Thanks to sleepanddrinkdietcoke I wrote my first Tumblr Romanogers ficlet! :)

Shipper fic prompt #13: things you said at the kitchen table

"You know," Sam says, as he flips another pancake, "there are better places for a date than in my kitchen."
Natasha chokes. The glare she gives Sam is the visual equivalent of threatening to impale him with her plastic fork (which, knowing Natasha, she would probably find a way to do.) "This is not a date," she says, coughing into her napkin.
"Really?" Sam looks at Steve. Blinks. Aggressively smacks the newest pancake with his spatula. "I mean, really?"
"Not a date," Steve says.
"Really?"
"Really."
"Steve," Natasha says, and grips his wrist. (And maybe his heart skips a beat at the point of contact.) "Put the Maple syrup down."
Apparently Steve's chest wasn't the only thing that clenched just now, because his hand is squeezing the Maple syrup with such ferocity that most of it has proceeded to drown his pancake. "Damn it," he sighs.
"Language," Natasha quips.
"Shut up."
"That phrase is probably the equivalent of swearing among you upright, moral folk."
Steve rolls his eyes. "I hate you."
Natasha twirls her fork between two fingers. "I know," she says, but she's smiling. "I hate you, too."
"Mutual hate."
"Basically."
"It's the foundation of our relationship."
Sam slams the spatula down on the counter so violently that the entire kitchen all but rattles. "REALLY?"
"Our friendship," Steve frantically amends. "Friendship."
"Not a date," Natasha says.
"Not a date," Steve says.
Sam chuckles. "If you say so."