(no subject)
Drabblet 4
Fandom: Iron Man (movieverse)
Pairing: Tony/Pepper
Rating: G
Summary: Tony raises some Serious Business Questions.
She found him bent over his workdesk, stripping the wires on something -- a wrist joint, maybe. His arms were smudged, his fingers black under the nails. He had the soldering iron charging up, distressingly close to his elbow. Pepper nudged it out of the way and set down the Times and coffee.
"Do you have a special ringtone for me?" Tony asked, without looking up.
"What?"
With a pair of long tweezers he extracted something that glittered from the tangle of copper, examined it critically from several angles and set it aside. "On your phone. Something that reminds you of me, for when I call you."
"Did you have something in particular in mind?"
"As a matter of fact," Tony said, "I did. I was thinking, you know what would be good? 'Wind Beneath My Wings.'"
"Manufacturing wants you to weigh in tomorrow, so I forwarded you the sample schematics for those new electric actuators," said Pepper. "I know you've seen them -- "
" -- I designed them -- "
" -- but look them over anyway, because R&D made some changes. And I RSVP'd you for the Stanford conference in June -- I talked them into the clean energy panel, instead of defense."
"'I'm Too Sexy' would be another fitting song,” said Tony. "Wait, I'm not on defense? I have to do Stanford without Rhodey?"
"Yes, you're going to have to find somebody else to play hangman with," said Pepper, heartlessly. "And today you have Popular Science at three-thirty, for the 'Forty under 40.' You're a feature. I wrote out some talking points."
"Remember when it was 'Thirty under 30?' Those were heady days." He picked up the card, scanned it briefly. "I know all this stuff."
"I know you know it," Pepper said, patiently. "Just -- pretend you'll actually say some of it."
"I can think on my feet, Potts," Tony said, pulling off his goggles and running a hand through his rumpled hair. "That's why people like me. Well, that and this ass. You know what else you could do for me? Phone-wise?" He grinned up at her. "Leave it on vibrate."
"Actually," said Pepper, "when you call me, it plays 'Help.' You know, because you always need it."
"Paul McCartney's a hack," said Tony.
"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?" said Pepper.
"Apparently it will. Consider my suggestions," said Tony, and pushed his goggles back down.
Drabblet 5
Fandom: Iron Man (movieverse)/Entourage (kind of.)
Pairing: none really; Tony/Emily-the-assistant implied
Rating: PG
Summary: For all she knew, any of these women could have been something other than a threat.
One morning -- a Wednesday, for God's sake -- she'd come into the living room to find a pixie blonde, smooth-limbed and pale in a stylish black sheath, tiptoeing away from the bedroom. At Pepper's cough she whirled and nearly fell. "Jesus!"
"Sorry to scare you," Pepper said, offering a tired smile. "Can I get you some coffee? Orange juice?" Usually Tony buzzed her a warning about these little interludes. Apparently today was special.
"Oh, no. God, no. Thank you." The woman dropped her strappy heels to the floor and slipped them on, looking up for an instant to flash Pepper a rueful grin. "I'm so sorry. Do you always have to do this?" There was an odd, sweet hoarseness in her voice.
"Usually I get the dry cleaning, too," Pepper said, unable to help returning the smile.
"I'm Emily Newman," said the woman, and blushed. "Not that you'll...need to remember. I just, um, don't really know the etiquette, here."
"Pepper Potts," Pepper said kindly. "I'm Mr. Stark's personal assistant."
"No, I know, actually. Not to be weird, but I've read about you -- I used to work for Ari Gold, at ICM."
"Wow," said Pepper, genuinely stunned. "And here you are, standing."
"I know," said Emily Newman, rolling her eyes in commiseration. "I can even speak without crying."
"After a few years of therapy, I'm guessing."
"Fortunately covered by my insurance." She had a wry, crooked smile. "But you're sort of a legend among assistants, Ms. Potts."
"Really?" Pepper blinked. The idea was oddly gratifying.
"Really." She fished her cell phone out of her purse. "Which makes this all the more superbly awkward. Is there a cab company I can call?"
"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll call Mr. Stark's driver for you," Pepper said, recalling herself to the routine.
"So the car's here? Meaning Tony's still in the house," said Emily, who was evidently quick on the uptake. She quirked her mouth eloquently sideways, a little wistful, a little resigned.
"He's not very good with women," Pepper admitted, suddenly wishing they could sit down, really have a conversation. She didn't have many girl friends. She didn't have many friends, technically. She'd used to, but now there never seemed to be time. "I mean, in the short term, he's very charming, don't get me wrong, but he's not -- he doesn’t really -- um. It's partly my fault, I guess. For enabling him."
"The things we do for them, huh," Emily said dryly. "Speaking of which, I should really get to work. This has been sufficiently humiliating, don't you think?"
"I'll get your ride," Pepper said, and turned to go. Then she hesitated, turned back and said, "Listen, Emily -- "
She nearly went on. Listen, if you want to get coffee, sometime? Just to have someone to talk to?
But surely this couldn't be how people made friends. This could not possibly be the way it was done. Besides, Tony would kill her.
Instead she said, "Do you need clothes? A blouse, or something more -- "
"I keep a suit at the office," Emily said, then added hastily, "Not because this happens all the time! Or ever. It doesn't. I take my job very seriously. It was just the Wired party, and I was drinking all this gin, and then somehow I ended up on the balcony just to see the view and he was out there, in this suit, and acting so -- God, and everyone I know was there, they're going to -- oh, God. I can't believe this." She buried her head in her hands. "I have to stop talking. I think I might still be drunk."
Pepper ducked her head, wishing she knew what to say. It wasn't as if Emily Newman were even an exception; for all she knew any of these women could have been funny and clever, could have been something other than a threat. "Well, the car will be up in just a few minutes. It was nice to meet you."
Emily Newman shook herself and said -- clearly not meaning it -- "You too, Ms. Potts." She took a deep breath. "I think I'll just go wait in the driveway, if you don't mind, and have some serious thoughts about the direction my life is going. And a cigarette. Thank you for, you know. Being nice to me."
"Same here," said Pepper, and left before the other woman could respond.
Drabblet 6
Fandom: Iron Man (movieverse)
Pairing: Tony/Pepper
Rating: R
Summary: There's this one dream she's been having lately.
There was one dream Pepper had been having lately: the one where Tony had her pinned against that stupid workstation, his fingers deep in her hair, his mouth a fraction of an inch from hers, his breath hot against her sweat-damp skin. The one where her skirt was rucked up around her hips and the hard line of his thigh was pushing her legs apart, rocking against her just there, sending a shuddering rush through her. The one where the battery of his heart pulsed and glowed against her breast -- the heart she'd touched with her hands, the long lean body she'd once reached inside -- and she was electric for him, liquid and thrumming for him.
And he was whispering these things.
Things which first of all he would never say, but things which also, honestly, she wouldn't want anyone to say, not in real life. They weren't just offensive; they were hackneyed. Just like this whole secretary-bent-over-the-desk bad-porn fantasy of hers.
But in the dream his hand hovered between her legs, barely palming her through her underwear, the nearness of him an ache that went hot and deep. And then he explained to her exactly what he was going to do. His voice was like whiskey and molten metal and his breathing came ragged and uneven as he told her, steadily and specifically, how he was going to make her feel. Until she was reeling, shaking with need, and then still murmuring he leaned in to her, and the smell of him was intoxicating, was everywhere, the air around him was a current and her body was a live wire, and the roughness of his jaw and his hard, sweet mouth, barely brushing hers, sent her soaring --
Which was where it always ended.
When she was lucky, she woke up with her heart pounding in her ears, the sheets tangled damply around her thighs and a lingering hum in the pit of her belly. When she wasn't, she was shuttled seamlessly off into another dream: something in the Close, But No Cigar category. Like she'd be fording the Amazon in a bikini, or riding a rumbling, clattering train through the air high over Mulholland.
Or in another one, she was in New York and James Rhodes was her date to the Tony awards. "Oh, hilarious," she said, aloud, when her eyes opened after that one.
It didn't change anything, though. It was just a dream. She wrote up Tony's schedules, filed his press clippings, ordered his takeout: it was normal. Even this one time when he paged her down to help him with something. Whatever he was working on was small but intricate, a hard casing around a series of tiny valves.
"You just need me to hold it?"
"Just for a second, and stay out of the light. I can't get it to clamp at the right angle, and I need both hands to get leverage on the wrench. Here -- goggles, gloves. Not that I'm gonna be burning anything, but, you know. Things go flying. All right. Can you rest your elbows on the table? To keep steady."
"If you're just trying to look down my blouse," Pepper said, eyeing him.
"Potts, I don't need to concoct elaborate engineering schemes to look down your blouse," Tony said, giving her a look of wounded innocence. "That is why I have all those security cameras."
"Fine," said Pepper, and leaned in, tilting the thing up toward him.
"Good, now just turn it a little, so I can--" And then he said, just like he said in the dream, and his voice was rough and focused and went straight through her -- "There. Just like that."
As if he knew.
But Pepper barely even fumbled. She'd always had steady hands.
It was just a dream, and she'd just have to deal with it. That night she went to bed a little early; lay awake for a while, humming like a wire, waiting.
Fandom: Iron Man (movieverse)
Pairing: Tony/Pepper
Rating: G
Summary: Tony raises some Serious Business Questions.
She found him bent over his workdesk, stripping the wires on something -- a wrist joint, maybe. His arms were smudged, his fingers black under the nails. He had the soldering iron charging up, distressingly close to his elbow. Pepper nudged it out of the way and set down the Times and coffee.
"Do you have a special ringtone for me?" Tony asked, without looking up.
"What?"
With a pair of long tweezers he extracted something that glittered from the tangle of copper, examined it critically from several angles and set it aside. "On your phone. Something that reminds you of me, for when I call you."
"Did you have something in particular in mind?"
"As a matter of fact," Tony said, "I did. I was thinking, you know what would be good? 'Wind Beneath My Wings.'"
"Manufacturing wants you to weigh in tomorrow, so I forwarded you the sample schematics for those new electric actuators," said Pepper. "I know you've seen them -- "
" -- I designed them -- "
" -- but look them over anyway, because R&D made some changes. And I RSVP'd you for the Stanford conference in June -- I talked them into the clean energy panel, instead of defense."
"'I'm Too Sexy' would be another fitting song,” said Tony. "Wait, I'm not on defense? I have to do Stanford without Rhodey?"
"Yes, you're going to have to find somebody else to play hangman with," said Pepper, heartlessly. "And today you have Popular Science at three-thirty, for the 'Forty under 40.' You're a feature. I wrote out some talking points."
"Remember when it was 'Thirty under 30?' Those were heady days." He picked up the card, scanned it briefly. "I know all this stuff."
"I know you know it," Pepper said, patiently. "Just -- pretend you'll actually say some of it."
"I can think on my feet, Potts," Tony said, pulling off his goggles and running a hand through his rumpled hair. "That's why people like me. Well, that and this ass. You know what else you could do for me? Phone-wise?" He grinned up at her. "Leave it on vibrate."
"Actually," said Pepper, "when you call me, it plays 'Help.' You know, because you always need it."
"Paul McCartney's a hack," said Tony.
"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?" said Pepper.
"Apparently it will. Consider my suggestions," said Tony, and pushed his goggles back down.
Drabblet 5
Fandom: Iron Man (movieverse)/Entourage (kind of.)
Pairing: none really; Tony/Emily-the-assistant implied
Rating: PG
Summary: For all she knew, any of these women could have been something other than a threat.
One morning -- a Wednesday, for God's sake -- she'd come into the living room to find a pixie blonde, smooth-limbed and pale in a stylish black sheath, tiptoeing away from the bedroom. At Pepper's cough she whirled and nearly fell. "Jesus!"
"Sorry to scare you," Pepper said, offering a tired smile. "Can I get you some coffee? Orange juice?" Usually Tony buzzed her a warning about these little interludes. Apparently today was special.
"Oh, no. God, no. Thank you." The woman dropped her strappy heels to the floor and slipped them on, looking up for an instant to flash Pepper a rueful grin. "I'm so sorry. Do you always have to do this?" There was an odd, sweet hoarseness in her voice.
"Usually I get the dry cleaning, too," Pepper said, unable to help returning the smile.
"I'm Emily Newman," said the woman, and blushed. "Not that you'll...need to remember. I just, um, don't really know the etiquette, here."
"Pepper Potts," Pepper said kindly. "I'm Mr. Stark's personal assistant."
"No, I know, actually. Not to be weird, but I've read about you -- I used to work for Ari Gold, at ICM."
"Wow," said Pepper, genuinely stunned. "And here you are, standing."
"I know," said Emily Newman, rolling her eyes in commiseration. "I can even speak without crying."
"After a few years of therapy, I'm guessing."
"Fortunately covered by my insurance." She had a wry, crooked smile. "But you're sort of a legend among assistants, Ms. Potts."
"Really?" Pepper blinked. The idea was oddly gratifying.
"Really." She fished her cell phone out of her purse. "Which makes this all the more superbly awkward. Is there a cab company I can call?"
"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll call Mr. Stark's driver for you," Pepper said, recalling herself to the routine.
"So the car's here? Meaning Tony's still in the house," said Emily, who was evidently quick on the uptake. She quirked her mouth eloquently sideways, a little wistful, a little resigned.
"He's not very good with women," Pepper admitted, suddenly wishing they could sit down, really have a conversation. She didn't have many girl friends. She didn't have many friends, technically. She'd used to, but now there never seemed to be time. "I mean, in the short term, he's very charming, don't get me wrong, but he's not -- he doesn’t really -- um. It's partly my fault, I guess. For enabling him."
"The things we do for them, huh," Emily said dryly. "Speaking of which, I should really get to work. This has been sufficiently humiliating, don't you think?"
"I'll get your ride," Pepper said, and turned to go. Then she hesitated, turned back and said, "Listen, Emily -- "
She nearly went on. Listen, if you want to get coffee, sometime? Just to have someone to talk to?
But surely this couldn't be how people made friends. This could not possibly be the way it was done. Besides, Tony would kill her.
Instead she said, "Do you need clothes? A blouse, or something more -- "
"I keep a suit at the office," Emily said, then added hastily, "Not because this happens all the time! Or ever. It doesn't. I take my job very seriously. It was just the Wired party, and I was drinking all this gin, and then somehow I ended up on the balcony just to see the view and he was out there, in this suit, and acting so -- God, and everyone I know was there, they're going to -- oh, God. I can't believe this." She buried her head in her hands. "I have to stop talking. I think I might still be drunk."
Pepper ducked her head, wishing she knew what to say. It wasn't as if Emily Newman were even an exception; for all she knew any of these women could have been funny and clever, could have been something other than a threat. "Well, the car will be up in just a few minutes. It was nice to meet you."
Emily Newman shook herself and said -- clearly not meaning it -- "You too, Ms. Potts." She took a deep breath. "I think I'll just go wait in the driveway, if you don't mind, and have some serious thoughts about the direction my life is going. And a cigarette. Thank you for, you know. Being nice to me."
"Same here," said Pepper, and left before the other woman could respond.
Drabblet 6
Fandom: Iron Man (movieverse)
Pairing: Tony/Pepper
Rating: R
Summary: There's this one dream she's been having lately.
There was one dream Pepper had been having lately: the one where Tony had her pinned against that stupid workstation, his fingers deep in her hair, his mouth a fraction of an inch from hers, his breath hot against her sweat-damp skin. The one where her skirt was rucked up around her hips and the hard line of his thigh was pushing her legs apart, rocking against her just there, sending a shuddering rush through her. The one where the battery of his heart pulsed and glowed against her breast -- the heart she'd touched with her hands, the long lean body she'd once reached inside -- and she was electric for him, liquid and thrumming for him.
And he was whispering these things.
Things which first of all he would never say, but things which also, honestly, she wouldn't want anyone to say, not in real life. They weren't just offensive; they were hackneyed. Just like this whole secretary-bent-over-the-desk bad-porn fantasy of hers.
But in the dream his hand hovered between her legs, barely palming her through her underwear, the nearness of him an ache that went hot and deep. And then he explained to her exactly what he was going to do. His voice was like whiskey and molten metal and his breathing came ragged and uneven as he told her, steadily and specifically, how he was going to make her feel. Until she was reeling, shaking with need, and then still murmuring he leaned in to her, and the smell of him was intoxicating, was everywhere, the air around him was a current and her body was a live wire, and the roughness of his jaw and his hard, sweet mouth, barely brushing hers, sent her soaring --
Which was where it always ended.
When she was lucky, she woke up with her heart pounding in her ears, the sheets tangled damply around her thighs and a lingering hum in the pit of her belly. When she wasn't, she was shuttled seamlessly off into another dream: something in the Close, But No Cigar category. Like she'd be fording the Amazon in a bikini, or riding a rumbling, clattering train through the air high over Mulholland.
Or in another one, she was in New York and James Rhodes was her date to the Tony awards. "Oh, hilarious," she said, aloud, when her eyes opened after that one.
It didn't change anything, though. It was just a dream. She wrote up Tony's schedules, filed his press clippings, ordered his takeout: it was normal. Even this one time when he paged her down to help him with something. Whatever he was working on was small but intricate, a hard casing around a series of tiny valves.
"You just need me to hold it?"
"Just for a second, and stay out of the light. I can't get it to clamp at the right angle, and I need both hands to get leverage on the wrench. Here -- goggles, gloves. Not that I'm gonna be burning anything, but, you know. Things go flying. All right. Can you rest your elbows on the table? To keep steady."
"If you're just trying to look down my blouse," Pepper said, eyeing him.
"Potts, I don't need to concoct elaborate engineering schemes to look down your blouse," Tony said, giving her a look of wounded innocence. "That is why I have all those security cameras."
"Fine," said Pepper, and leaned in, tilting the thing up toward him.
"Good, now just turn it a little, so I can--" And then he said, just like he said in the dream, and his voice was rough and focused and went straight through her -- "There. Just like that."
As if he knew.
But Pepper barely even fumbled. She'd always had steady hands.
It was just a dream, and she'd just have to deal with it. That night she went to bed a little early; lay awake for a while, humming like a wire, waiting.