Natasha sits with him, sliding out of his lap and into the passenger seat with ease. She makes a show of rebuttoning her shirt, raking her fingers through her hair to fix the mess she made of it, and then reaches for her own seat belt. That done, she shoots him a smoky but satisfied smirk, the final note of the dance they've been doing, here, in case anyone happened to be watching, and nods.

"Drive."