Of Shrews and How to Tame Them.

"I can't believe I let you drag me to this," Clint muttered moodily as he leaned on his knees, sitting on the grass in the warm San Francisco sun. There was even a light breeze that swept through the amphitheater at just the right time. Birds, cicadas and other sounds of the outdoors all leant to the atmosphere. As Clint could see, glancing around, all the couples around him seemed to be having a good time.

But Clint, however, was not having a good time. He wasn't even sure how he was talked into going. He didn't like sitting on the grass doing nothing. He didn't like sitting under the trees, he'd much rather be climbing them.

And he didn't like Shakespeare, at all.

"Hey," Jets whispered into his ear while giving him a nudge. "What do you think?"

"Feh..." The only reason he was there was because Jets had asked him to go. It was part of a deal they had made.

It had been three months since they had shed their fins, but John was leery that someone or thing might try and start with them. So in all his casual and subtle ways he had acquired as their respected leader, he had flat out ordered Clint to bring someone with him to the rock-climbing competition that he had entered. On threat of not being allowed to go. Thus he had turned to his best friend.

His best friend, that Clint happened to harbor an intense crush for since the seventh grade, had then proceeded to give him an ultimatum. Of all the things he could have been asked, Jets chose this.

Shakespeare in the Park.

One day he knew he would exact his revenge, but for now... For now he had to endure. To 'bide his time'. Which happened to be the one thing that he hated more than Shakespeare.

"Clint," Jets said in a harsh whisper, right next to his ear. So close he had felt the warmth of Jets' breath. He jerked upright.

"Yeah? What? Did I miss something interesting?" As Jet arched an eyebrow at him, all he could think was, 'oops'.

"Not a fan?" Jet whispered, leaning close to him again, close enough to have wrapped his arms around Clint. He knew that Jet knew that he's not into this sort of thing. Never had been. His brothers said it was probably a subconscious thing. They were always analyzing him; he hated it.

"No, I'm not. You know that," he whispered lowly, and moodily as he tightened his grip around his legs. Jet was silent for a bit, probably contemplating something. He hoped it was a fast way back to their motel.

Clint wasn't sure how long Jet had remained silent, but he was fully aware of when Jet came back to the real world. His only warning had been a murmured 'come here' as Jet had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him back. Back into Jet's lap, that was. Clint was too shocked to struggle.

"Trust me, just lean back into me, okay?" was all he whispered as he moved back to his sitting position against the base of the tree.

Clint's new sitting arrangement was now leaning back into Jet, between Jet's legs. With his back against Jet's taut abs, Clint was finding it harder and harder to relax. Almost every one of his muscles were taut and tense as he tried not to lay his head on his best friend's chest and his arms on his best friend's legs. Albeit not all the tension was from the situation, he had done some very stupid stunts during the competition because he had forgotten that he was no longer part shark.

"Still hurting from the fall?" Apparently, Jet also remembered.

"Uhmm.. Yeah. How about I just-"

"-lean back and listen to me for once?" Jet finished. Again Clint felt Jet's strong arms around him, pulling him back against his chest. Jet's left arm snaked around his waist as his right moved to pin his right shoulder down. Clint struggled a bit more before giving in and leaning back a little more.

"See? It's not so bad." Jet's voice was low and deep as he rubbed Clint's collarbone with his thumb. Combined with the still constant pull, Clint found himself leaning his head back. He could almost hear Jet smirk after he settled in. Clint idly wondered what he was going to do with his arms, so he asked.

In response, Clint felt his right arm bend back, as if he was going to lay his head on it. He can just feel his fingertips brush Jet's neck. He then felt Jet twine his fingers through his own so that Clint's arm was resting on top of Jet's.

"Better?" Jet breathed, causing Clint to shudder. As he did, he felt Jet tighten his grip. "So, since you don't seem interested in the actors, how about I whisper the lines to you?"

"Jet..." Clint didn't get to finish his thought.

Because the moment that he started saying Jet's name, Jet had started to brush the fingers of his free hand along Clint's side. His hand then slowly brushed over his stomach and up his chest. Clint had to take a deep breath to calm his racing nerves. He could hear Jet's voice, low and deep, as he recited with the actors on stage. Jet had also leaned very, very close to his ear. So close in fact, that Clint thought that he had felt lips brush against his neck.

It was very difficult for him to remember that he was in a public place. A fact that Jet seemed to want to make him forget as Jet brushed his fingertips along Clint's nipples, eliciting a soft gasp of pleasure.

Clint was only vaguely aware of when he changed his position, moving his arms around Jet's legs so that his fingers were in the crutch of Jets knees. Or when he leaned back further so that Jet could more easily brush his lips about Clint's neck. All the while, Jet ran his fingertips up and under Clint's shirt, taunting and teasing the muscles of his stomach and chest, only coming to rest on Clint's nipples, causing Clint to grip Jets legs tighter as anything else would draw attention to them.

And that seemed to only fuel Jet.

Later that night, with his forehead resting against the cool tiles of the shower while the water ran over him, Clint would wonder why he couldn't remember anything past that point, not the play nor even what Jet had done to him. But that hardly seemed to matter now when Jet wrapped his arms around him in the shower. Clint just smiled.