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“Kiss me.”
“What?” Steve’s not sure if he’s heard entirely correctly; he’s busy looking around for members of STRIKE that might’ve caught up to them.
“Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable,” Natasha explains, as if that clears up the whole conundrum of her wanting to kiss Steve.
“Yes, it does.” He’s well aware of that, hence his confusion in the first place. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to kiss her, he thinks — but then her lips are suddenly pressed against his, a hand at the back of his head holding him right where she wants him. It definitely wasn’t a bad thing - but Rumlow’s already passed them and she’s letting him go to walk off.
Huh.
-
“They did tell you this was a sleuth mission, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Nothing.” She grows silent for a moment as they both creep through a clearing of an otherwise filled dock of shipping containers. “You’re not exactly dressed for the job, is all.”
Steve rolls his eyes. He’d known this was coming. “What do you want me to do? Paint my shield in hues of brown and green?”
“It’s just that it’s literally a bullseye, Steve, it —”
Footsteps sound around the corner of the next container and Steve and Natasha freeze. A second passes and the footsteps and voices are only growing nearer. Natasha turns and pushes Steve against the container, slotting herself between his legs, body covering the shield from view. Her hand cups the side of his face, and she pulls him down to let their lips mash together.
The voices stop, clearly having just rounded the corner and Natasha lets out a quiet moan, rolling her hips against Steve’s, which gets a not-so-fake moan out of him too.
That seems to do the trick and one of the men curse. “Freakin’ kids these days. Goin’ at it like rabbits.” The footsteps start again and head away, growing quieter and quieter, and Natasha eventually pulls away, a smug smirk on her lips. “You okay?”
“A little uncomfortable,” Steve bites out, not happy with the situation, more specifically, the situation of his pants. -
“You must be the Grants!”
Steve whirls around, almost tipping over his champagne glass. Natasha, her arm still linked in Steve’s, manages to turn with much more grace, a perfect smile already on her perfectly painted lips. “That’s right. This is a lovely party you’re having, thank you so much for the invitation.”
The host simply smiles like she hasn’t been leaking government intelligence to Hydra for the past seven years. “Oh, that’s quite alright,” she says warmly. Steve cringes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your wedding. I didn’t know I had a cousin once removed, let out alone his niece who was getting married to such a strapping young gentleman.” Her eyes twinkle, eyeing Steve like he was a delicious cut of steak. “But I’m glad you two could make it here tonight,” she goes on, not taking her eyes off Steve.
“We’re glad, too,” Natasha says, and there’s an unprofessional twinge of annoyance in her voice. Brusquely, she leans up and presses a kiss to Steve’s lips, warm and soft and Steve’s more than happy to return it, if it means it gives him something else to look at than the creepy host’s beady eyes.
Natasha pulls away with a satisfied smile. “He is strapping, isn’t he?” -
Steve’s keeping pace with Natasha as theyjogrun around the park walking track. It’s a warm day and they’re keeping idlebanterconversation when Steve spots the couple of reporters up ahead. They’re headed right towards him and Natasha and Steve figures someone must have tipped the paparazzi off that Captain America and the Black Widow were running laps around the lake.
A light bulb goes off in Steve’s head. It’s worked so well for them before, he doesn’t see why it shouldn’t work now. Just as the crew approach, not realising who Steve and Natasha were quite yet, he tugs Natasha off the track and pushes her against a tree and presses their lips together. It takes a moment and - funnily - they actually kiss this time. Natasha’s arms loop around Steve’s neck, one of Steve’s hands in her hair, the other at the small of her back, holding her off the tree bark, and it’s half a minute before Steve realises the paparazzi haven’t moved on, and his brilliant idea hadn’t worked at all.
“Hey! Found ‘em!” one of the guys calls out, beckoning more of the photographers over.
Natasha smirks when they eventually pull away from each other, Steve’s face crestfallen. “Never become a spy, Rogers.”
5.
There’s a knock on the apartment door and Steve leaps to his feet to answer it. He pauses for second before he opens the door because he doesn’t want to seem to eager, but hey, this is Natasha and she knows him inside out. She’s probably carrying a pack of face wipes for him, knowing he’s going to be sweating through their first date.
It’s only the fact that they’re calling it a date that’s got Steve so nervous. Rationally, he knows this is just Natasha, and it’s like any other time they’re hanging out, except he’s dressed sort of nice, and when he finally does open the door, Natasha is too, her hair pinned up, wearing a pale green dress, looking like beauty personified.
“Hi.”
“Hi, Steve.” She leans up, gives him a small kiss on the lips that they hold for a second too long, but it feels right, feels amazing, and when they finally part, they’ve both got goofy grins on their faces.
“Shall we?” Natasha prompts.
“Yeah, of course.” Steve slips an arm around her waist and steps out, door closing behind him, cutting short the, “Makin’ a girl pick you up for a date, you’re mother’s rollin’ in her grave, Steve!” that comes from Bucky from inside the apartment.