Steve’s toast smells like a four-course meal to Natasha when she drags herself out of his – more like their shared – bedroom. Morning people have always surrounded Natasha, but she’s never wanted to follow their lead. (It’s not easy to wake up at sun rise when you went to bed an hour earlier.)
Tony is in the kitchen as well, surprisingly, programming the coffee machine to brew his weird concoction of a drink. Bruce is seated at the table, reading a scientific journal, with Thor’s head lolling on his shoulder. He must have woken up Thor accidentally again. Pepper pushes Tony aside, and types in his request while grinning wickedly at Tony.
Natasha saunters up behind Steve, but doesn’t wrap her arms around his waist like she wants to, doesn’t breathe in the soft scent that is purely his and makes her mouth water. Instead, like the good little agent she sometimes can be, she leans her head on his shoulder blade, and whispers ‘is that for me?’
Steve puts the pieces of toast, cut and buttered, on a plate for Natasha, smiling. His cheeks are reddening and it really makes her want to reconsider squeezing him to her and sniffing him like a hungry wolf. He doesn’t even know his effect on people, does he?
Natasha kisses his cheek, and he hands her a cup of black coffee, looking away. She sits at the end of the table – Tony says it’s a subconscious move; that she is claiming her throne – and she ignores him, biting into her breakfast. Bruce nudges Tony when he sits down, and Tony feigns innocence, batting his eyes. Thor grumbles on Bruce’s shoulder, burying his face in the doctor’s neck.
Pepper runs her fingers through Tony’s hair in warning, and he tries to suppress the shiver that comes over him as he watches her leave, but Natasha notices it. Everyone probably does – except Steve. He’s too busy struggling with the mother-of-all coffee makers by himself. It’s a miracle he even made a cup for Natasha.
Natasha wipes the corner of her mouth before muttering, “You need help?”
Steve turns around slowly, leaning against the counter, his hips out in an invitation he doesn’t mean to leave. Natasha would rut against him, rub him raw, if she wasn’t intent on keeping him by her side. The best way to do that is to avoid embarrassing him in front of the entire team. Speaking of which—
“Hey lovebirds,” Clint says cheerfully. He bounces around the kitchen like he owns it, pushing Steve aside and setting his own cup below the coffee machine.
Natasha waves Steve over, patting the seat to her right (where he can avoid Tony’s groping hands). Steve reaches the seat in two strides, settling in. It’s always too quiet and sleepy on Sundays. Natasha pushes her cup over to Steve, as well as the other toast he made for her, and waits until he takes it to lace their fingers under the table.