The less I say about finals, the better. Um. Distract me, please? I want to write Pepper/Tony, but I don't know what to write, exactly. So, uh... prompts, I guess? Give me a
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Isn't it lovely? I wish I could make it my wallpaper at work, but alas, I must settle for just my personal laptop.
*
Pepper wears her hair in a casual French twist, a soft mound of brass and gold tucked inside itself. Her dress is dark and cut conservatively, but the back of it slackens as she laughs. The freckles scattered across her shoulder blades flash into view - long, drifting swirls that drip down her spine - then slip away again beneath the dark chiffon of her dress.
Tony glides through a crowd of low-tier actors gathered near the largest of the buffet tables, pausing only to share a smile with a truly stunning blonde: sharp chin, sharper cheekbones, long black lashes framing eyes nearly as blue as Pepper's. If she isn't an actress, she wants to be one; if she isn't a star, she will be. He leans in as he slips by her, says, "Keep up the good work," into that long stream of white blonde hair. Three more steps and he's forgotten her face.
Pepper is adjusting her sleeve when he passes his arm around her. "Vodka martini," he says, and she jumps, hand flying to her throat. Her hair brushes his nose and sweeps across his cheek, a soft tickling that passes as quickly as she steps back.
"Tony," she says. She touches her hair. Tucks a loose strand behind her ear.
He relaxes his arm. "Enjoying the party, Miss Potts?"
"Yes, actually--oh, sorry, okay. Thank you." She takes the martini glass, her fingers smearing the condensation across the smudges he left with his own fingers.
He taps his glass against hers. "Cheers."
"Cheers," she says.
Tony downs a good third of his glass, turning to look over the room. The blonde by the buffet table wiggles her fingers at him. He takes another sip.
"So," Pepper is saying, "I thought you were talking with Miss Everhart?"
He turns back to Pepper, shifting his weight just so. Their shoulders nearly touch. "I was," he says. "I did. Extra dry, right?"
She blinks at him.
Tony lifts his martini, taps his finger against her glass. "Vodka martini. Extra dry, right?"
Her face clears; her eyes narrow. Her smile is just shy of wry. "Extra dry, yes."
"I wasn't sure how many olives. Two? Three? Two sounds about right. It's a good middle number."
"I don't really feel like olives at the moment," she says. "But thank you, Mr Stark."
"You're sure?"
"Oh, very," she says.
The lights catch on her earrings, striking deep pools in the long sapphire drops, bluer even than her eyes. She leans in close, her lips pursing as she smiles, the freckles on her cheeks bunching as her nose wrinkles. She smells very faintly of peaches. Tony wants very much to tuck his fingers behind her ear, to draw out that long wispy strand of hair curling just around the lobe.
"Don't look now," she says, "but I think you have a secret admirer."
Tony follows her gaze to the blonde.
Pepper presses her martini into his open hand. She says, "Have a good evening, Mr Stark."
He watches her as she picks her way across the floor, passing through a loose, laughing circle of shining women, and when at last he can no longer spot her hair, red as a flower, bright as a promise, he downs the rest of his martini and all of hers, then turns back to the buffet table and the sharp-faced blonde with the dull blue eyes.
There are so many little bits I love here, not the first of which is Tony's appreciative eye. I love Tony in this, how telling the details that he catches vs. the ones he chooses to forget. And man the movement from this:
...pausing only to share a smile with a truly stunning blonde: sharp chin, sharper cheekbones, long black lashes framing eyes nearly as blue as Pepper's.
to this:
...then turns back to the buffet table and the sharp-faced blonde with the dull blue eyes.
I love all of the body language and the feeling you get from what Pepper won't say out loud but what she clues into, if that makes sense at all. Brilliant.
*
Pepper wears her hair in a casual French twist, a soft mound of brass and gold tucked inside itself. Her dress is dark and cut conservatively, but the back of it slackens as she laughs. The freckles scattered across her shoulder blades flash into view - long, drifting swirls that drip down her spine - then slip away again beneath the dark chiffon of her dress.
Tony glides through a crowd of low-tier actors gathered near the largest of the buffet tables, pausing only to share a smile with a truly stunning blonde: sharp chin, sharper cheekbones, long black lashes framing eyes nearly as blue as Pepper's. If she isn't an actress, she wants to be one; if she isn't a star, she will be. He leans in as he slips by her, says, "Keep up the good work," into that long stream of white blonde hair. Three more steps and he's forgotten her face.
Pepper is adjusting her sleeve when he passes his arm around her. "Vodka martini," he says, and she jumps, hand flying to her throat. Her hair brushes his nose and sweeps across his cheek, a soft tickling that passes as quickly as she steps back.
"Tony," she says. She touches her hair. Tucks a loose strand behind her ear.
He relaxes his arm. "Enjoying the party, Miss Potts?"
"Yes, actually--oh, sorry, okay. Thank you." She takes the martini glass, her fingers smearing the condensation across the smudges he left with his own fingers.
He taps his glass against hers. "Cheers."
"Cheers," she says.
Tony downs a good third of his glass, turning to look over the room. The blonde by the buffet table wiggles her fingers at him. He takes another sip.
"So," Pepper is saying, "I thought you were talking with Miss Everhart?"
He turns back to Pepper, shifting his weight just so. Their shoulders nearly touch. "I was," he says. "I did. Extra dry, right?"
She blinks at him.
Tony lifts his martini, taps his finger against her glass. "Vodka martini. Extra dry, right?"
Her face clears; her eyes narrow. Her smile is just shy of wry. "Extra dry, yes."
"I wasn't sure how many olives. Two? Three? Two sounds about right. It's a good middle number."
"I don't really feel like olives at the moment," she says. "But thank you, Mr Stark."
"You're sure?"
"Oh, very," she says.
The lights catch on her earrings, striking deep pools in the long sapphire drops, bluer even than her eyes. She leans in close, her lips pursing as she smiles, the freckles on her cheeks bunching as her nose wrinkles. She smells very faintly of peaches. Tony wants very much to tuck his fingers behind her ear, to draw out that long wispy strand of hair curling just around the lobe.
"Don't look now," she says, "but I think you have a secret admirer."
Tony follows her gaze to the blonde.
Pepper presses her martini into his open hand. She says, "Have a good evening, Mr Stark."
He watches her as she picks her way across the floor, passing through a loose, laughing circle of shining women, and when at last he can no longer spot her hair, red as a flower, bright as a promise, he downs the rest of his martini and all of hers, then turns back to the buffet table and the sharp-faced blonde with the dull blue eyes.
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::fans self::
There are so many little bits I love here, not the first of which is Tony's appreciative eye. I love Tony in this, how telling the details that he catches vs. the ones he chooses to forget. And man the movement from this:
...pausing only to share a smile with a truly stunning blonde: sharp chin, sharper cheekbones, long black lashes framing eyes nearly as blue as Pepper's.
to this:
...then turns back to the buffet table and the sharp-faced blonde with the dull blue eyes.
Is just, guh.
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Who knew gross misinterpretation (or willful denial) of body language could be so hot. And Tony's inner monologue is just guh.
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Thanks!
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