Drabble: Steve/Natasha
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~700
Prompts: "Is that what you're doing? Trying to make me to hate you?"

For: de-lphic

... ...

She doesn't really make him work for it or anything, but it's hard to find any real time to themselves to begin with, let alone an actual day for him to take her out on a date or anything. She knows it's what he's wanted to do for a while, except their schedules are too crazy to make it work, and when they do have time off together, they'd rather just stay in because they'll take all the peace they can get these days. This has always been the side effect of what they do and they both knew it going into things, but they make it work.

She knows that he still wants to take her out more often, though, and she knows that he really does love just spending time with her, even if all they do is lounge around her apartment all day. But he's always a little bit disappointed that they haven't really gone on a first date or anything yet, and it makes her want it, too, which is a little ridiculous since she never used to think things like this before Steve came along. He's making her soft and they both know it.

(He says that part of her has always been soft, but she just couldn't express it as much as she can now, and she knows he's right. He always is.)

"Go on a date with me."

"What?"

His head is dipping below the sheets, lips brushing over her ribs as his hands are pressing her legs apart. She's a little distracted right now.

"Go on a date with me," he says again, breath tickling over the skin of her stomach where her desire is coiling even tighter. She lets out this little noise as she closes her eyes. "We have tomorrow to ourselves. Let me take you out."

She combs her hands through his hair, feels her lips tug into a smile.

"I thought a gentleman is supposed to ask?"

He laughs softly, mouth hovering right over her heat. "Will you go on a date with me, Natasha?" he asks, and then rolls his tongue over her nerves, and her lips part as she twists her fingers in his hair and lets out a breathless, "Yes."

He gives her this proud little smile after, kisses her on the lips, and she'd be more irritated by what he just did if she wasn't a little proud of him herself.

He's up before she is the next morning, which is nothing new, but it takes a little less time to shake off her sleep than it usually does, and, okay, maybe she's more excited about going on a date with him than she'll admit. It seems like it should be ridiculous, and it is, a little, but she's alright with that, especially when Steve walks in with a tray of breakfast and that dimpled smile of his. He sets the tray over her legs, and she can't help but laugh at the small vase of flowers next to her plate of pancakes. She knows one of his downstairs neighbors is an older lady who owns her own flower shop, and Steve helps her bring her groceries up all the time. The lady would be more than willing to do Steve a favor at the last second if he asked, but obviously small flower arrangements still take a bit of time, which means Steve had this planned out at least a little bit in advance.

She's never been a big fan of flowers, mostly because she just wouldn't know how to take care of them if she tried, but these are beautiful and she can't even pretend to not be as touched by the gesture as she is. He's ridiculous.

"It's our first date, you know," he points out, sitting himself on the edge of the bed. "I have to make a good first impression."

She smiles and shakes her head. "Do I want to know what you have planned?"

"Probably not. I know how much you hate romance and all that."

He's teasing and she knows, and she makes a face and pretends to kick him. He catches her ankle with his hand, smooths his thumb over her skin, and she doesn't know why she loves that little sensation so much, but she does.

"Is that what you're doing?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. "Trying to make me hate you?"

He breathes out a chuckle, grasps her chin with his fingers and draws her a little closer, kissing her softly, and her heart flutters in her chest.

"You couldn't hate me," he murmurs against her lips.

She knows he's still teasing, but she reaches between them, gripping the material of his shirt a little too tightly as she holds his gaze and answers, "No, I couldn't," and he just smiles at her like he knows what she's really saying.