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"It's not that hard to understand," Clint groaned, jumping out of the Quinjet before it landed. "The guy was being annoying-- what did you expect?"
"How about shooting him literally anywhere else?!?" Yellowjacket snapped behind him. "You could've aimed for his chest, or his stomach, or even his mouth if you just wanted him to shut up, but WHERE did you shoot him?"
"Shut up already!" Jackie yelled from the front of the Quinjet. "We get it, Hank: you're grossed out. You've seen worse, move on."
"You didn't even see it!" Yellowjacket yelled back, now sounding angrier at the use of his name.
"Enough, all of you," Cap commanded. "The most important thing is that the mission was a success, and we got Mysterio. Now, let's all just calm down and relax."
"Already on it," Clint told him, speed walking out of the Hanger.
A minute-long walk, an elevator ride, and another minute-long walk later Hawkeye found the lounge, where he knew his boyfriend would be reading up on old languages and runes. He didn't even need to see him; the smell of citrus and herbs was a clear giveaway. Of course, T'Challa heard Clint coming, but he kept his focus on his book in case Clint just passed him by.
However, Clint sauntered into the lounge, jumped onto the couch from behind, and threw his head onto T'Challa's shoulder. "Babe, I'm so sore and tired."
"Ah, my poor beloved archer," T'Challa cooed as he took Clint into his arms and gently rubbed his back.
Clint hummed into his boyfriend's neck. "Mysterio pinned us during the fight and he started monologuing for ten frickin' minutes. And when I finally shut him up with one of those mini-explosion arrows you made me, Hank started screaming about how immoral and disgusting it was. Like he's one to talk."
"How awful," T'Challa empathetically said with a kiss to Clint's blonde hair. "I am sorry you had to deal with that, sithandwa sam."
"Hey, I know that one," Clint gasped, his eyes lighting up in excitement. "That means my love, right?"
T'Challa smiled and rewarded Clint with another kiss. "That is right, beloved. You are learning."
"Of course I am," Hawkeye responded, snuggling into his Panther's embrace. "Half the time you do speak, it's in Zoshas, and I want to know what you're saying."
T'Challa chuckled. "It is Xhosha, my love, and I would be happy to teach you. After all, you taught me American sign language."
"Yeah, and that was fun," Clint laughed, remembering the times when T'Challa would make a mistake when signing. Luckily, he was smart enough to speak out loud while signing just in case.
Clint yawned, and T'Challa rubbed his back again. Smiling, he let his eyes flutter shut as he murmured. "I love you, T'Challa. You're the best boyfriend ever."
T'Challa pulled his archer onto his lap, carefully laying him down as he did so, and continued to rub his back. "I love you too, Clint. Rest well." And he picked his book up woth his other hand, careful not to disrupt Clint. Suddenly, he was aware of two presences behind him. He didn't need to look around to know who it was; he could smell the hypocrisy and judgement that only Yellowjacket could have.
"If you try to wake him, I will feed you to my panthers back home," he warned nonchalantly.
"Rude, but not unwarranted," Cap sighed. "Let's go, Hank."
"But he--"
"Let's go."
Before Yellowjacket could argue more, Jackie grabbed him by the mask and dragged him away, followed rather reluctantly by Steve, who was struggling to stifle his laughter. Alone again, T'Challa refocused on his book while still stroking his beloved's back, unbothered by the snoring that soon filled the room and the connecting hallway.