A/N: So I wrote this oneshot like two months ago? I wanted to try and follow a list of 100 writing prompts I found, but I guess I kinda gave up after doing one, lmao...maybe I'll try again now? I dunno, but enjoy this Romanogers fluff and let me know what you guys think (and if I should write more)! :D

Prompt 1: Dance

"Well, Rogers? What are you waiting for?"

Steve just blinked in reply, his eyes once again traveling up and down his companion's body. She wasn't dressed up stunningly or anything, no - she had just hopped off of an examination table in one of the many rooms in the medical ward of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base as soon as the doctor walked out, and was staring up at him expectantly, her green eyes pulling him toward her. Her uniform was tattered, clinging to her body and hanging off in tattered clumps, and she looked as nonchalant as ever.

His eyes were wandering because she had just gotten some bullets pulled out of her, and now she was standing and walking and just moving as if nothing had happened to her. Oh, and she just asked him to dance with her.

Natasha Romanoff was insane.

"A S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor just pulled a bullet out of your thigh - no, scratch that, pulled multiple bullets out of both of your legs, and you want to dance?" Steve stared at her incredulously. Honestly, he could not believe how careless Natasha could be sometimes. She was very careful and caring on her missions, of course, otherwise she wouldn't be the best at her job - but when it came to just the two of them, Natasha practically threw herself around, trying to do this and that when she should be recovering from post-mission injuries.

No wonder Fury had paired him up with her, Steve thought. Natasha needed someone to tell her to calm the hell down.

"You," Natasha poked his chest with her index finger for emphasis, "need to learn how to dance, and I need to relax. And what better way to do that than with some casual dancing?"

She shimmied her shoulders a bit to add more emphasis, and Steve resisted the urge to smack his own forehead with his palm. Natasha Romanoff was something else; deadly one minute, then hanging somewhere on the borderline of just plain dorky and sarcastic the next.

So, he grabbed the hand with the finger touching his chest, and gently moved it away. "I can wait to learn how to dance. You need to rest your body. Jesus, Romanoff, you're going to pull your stitches. Again." (She tended to do that a lot.)

"Aw, come on now, don't take the Lord's name in vain," Natasha teased with a mock pout, and Steve just sighed. What was he going to do with her?

Sensing his hesitation, Natasha forced her hand out of his grasp and, instead, pulled his body closer to hers, joining their hands. He blinked at her again, trying to find the words to turn her offer down.

"Natasha, really, thanks for the offer-"

"I wasn't offering, I'm ordering. Now, shut up and dance with me."

Complying, Steve resigned to just forcing her into resting her legs later, hoping Natasha's body could at least endure until then. Knowing how stubborn she was, she probably would last.

"Just keep your eyes on my feet - ow, damn it, don't step on them - alright, easy, easy… Just follow a bit…"

Soon, they were swaying to an imaginary rhythm, Steve carefully mimicking Natasha's every move and taking extra care to not step on her or misstep. He might hurt her more if he did.

God, if Fury ever found out about this, he'd probably kill Steve for letting one of his best agents possibly injure herself further.

Natasha, after a minute or so, began humming some nonsensical tune that fit nicely with the pace of their dancing. She even had a light smile on her face - different than the normal smirks Steve usually saw her wearing.

Seeing that they continued to do the same exact thing for another minute, Steve raised a curious eyebrow. "I know dancing usually involves a bit more than just stepping back and forth… Are you going easy on me, Romanoff?"

Her eyes sparked with mischief and challenge at that, as she looked up to meet his amused gaze. "Yes, for two reasons: you suck, and my legs feel like they're on fire. Obviously, it's mostly because of the former. Would you prefer to do something more advanced?"

She pulled one hand away from him now, spinning away from him with a mischievous expression. However, her face twitched a bit, and Steve frowned disapprovingly, knowing she definitely just pulled one of her stitches.

He pulled her back to him, letting her spin into his arms. Using that to his advantage, he caught her in his strong grip, hands entwined with hers and his large arms crossed over her torso. Surprisingly, she didn't fight him.

His eyes burned into her fiery hair, as if he were trying to stare through the back of her skull and into her eyes on the other side. "I would prefer you go sit down now. I think I've got the gist of this 'dancing' thing, don't you?"

Natasha gave a small laugh at that, and Steve had to admit, he kind of loved it. He had never before heard her sound anything other than monotone or pissed off or sarcastic or teasing; this entire encounter was a lot more genuine than he was used to with her, honestly.

Yeah, the S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor from before definitely gave her some hefty painkilling drugs.

He wasn't about to protest that and its amusing result, though.

She turned her head back, emerald orbs meeting his baby blue. "You're the one who just said he wasn't learning enough." If she was trying to sound accusatory, she wasn't doing very well; all Steve could see in that moment was Natasha being genuinely cute.

"We can continue another day," he offered.

With an over-dramatic sigh, Natasha squirmed from his grasp, which had gradually loosened over the course of their brief conversation. She turned to face him, shrugging her shoulders and throwing her hands up to show her half-hearted compliance. "Alright, fine. You'll be facing me when I'm on my top game, though, so be prepared."

"Yes, Ma'am." Steve saluted her, which prompted a punch his arm as she sauntered by him.

"Oh, stop. And help me back up on this examination table; I think I can hear a doctor outside, and I pulled a stitch. We're going with the cover story of you poking my injuries and causing the stitch to rip, okay?"

Steve just rolled his eyes. Intoxicated Natasha was an especially mischievous Natasha, jumping from dancing to manipulating in no time at all.

So, he helped her back up on her perch, and resumed his seat in a nearby plastic chair, the sense of Natasha in his arms lingering.