The bartender had just handed Steve a new drink, a concoction that was electric blue with a suspicious purple foam on top, when he felt a body slot in beside his. That wasn't entirely unexpected considering how packed the club was. What caught him off guard, however, was the feeling of an arm looping around his neck, the press of soft curves right up against him. He jerked, his drink sloshing over the edge of his glass, before realizing it was Natasha who had invaded his personal space.
When Clint had told him that Natasha had suggested a nightclub for them, Steve didn't realize that meant she'd also be coming with them. He'd successfully avoided her for most of the evening - it seemed the wisest course of action, considering how easily she tended to rile him up. There was no escaping her now though, not without causing a scene, and when she lifted up on her toes, he obligingly ducked his head down to listen to what she had to say.
He was frowning before she finished, but his initial protests were forgotten in the face of her final command.
"What?" Steve asked, horrified, and even amidst the pulsing music and the hum of the crowd, it was too loud. "I'm not going to - no! Didn't we talk about you not doing this anymore? I could have sworn we talked about that."