Drabble: Steve/Natasha
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,200
Prompts: Imagine person A of your OTP wearing nothing but a shirt or jacket of person B's, which is baggy or oversized on them. Person B comes home to see Person A curled up on the couch asleep like this, and finds it absolutely adorable.

... ...

She's not a big cleaner.

She will when she needs to, obviously, but that's only ever after she's been reminded two or three times. It's not like she leaves garbage around or lets her dirty plates pile in the kitchen sink or anything, because that's gross. It's not her first instinct to dust and vacuum and wipe things down as regularly as she should, either. But considering she's only ever lived with Maria and then Steve, who're both neat freaks, it's never been a problem. And when she'd lived alone before, she wasn't at her place enough for it to get dirty, just dusty.

It's different, though – Maria's clean versus Steve's clean. Maybe that sounds stupid, but it's what Natasha's noticed about them.

When she'd roomed with Maria, they cleaned almost daily, because Maria prefers being organized. With Steve, chores are calming, comfortable. They take the time every week or so that their days off align to clean the apartment thoroughly and do the laundry and all that. It's actually nice.

(If anyone could get her to find cleaning relaxing, of course it'd be Steve.)

This day was supposed to be last week, except Tony had called them in at the last minute for two separate assignments, and obviously the chores had to wait.

It isn't until she's dropping her duffle onto the floor of their bedroom that she realizes this means she doesn't have any clean clothes to come home to. Well, she does, but nothing comfortable that she can sleep in, and it's already a quarter to one. She just wants to wash the humidity of Mumbai off and nap until Steve comes home, not do laundry.

"Shall I wake Miss Hill or Miss Potts and ask them if you can borrow a change of clothes for the night, ma'am?"

"Nah, don't bother them," Natasha reassures JARVIS, turning the water on and adjusting the temperature settings. "I'll just borrow Steve's shirt. He's got a few clean ones left."

"You'll borrow his undergarments, too, then?"

She grins. "I'll go without them for a night. I'm thinking Steve won't mind it all that much, right?"

"Indeed, he probably won't." That makes her laugh. "Have a good night, Natasha."

She grins a little wider but doesn't answer, knowing that JARVIS has probably already left the apartment so that she could take her bath in private. It's kind of ridiculous to know that an A.I. has more manners than most people nowadays.

She steps into the shower and closes her eyes, letting the warm water ease away the dull ache in her muscles that she always gets after an assignment. At least she didn't come home with any bruises or bullet wounds this time. Steve will be happy about that. Considering what they've lived through, missions like these are pretty small and simple. It doesn't mean that makes them easy, but they're definitely a few steps down from the threats of extra-terrestrial takeover and underground terrorists attempting world domination. Not that this makes her injuries are any less alarming to Steve, but she doesn't mind when he fusses. He hates seeing anyone hurt, so of course he's going to freak out whenever it's her.

When she's finished (which, okay, took a little longer than it should've, but she didn't want to turn off the hot water) she wrings her hair out and clips it up, pats herself dry with a towel and picks her clothes off of the floor as she leaves the bathroom. And yes, she's not wearing anything, but whatever. No one can see her.

She grabs one of the few shirts left in Steve's drawer – an R2D2 one Sam gifted to him for his birthday, because he and Steve had just re-watched all six Star Wars movies the week before. It's kind of ridiculously large on her, because she's smaller than him in height to begin with, and of course he's got those broad shoulders and all that muscle.

Not that she's got any complaints.

It's 1:30 when she sits on the couch. She and Steve don't always wait up for each other, but his flight lands in an hour, so it's not that big of a deal. Besides, she's not that tired.

At least, she thought she wasn't, but then she falls asleep after a few reruns of Friends and wakes up just before the elevator chimes open.

She yawns a little and feels like she needs a stretch, but she's comfortable just being curled up Steve's shirt like this, so she just props herself up on her elbow and watches as Steve rounds the corner into the living room. He gets this soft smile on his face as soon as he sees her.

"Did I wake you?" He pulls the strap of his duffle over his head and drops it onto the floor.

She shakes her head. "I was up just as you were getting home."

"That sounds like I woke you up." She chuckles, closing her eyes, then opening them again as moves to kneel in front of her. "You look adorable, by the way."

"Shut up," she laughs.

He chuckles, too, but still means it when he says, "You do. And why do my clothes always look better on you than on me?"

"Maybe that just means you should stop wearing them altogether." He laughs softly. (She's not entirely kidding.) "Come here," she says, grasping onto his jacket, and he leans forward and presses their lips together.

It's a little deeper and a little dirtier than she'd been anticipating, though. Not that she minds – at all – but it takes her a bit by surprise, even though it honestly shouldn't. They can hardly behave themselves in front of their friends when they spend each day together, much less when they're alone in their apartment and haven't seen each other in a week.

"Steve," she breathes, but the thought is lost as he combs his fingers through her hair and kisses her harder.

"Missed you," he murmurs against her lips.

Yeah, she can tell.

She shifts to sit more upright, bringing him closer, their chests pressed together as he sets a hand on her thigh and squeezes gently, this soft noise coming from the back of her throat. He presses her back into the couch, moving his hips between her knees as his slides up her leg, dipping below her (his) shirt. He groans as his fingers skim over her skin and he realizes that she isn't wearing anything else underneath. He probably isn't surprised. This is hardly the first time she's worn one of his shirts before, and even the few times she's worn a bra and panties underneath, it wasn't for long once Steve saw her. She wouldn't call it a fetish, really, but he gets particularly eager whenever she's wearing something of his.

He pushes the hem of her shirt up, moving to tug it off over her head, but she pulls away and shakes her head. He pauses, giving her a slightly confused but mostly curious look, and she wraps her legs around waist and pulls him closer, leaning to whisper into his ear.

"Fuck me with it on."

He makes his noise and she bites her lower lip, smiling at him as she grasps the buckle of his belt.

"Now I'm never going to be able to wear this without thinking of you like this," he tells her, tugging at the shirt as he kisses down the column of her throat.

She lets out a laugh. That's exactly what she's going for.