After thirty or so messages flooding your phone to a point of constant buzzing, you were forced to turn your notifications off for many of your social outlets, just so you could carry a conversation with Natasha. You set your phone face down out of respect for the topic at hand and basic human decency, resting your chin on your elbow against the dining table. She carried on about an embarrassing story regarding one of her exes, mostly about how he managed to accuse her of cheating based solely off of one message to Steve. "So, what was the message?" Her face contorted to a lazy, half-smile and she looked down at the table. "I think it was something like, 'Can you check my mail while I'm gone?' And Mark somehow related that to me asking him for a one night stand." You let out a sympathetic chuckle, sucking in a breath and sighing at how utterly ridiculous people could be when jealous and provoked.
She too began to rest her head on her knuckles, leaning a little closer from across the table and making eye contact after scanning the room. You looked around as well and leaned in out of curiosity, allowing your hand to fall to your chest on the wood. "How far have you two gotten?" The question took you by surprise, and you quickly regained your previous posture. "It's only been two weeks, Nat!" You said in a hushed tone. She rolled her eyes, "You're an adult. Some relationships start with sex." You made a brief contemplating face and sighed, "He talks too much for anything to happen, I guess." She snorted and covered her mouth, giggling at the pitiful sentence.
"You're kidding, right? He's so quiet!" She managed, placing one hand to the side of her face and maintaining her amused grin. "I'm really not," You responded, earning another snort, and you grinned at the reality of it, "I don't know what to say, it just hasn't come up yet. There's been no need to, especially with all the work we've been getting." The conversation took another turn at the mention of your jobs. Lately it had been a busy time for busting Hydra facilities throughout the country, often being two-to-three day trips without rest. "That's understandable. I guess it could be hard to schedule anything ahead of time, given the nature of the assignments." You both sighed simultaneously.
She turned her head away from you at the distant sound of her name from another room. "Yeah?" She called out, waiting for a response. Your eyes met once more before silently agreeing to stand up and find the source, but there was no real need to continue, given the appearance of Sam in the doorway. "Oh, hey, Steve wanted to know if you wanted to get booze and bowl with the guys." There was a moment of hesitation, but she reluctantly agreed. You felt a small pang of disappointment for not being invited, but brushed it off, given the age gap between you and the rest of the team. Sam took one look at you and was able to read what your face was telling, and acted accordingly.
"You're coming too, Metalhead." You were relieved that you were included, but paused at the odd insult. As you and Natasha made your way out of the dining room, you couldn't decide on whether it was a reference to your strength, or your romantic relationship with James, given his metallic arm. While walking down the staircase to get back to the main floor, you heard Natasha ask from behind you, "We're leaving now?" He made a noise of confirmation and slipped into the lounge, where Steve was entertaining James with a tale about what you could only guess had something to do with their glory days. "If you're coming, go get what you need and we can meet in the parking garage downstairs," Sam announced.
The bar was comparatively much more quiet than the car, and the atmosphere gave off an amount of silent maturity and sophistication that you weren't sure you were able to deal with properly, especially after the rowdy jamming out you had recently participated in. This feeling almost completely vanished, however, with the physical presence of James' hand covering your left shoulder and guidance towards one of the booths. The sound of his voice was a relief to your ears against the deafening silence, "They serve champagne ice cream here." Your eyebrows raised in surprise at his excited tone, something that was possibly even less common than alcoholic ice cream. As the rest of the group began conversing, it felt levels more comfortable than when you first walked in.
When you settled in next to the Sam, who respectively scooted over to give you room, you noticed the red oak finishes on the wall to his right, and just how plush the dark seats of the booth were, contrary to what you were expecting upon the sight of them. As James sat to your left, Steve and Natasha were situating themselves across from you and were commenting on the new renovations to the restaurant. They must have been going here for a while, you assumed, and you felt even more grateful to be invited to their regular spot. The feeling was a slightly downplayed, though, due how it had to do with your relationship with somebody already on the inside, but it had not been completely vanquished.
Nobody went to grab a menu that was sitting on the edge of the table, so you decided not to, either. That ice cream sounded interesting, anyway. You felt a little squished, partly due to the size of the table and amount of patrons seated on one side, and partly from James' thighs, ones that you just now noticed were somehow strangled into a slim fitting style of acid-washed jean. Sure, he sported an incredible figure, you came to realize over the amount of times you had trained with him while shirtless, but his legs were certainly the focal point that you couldn't seem to fully recover from easily. You glanced down at Sam's leg closest to the wall and found no room for comfort, so you didn't vocalize your minor discomfort to anyone.
James had noticed your anxiety long before they had arrived at the restaurant, and he could only feel slightly responsible for it. He swiftly interlaced your twitchy fingers into his over the table and leaned down to mumble next to your ear, "Don't be so nervous, we all know each other." You grinned and leaned ever so slightly into his figure, continuing to listen to the ongoing conversation about how inefficient the new salt shakers were. Steve was currently attempting to vigorously acquire his desired amount of salt onto a paper napkin, shakily explaining, "See? Absolutely nothing. Maybe a speck or two." He wasn't wrong; there, at least visibly, was no product being extracted. Amongst his troubles, he didn't hear the server greet you all unanimously with a polite wave.
You could only briefly note her dark circles before a clank was heard from Steve's direction. You looked back at his frozen form and cracked up in unison with the group, having just witnessed salt pour all over the table, as well as on Steve. He was not nearly as enlightened, especially when he looked up at the server with a kind of face you'd see on a kicked puppy. Thank god for his good looks, because you had a feeling that if he were any more unfortunate in the physical department, the server would have reached over the table and strangled him for making her job more painful than it already was. He didn't have the chance to apologize before she started, with a forced smile, "What will you have to drink?"
After recording all of your preferences, she left briskly. There was a brief moment of silence before you stated, "I think she's gonna spit in your drink." You received a round of snickers, Steve attempting to clean up the mess he made with more napkins. "I couldn't agree more, (Y/n)." Sam, with a residing smile on his face, took a long look at your interlocked hands and commented, "That kind of inappropriate behavior is not allowed at this table." James looked over you and at him with a competitive expression, placing your hands underneath the table, "Is this better, Your Majesty?" Sam pursed his lips and shook his head, "Even worse."
You could tell Natasha had something brewing in her mind before she even opened her mouth. "Don't worry, Sam. I think they might as well be waiting until marriage to kiss." He cracked into a wide grin and opened his mouth to say something, but Steve looked up from his disaster of an accident, "Since when does Bucky Barnes keep it in his pants?" Sam lost it, breaking into a flurry of laughter that he tried to muffle through his hands. You instantly looked up at James, who simply rolled his eyes. Natasha was no help.
Steve leaned in, trying his best to give you a meaningful, serious look, despite his salt mountain beneath him. "You better watch out for that one," He looked up at Bucky, who currently did not approve of Steve's tone, "He's loose." James snapped his fingers in Steve's face, forcing him to sit back properly in his seat, while the blond man retorted, "Hey, hey, you're still good looking." You chuckled softly and nodded in agreement.
Your drinks came relatively quickly, and with another tense moment between Steve and your server, everyone had their choices noted and she was on her way once more. Natasha tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put her glass up to her lips, "She's new, so maybe they won't keep her around for long with that attitude, Cap." Steve shook his head and wiped his mouth of the froth from his beverage, "It's not her fault. I'd be cross with someone if I had to clean up a bunch of salt that they spilled. She's probably been dealing with idiots all day." You all have a moment of contemplation, before Sam spoke, "Just give her a big tip. She's nice enough to the rest of us, and she put extra lemon slices in my water."
He sounded relatively pleased with her attentiveness, even though it was for a mundane task like lemon water. You glanced up at James for his input, but he was currently occupied with folding his napkin into the tiniest square possible, to which you became invested in as well. You held out a hand to try, once it seemed like he couldn't get it smaller than a fingernail, and he gave it up. You studied it for a moment, then took it between your thumb and index finger, squeezing tightly.
The small, compact piece of paper began to create a tiny trail of smoke, making you wince and drop it down on the table. It continued to emit dark fumes until you decided to take an ice cube from your drink and cool it. With a fizzle, it stopped, and you slipped the ice cube under the table. "Is that why you haven't laid it down yet?" Sam asked with amusement in his voice, breaking the tension you created. James rolled his eyes and checked your fingers for burns, "Shut up."
The conversation didn't carry on any farther, thankfully, because your waitress was back with your food. While everyone else had asked for common foods like burgers and fries, your ice cream still looked the most appetizing to you. When she left again and the others began their conversations once more, James made an expectant noise, forcing you to look up at his gaze directed towards your already melting ice cream. You looked down at his food and squinted, "You have your own."
You licked the most melted part to stop any of it from getting on the table, or yourself, and the taste was extremely pleasant. Not too sweet, not too grainy or chalky. It was regular soft serve with a flavor twist and it worked surprisingly well. You studied it a bit more and looked at your hand to check if any had dripped. Unfortunately, some was starting to slide down your fingers, so you leaned across the table to grab a few extra napkins. You were careful to keep the ice cream away from your body, and when you sat back down, a large portion appeared to be missing off of the top.
The obvious bite mark lead you towards James, who was holding the back of his hand up to his mouth to wipe the remains of your ice cream off of his lips.