He sighs against her mouth, the kiss he returns imploring, but not particularly heated. That he wants to take his time before the conversation inevitably loops back to her earlier observation is transparent, but he hopes the distraction will spare him her judgment, even if it is undoubtedly earned by this point. If he hadn't taken so long to air his grievances, kept burying them in a place where they don't bother anyone, is half the reason he's so wound up tonight to begin with. Natasha isn't the source of any of his troubles, but she's the only person he trusts to listen, should he ever get around to actually talking.

"I'll put the glasses away," he promises, breath warm against her skin, if only because he can't be bothered to pull away until he needs to, reaching to take from her the bottle so that he, too, can take a drink. "Hell, I'll even make the bed in the morning."