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“Look,” Bruce says, “I don’t care how you cook your food on Asgard, here we need to obey Earth physics and you’re going to ruin everyone’s night if you keep scraping the grill like that.”
“I’m sure you exaggerate,” Thor says. “Regardless, Stark should know his own equipment—”
“Would he?” Clint asks.
“—and can thus mediate on this matter.” Thor looks around. “Where is he?”
From her deck chair Natasha calls out, “Getting ice from the kitchen.”
“Oh, we can just call—” Thor starts to say, but he’s cut off when Bruce smacks the middle of his chest with his spatula.
“With Steve?” Bruce says, which immediately mollifies Thor. Natasha raises her eyebrows pointedly, and Bruce adds, “Clint, what do your archer’s eyes see?”
“Really?” Clint sighs and turns to look at the house. “You know they’re just gonna be doing more of the… Hey. Whaddya know.” He turns to his teammates and declares, in the most authoritative voice he can manage, “They are making out.”
“Ha!” Natasha barks, and the small group of superheroes erupt into what could be considered spontaneous applause, which in this case means: Thor being the only one who’s literally clapping, while Natasha taps her guitar, Bruce taps the griddle with his spatula, and Clint waves a fist in the air while going, “Eyyy.”
“Okay, so that’s a relief,” Bruce says, miming wiping a hand against his forehead. “It was getting pretty hairy there for a bit.”
“I could’ve made them reach their conclusions faster,” Thor says. “There are those that say that I could’ve just easily been the God of Love—”
“No, no, this way was fine,” Clint says.
“They’ll still be intolerable, you know,” Natasha says. “But at least a less frustrating kind of intolerable.”
“A reasonable trade-off,” Bruce says.
“Aye,” Thor agrees. “Well-met.”
“Hey, can we at least some of the burgers done before they get back?” Clint says. “If they’re going to be a slightly less frustrating kind of intolerable in front of us I’d like something decent in my stomach first.”