I discovered a few things upon regaining consciousness the next morning.

One: my head felt like Thor was using his hammer to drive a red-hot spike into my skull.

Two: I was sore in a few new places.

Three: I was sweaty, but in an oddly good way.

Four (and probably most importantly): I was about as naked as the day I was born.

Well…crap.

I drag myself, kicking and screaming, fully back into consciousness, quickly realizing that I was in a bed – not my own, though – and I wasn't alone. There was an arm slung across my back and someone lying to my left.

I groan softly as I pick my head up off the pillow, stirring the person next to me awake.

"Morning," Clint groans into his pillow. "Ow."

"Agreed," I mumble. I roll over onto my side so that I was facing my boyfriend, who was also naked. I freeze like a deer in the headlights, my breath catching in my throat.

Clint, of course, notices and gently shifts the sheets so his lower body is covered. "Hey, breathe, come on."

I let out a slow breath. "Last night – did we-?"

Mentally, it's like a dam has broken; memories come rushing in. The party, the drinking, the dancing; stumbling back to Clint's floor, the feeling of sweaty skin pressed against sweaty skin, his lips pressed against my throat, my stomach, my hips…

"Have sex?" Clint finishes, pulling me back to reality. "Yes." He gives me a concerned look. "No freak outs?"

I shake my head. "No, no freaking out. It's just…I had hoped to lose my v-card while sober," I admit quietly.

"Oh," Clint hums. "Well then, we should do this again sometime. Sober, preferably."

And then he's gone, the bathroom door closing behind him, leaving me gaping at empty air and wondering what just happened.

Coffee, my brain orders. Coffee first, then we can figure this out.

I roll bonelessly off the bed, wobbling slightly as I make my way out the door, grabbing random clothes and putting them on as I go.

The elevator ride is silent – thankfully, because my head is still pounding – before Jarvis softly informs me that I've arrived on the Common Floor.

I shuffle out, making a beeline for the coffee maker and grabbing the pot of bitter, black coffee that Jarvis had prepared on the way here.

"Um, Taylor?"

I turn around to see everyone – all the Avengers, minus Clint himself – staring at me. Bucky and Natasha are smirking, Steve is blushing, Bruce has a knowing smile on his face, Thor is grinning like a loon, and Dad just has this knowing look on his face, like he expected this.

Except I'm not sure what 'this' is.

"What?" I demand. "Is there something on my face?"

Dad is the first to speak up. "What…are you wearing?"

I look down to see that I'd picked up Clint's t-shirt from last night, along with the boxers he had been wearing.

Great job, a little voice in the back of my head comments. Hit all the 'morning after' clichés, why don't you?

Externally, I just shrug and make my way over to the cabinet where the mugs are stored, grabbing one with 'Do I LOOK like a morning person to you?' inscribed on it and bringing it back over to the coffee machine.

"So, Taylor, did you enjoy Clint's other shaft last night?"

I choke on my coffee for a good ten seconds before slamming my mug down and whirling to face the speaker: Bucky. "What?"

"Did he get to see your gearbox?" Natasha adds, innocent as can be, with a devilish smirk that belied every scrap of innocence she might have had.

I glare between the two of them. "What is wrong with you?"

"A lot," Bucky shrugs, but Natasha tilts her head and gets off her stool, coming around the island and pinpointing me with an intense gaze.

I take an instinctive step back. "What?"

"Let me see your neck," she orders, gently tilting my head away from her, exposing the still-sore skin on the side of my neck. "You could be a leopard, Taylor. You're covered in spots. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…" She taps every bruise, from the hollow of my throat. "Nine. Nine hickeys." She rocks back on her heels. "Clint really did a number on you."

"I'd like to say I did," a smug voice says from behind us, and I look past Natasha at my boyfriend, who was standing in the doorway, freshly showered and clothed with a smug smirk on his face. "And if you'll look, Natasha, the favor was definitely returned." He tugs down the neckline of his t-shirt, revealing a set of matching spots.

"Friends Taylor and Clint were certainly passionate in their intimacy," Thor agrees loudly, and I just look at him for a moment before returning to my coffee as Clint laughs.

I lean against the island counter, looking at my dad over my mug. "You're not complaining."

He gives a shrug, curling his hands around his own mug. "I don't really have any say in it, do I? You're an adult. Just…be careful, know the limits of what you can and can't do, and don't sleep around."

I nod, extending a hand for him to shake. "Deal." He shakes my hand with a grin before returning to his coffee.

"-most of what happened." I tune in to hear the tail end of Clint's sentence, looking over to where he was talking with Bucky. Clint sees me watching and quickly signs I'm getting a timeline for last night.

I nod and hitch a hip up onto the island, cradling my coffee as I listen to Bucky explain – in clear sobriety – what had happened last night. Not that I couldn't remember any of it, because I could, but it was all a bit…fuzzy. Blame the alcohol.

According to Bucky, we all finished our food at about eight, which was when the drinking started. We all went and did our own thing until about 11:30, which was when Clint and I stumbled out, apparently looking "like pigs fighting over a grape." Which meant we got home around midnight. Bruce, and Betty were the next to leave, around fifteen minutes later, with Bruce helping a slightly stumbling Betty into the limo as she babbled about science. Natasha and Dad were next, leaving almost exactly at midnight, with Natasha supporting a half-conscious Tony (interesting…). Steve, Bucky, and Thor were the last to leave, around one a.m., all three completely sober and exhausted.

It was now about 11 in the morning, and the rest of the girls had gone for spa treatments to try and Zen the hangovers away.

After the timeline has been established, the kitchen fell silent again until I broke the silence by hopping off the island and heading for the door, dropping my mug in the sink as I passed. "I'm going to shower," I announce. "I'm all sticky and sweaty."

"I bet you are," Bruce calls after me, and I roll my eyes but choose not to respond vocally.

"Use my floor if you don't want to go all the way down to Darcy's," Clint called just as I was entering the elevator, and I nod and press the button for his floor instead of my own.

One more silent elevator ride later, I arrive back onto my boyfriend's floor, the same one I had left only an hour earlier. I make my way back to the bedroom, grabbing discarded clothes as I went. I go through to the bathroom, stripping off the dirty clothes as I turned on the shower.

I take my time in the shower, letting the hot spray was off all the sweat and grime that had layered one very inch of my skin in the last sixteen hours.

I step back into a fogged-up bathroom, wrapping myself in a towel and running my hands though my hair in an effort to wring out some water before stepping back into the bedroom.

I let out a startled yelp as I come face-to-face with Clint, who gives me an amused grin as he lounges on his bed, looking a bit like a cat, instead of his avian namesake.

"You know, I wouldn't think you had anything to be embarrassed about," he quips. "Not after last night."

I grab one of his pillows and fling it at him, causing his to roll off the bed in an effort to dodge. "You'll never take me alive!"

I chuckle at him before frowning as I tugged the top of my towel up. "I need clothes."

Clint pops back up on the other side of the bed. "I have extra sweats if you want," he offers. "You look good in my clothes."

I study his face for a moment, but he pulls his best puppy-dog eyes and I cave within seconds. "Fine," I sigh dramatically. "It'll save me a trip, anyways."

He gives me a blinding grin and goes over to his dresser, pulling out a t-shirt and some old, faded sweatpants. I grab them and change quickly, smirking at Clint as I pulled the shirt down over my stomach. "Enjoy the show?"

Clint gives me a cheeky grin. "Always."

I roll my eyes and flop back onto the bed, closing my eyes as my boyfriend ran his fingers through my damp hair.

"I like this," I sigh, for once completely content as my boyfriend massaged his nimble archer's fingers against my scalp. "I don't want to leave."

"You don't have to," Clint hums.

I snap my eyes open to give him a questioning look. "What?"

Clint shrugs, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "I mean, if you ever get tired of living with Darcy, I wouldn't say no to sharing a floor with you. If you want to, I mean. You don't have to."

I blink at him and reach up to squeeze his hand. "Hey, calm down. It doesn't sound like a bad idea."

"So is that a yes?" he asks hopefully.

I pause, biting my lip. "Not...necessarily," I start, and his face droops a bit. "It's not a no!" I backpedal. "I just can't make a decision this big this quickly."

"That's alright," he reassures me, his face brightening again. "Just think about it."

"Of course," I nod as my eyes slip closed again. "Now, please resume the rubbing of my scalp. Feels good."

Clint lets out an amused huff as he stretches out next to me, his hands winding their way back into my hair.

I liked this moment - I was safe, I was happy, and I had an amazing boyfriend.

And something to think over.

A lot of things to think over.