"Are you certain that you will not join me?" Thor calls.
"We're good," Clint replies, flashing a double thumbs up from his perch on a higher balcony. Beside him, Natasha doesn't do much to hide the appraising look on her face.
Thor shrugs and slips back into the pool.
"I can't believe he has no tan lines. Ridiculous," Clint scowls, pulling a bill out of his wallet. Natasha just smiles.
"And I think you'll agree—whoa, naked."
Thor raises an eyebrow as he slurps the last of the milk from his cereal bowl. Steve and Bruce just stand there for a moment, then slowly turn around and head back out into the hallway.
"You'll agree that the new defenses..."
"Wow, that is such a bad idea. I cannot even begin to describe how bad of an idea that is."
Thor flips a steak and the grill spits a bit of fire as the fat drips down. He laughs and flips another before checking the char on a third.
"I swear I can feel sympathetic singeing," Tony frowns, staring over the top of his sunglasses.
"Am I the only one worried about blond curlies on my food?" Clint asks, and half the team grimaces.
"You know," Bruce says, "the ancient Greeks would wrestle in the nude."
Steve spares a glance down at his athletic shorts and tee. "Are you suggesting I strip off, doctor?"
"I'm just saying, it's really not that weird."
Later, when Captain America is pinned down with faceful of genitalia, Bruce does have a twinge of remorse.
"Oh come on," Tony says.
Thor glances up over the back of the couch at him, and on the screen Dr. Jane Foster looks like she wants to ask for an autograph. Which, yes, he did write up a grant proposal for her Einstein-Rosen research, so, understandable. But.
"He's naked. He is chatting with you, naked. In the buff. That laptop is sitting two inches from his dick."
"What." And in stuttering live-feed, Jane Foster's eyes go wide. "Move me back, move me back! Is there a table you can put me on?"
Thor laughs indulgently.
Tony is a man with many, many regrets.
"I found him, Cap," Natasha says, and she can hear the sigh of relief over her earpiece. Flicking a glance up and down, though, she frowns. "What the hell are you wearing."
Thor shakes his head like a dog, and a haze of white rises from his disheveled and slightly charred hair. "It was the first thing that would cover me," he rasps, then spits out a clay-like mixture of blood and concrete dust. He makes a sound of disgust as he rubs the back of his hand over his mouth.
"You fall out the sky, on fire, and crash through a Macy's, and the first thing you do is grab a muumuu?"
"Are we not in the eyes of your world?" Thor asks, affronted. He smooths down a hitch in the flowered blue fabric. "You would have me continue this in the nude?"
Did you say muumuu? Please tell me I didn't mishear you, Stark's voice thrums in her ear. She can imagine his face perfectly.
"It's a good look for you," Natasha deflects, and manages to keep a straight face even as he summons Mjolnir and flies away.
It's a gift.