’s a euphemism for that thing that dangles in between every guy’s legs. And is it not said that ‘a wizard’s wand has a knob at the end’? And besides – a shared common room with adjoining dormitories? Hidden rooms and specially reserved bathrooms? How exactly is that innocent?”
The actual saying, by the way, is “A wizard’s staff has a knob at the end” but Yelena Belova was not above twisting established literary canon to suit her own needs.
“It’s a children’s book!” Kate wailed out, blushing horribly. “I can’t believe this!” She looked so heartbroken that Yelena decided to take pity on her.
“Well, it’s not always about sex,” she said slowly, and when the brunette brightened, the shorter blonde smiled cruelly. “But everyone twists things into sexual perversity.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fanfiction,” said Yelena Belova, successfully breaking the fourth wall. “And shipping.” Kate Bishop looked positively lost, and Yelena felt compelled to enlighten her about how low people would sink.
“There are people,” she said, her voice lowering into a whisper, as if imparting a dark secret, “Who will twist the most innocent of things into mindless sex crazed depravities simply because they can.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kate Bishop, also whispering, although she was whispering only because Yelena was whispering.
“Take a play, for instance,” Yelena said. “There are people who look beyond what is being acted – who twist little facts into perverse adventures. They invent relationships – ships, in short – between characters with no chance in of ever getting together whatsoever.”
“Like…?”
“Like Hawkeye,” said Yelena, who was on a one woman mission to displace the fourth wall brick by brick. “Owned by a monstrous corporation who wants money from both the religious right and the illiberal left. Starring two extremely talented Oscar nominated actresses who have made every lesbian’s heart sing. The interactions between their characters brought everyone to their knees, screaming “THEY ARE SO GAY!”
But the evil monstrous corporation, conscious of the religious right and the fact that their largest demographic happens to be the kids of this religious right, will never take the bold step of making their relationship canon, leading desperate people who just want to see this happen to write fanfiction, and quibble with other people who have decided that two female tv characters getting it on is cancelling the aromantic side of the LGBTUVWXYZ+ on a place called Tumblr, which is full of toxicity where the illiberal left devours itself in their attempts at appearing inclusive by excluding those whose opinions differs from their own.” She paused. “Whoa that is a mouthful. Damn this author and their libertarian views.”
“No!” said Kate Bishop, who has never been on Tumblr and now never will. Yelena nodded, satisfied at the display of horror on the other woman’s face. Kate Bishop leans in, her face all agog. “Tell me more.”
“All right,” said Mason. This is a cinema trick, often executed with flawless precision to blur the shifting between the scenes – making it seem as if a statement made by a character a thousand miles away is being answered in real time by another character equally far away. Audiences are easily impressed by stuff like this.
“What we have here,” he continued, “is a Love Potion.”
Kate and Yelena stared at him while Clint ducked out of view, stuffing his knuckles in his mouth.
“A love potion?” asked Kate.
“No,” said Mason patiently. “A Love Potion,” he corrected, somehow managing to pronounce the capital letters.
“And it will…make us fall in love?” asked Yelena, glancing at the dark red concoction in the man’s hand. “We’re already in love,” she objected.
“You misunderstand me. It’s not a Love Potion,” Mason replied. “It’s a Love Potion,” he continued, gyrating his hips to emphasize the italics. “It won’t make you fall in love…it will make you fall in looooove.” He hesitated, seeing the blank looks on their faces. “It’ll make you have sex,” he snapped irritably, “With the person you drink it with. You’ll be consumed with a compulsive need to screw the life out of the other person drinking with you.”
“Oh,” said Yelena.
“Ohh,” said Kate.
“Well,” said Yelena, reaching for the chalice and holding it reverently in her hands. “Thank you so very much.”
“Very very much,” said Kate Bishop, who was already leading her girlfriend out the door. “Very, very much.” They left. Very quickly.
“Well,” Clint smiled wickedly. “That was a job well done, I say.”
“Indeed,” said Mason. “Very well done.” “I think we deserve a drink,” Clint said. He bent over, reaching for a decanter and pouring out two glasses of wine. “To us,” said Mason, lifting the glass to his lips.
“And to Kate and Yelena,” said Clint. “May they have the time of their lives tonight.”
“And may they let us watch,” Mason smirked. They drank.
And I think you can probably guess what is coming next.
“Clint,” said Mason slowly. “This wine…it was from the chalice, yes?”
“No,” said Clint, who was feeling a little flushed. “It was from the decanter.” He stared at the glass, and then at Mason. Oh, dear merciful God, no…
The Dark Wizard had turned pale. “We,” he said, breathing heavily, “Shall never talk about this. Ever. Is that understood?” He was already loosening his breeches.
“Oh shit,” said Clint Barton. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit.”
“I think it’s working,” Yelena said drowsily. “I mean, I’m feeling really warm right now. Hot, even.”
“You look hot,” Kate slurred. Her eyelids felt heavy. “I’m hot too.”
“We’re both hot,” Yelena giggled. “Two hot girls together.”
“Hot,” Kate agreed. “We should…”
“Yeah,” Kate replied. She sauntered forward, a little unsteadily. “You’re beautiful.”
“You’re beautifuller.”
“You’re the life of my love, you know?” Kate mumbled. “I’ve never sheen…scene…sheen anyone as beautiful as…you.”
“Thish shtuff…ish really…poppen…pollen…potent, huh?” asked Yelena, as she weaved drunkenly towards the bed. “C’mere, you!”
“Let me…clothes my loosen first,” Kate stepped forward, and then stood in place, swaying on the spot. “It really ish warm.”
“Hmmm…”
“Yelena?” called Kate softly, as she crept on the bed and sank face first into the comfy pillow. Her only answer was a soft snore.