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It happened every single time that they went out.
It didn’t matter if they were undercover, at a party, at a bar, anywhere, Nat would always get hit on by bright eyed, well endowed women who would giggle and flip their usually long hair over their shoulders while talking about how big his muscles were or something.
Every time.
Not that Claire was jealous or anything; of course not. Her and Nat were friends, partners, definitely not together, at least not romantically.
Not that she wanted to be either; she had no desire to be with someone who was tall, had a nice smile, or an incredibly deep voice that hid a hint of an amazing accent.
Okay. So maybe she wanted to be, maybe she always had been, but Nat was definitely not into her. She was too boyish, too tough, she knew the reasons; he was probably into those soft, doe eyed women who practically threw themselves at him because he was always charming them with a smile or shooting them a flirtatious one liner that they would just eat up.
It wasn’t fair.
She’d known Nat the longest, knew everything about him, hell, she’d saved his life more times than fingers on her hand. And all she’d get was a thank you, a pat on the head or something else that a man would give his little sister.
Claire didn’t know why she even went out with him places anymore; it was just way too painful to see other women flirt with him and watch him flirt back without a care in the world, all but forgetting about her even though she was sitting right at the end of the bar.
God, he’d just gone to the bathroom and they flocked to him.
Three, two, one; cue the charming smile. The women flocked to him.
Claire rolled her eyes in disgust.
Though, this time, Claire Barton wasn’t going to just sit down and drown her sorrows in her drink. Absolutely not; she was going to do something about this and Nat could be angry at her but she just didn’t care because she was actually mad at him.
She got off her barstool and marched straight into the crowd of adoring women. They scoffed, rolled their eyes, and some of them grumbled about her under their breath, but she only had eyes for Nat.
He turned his gaze to her, surprised to see her approaching probably, and Claire knew she looked angry.
“Claire, what’s–”
She reached up, placed her hand on the back of his neck, and dragged him down so their lips met in a very firm kiss.
Nat was tense, frozen, not responding to her lips on his for a painfully long few seconds. The women around them fell silent, surprised as he was.
Claire was ready to pull away, march out the door, and never look back until Nat’s arm wound around her waist and pulled her closer. In response, she wound her arms around his neck, melting against him.
Kissing Nat was everything she had hoped it would be; despite having such a rough exterior, kissing him was surprisingly…not. He was gentle, kissing away her anger and her jealousy with ease as the women took several steps away from them.
When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless and Claire stared up at him with as much surprise as he was looking at her with.
“I’m sorry, ladies. I seem to be spoken for.” Nat finally announced to the crowd, though he still stared at Claire when he spoke.
The women whined, complained, and eventually went back to wherever they came from. Nat took Claire’s hand, almost completely enveloping her hand with his own, before leading her out of the bar.
They walked in silence for some time before he spoke again.
“So…When were you going to tell me that you wanted me?”
His tone was teasing, as was his smile, and Claire sputtered, using her free hand to slap his arm. His laugh rang out loudly, echoing down the street.
“Shut up.” She huffed. “Stupid.”
He continued to laugh. He had such a nice laugh.
She hated him; this tall, Russian idiot.
It took her all the way back to his apartment that she realized that he was officially her tall, Russian idiot now.