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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third response.mekosuchinaeMay 11 2008, 16:53:15 UTC
Tony smells of: scotch and vodka, cigarette smoke, sex. The top button of his shirt is out and the next two are misaligned, the second in the third loop and the third against his chest. Pepper doesn't ask.
Pepper: turns down the bedsheets and turns up the window screens. Finds and sets out his favorite pair of lounging shorts. Brings him a glass of water and two aspirin cradled in her palm. Feeds him the aspirin and holds the glass for him to drink, and doesn't comment, doesn't ask, when he takes the glass from her and smashes it on the floor.
Tony stands out of the chair with a certain degree of drunken grace. Strips off his shirt or tries to; his fingers fumble on the buttons. Pepper slips her hands beneath his and picks the buttons out one by one, then turns as he turns to peel the shirt from his back. This close to his skin she can smell: ash, exhaust, the thick, sour tang of sweat and dirt underlying the sharper smells of sex and drink. Her fingers brush his nape.
In the dark she can no longer see: the fading bruises, the row of stitches that curves along his spine, the burns on his shoulders from the suit. She doesn't need light to know them. Pepper says: "I've rescheduled your interview with GQ for Thursday and I've moved the press conference to the afternoon. Jarvis has reset your alarm for ten; if you need him to wake you any earlier, just ask."
Tony says: "Thank you, Miss Potts." He tosses his pants aside. The muscles low in his back are tight, visibly tense even in the shadows of his room.
Pepper folds his shirt over her arm. "Will you be needing anything else, Mr Stark?"
They are still close enough for her to smell the sweat on his back, the grime on his shoulders, the sex smells at his throat, the scotch on his breath. Close enough for Tony to reach for her and cup her cheek in his hand. Pass his thumb across the slight swell of her upper lip, curl his finger down her cheek. He is very close to her and very warm, and when he reaches for her with his other hand, she steps away. One step. Two.
Tony's hand drops to his side. He says: "That will be all, Miss Potts."
Pepper: closes the door gently behind her. Deposits his shirt in the nearest laundry chute. Asks Jarvis to alert her if Tony tries to leave or breaks something sharp or finds something else to drink in his room. Asks him to ready a pot of coffee for her.
The house is dark; the lights are dim; the night before her, long. Pepper sets up her laptop on the low glass table in the living room. She smells faintly of smoke and sweat and scotch and Tony, and when she breathes him in, she thinks she can smell the sharp, cold scent of metal underneath it all.
Re: third response.destroMay 11 2008, 19:53:59 UTC
The style on this one is aces, but oh holy god:
She smells faintly of smoke and sweat and scotch and Tony, and when she breathes him in, she thinks she can smell the sharp, cold scent of metal underneath it all.
That was one delicious gut punch, ma'am.
Cripes, I think you were made to write them, I swear.
Re: third response.virusqMay 12 2008, 15:26:25 UTC
She smells faintly of smoke and sweat and scotch and Tony, and when she breathes him in, she thinks she can smell the sharp, cold scent of metal underneath it all.
Re: third response.obsession_incMay 20 2008, 02:06:00 UTC
Close enough for Tony to reach for her and cup her cheek in his hand. Pass his thumb across the slight swell of her upper lip, curl his finger down her cheek. He is very close to her and very warm, and when he reaches for her with his other hand, she steps away. One step. Two.
Pepper: turns down the bedsheets and turns up the window screens. Finds and sets out his favorite pair of lounging shorts. Brings him a glass of water and two aspirin cradled in her palm. Feeds him the aspirin and holds the glass for him to drink, and doesn't comment, doesn't ask, when he takes the glass from her and smashes it on the floor.
Tony stands out of the chair with a certain degree of drunken grace. Strips off his shirt or tries to; his fingers fumble on the buttons. Pepper slips her hands beneath his and picks the buttons out one by one, then turns as he turns to peel the shirt from his back. This close to his skin she can smell: ash, exhaust, the thick, sour tang of sweat and dirt underlying the sharper smells of sex and drink. Her fingers brush his nape.
In the dark she can no longer see: the fading bruises, the row of stitches that curves along his spine, the burns on his shoulders from the suit. She doesn't need light to know them. Pepper says: "I've rescheduled your interview with GQ for Thursday and I've moved the press conference to the afternoon. Jarvis has reset your alarm for ten; if you need him to wake you any earlier, just ask."
Tony says: "Thank you, Miss Potts." He tosses his pants aside. The muscles low in his back are tight, visibly tense even in the shadows of his room.
Pepper folds his shirt over her arm. "Will you be needing anything else, Mr Stark?"
They are still close enough for her to smell the sweat on his back, the grime on his shoulders, the sex smells at his throat, the scotch on his breath. Close enough for Tony to reach for her and cup her cheek in his hand. Pass his thumb across the slight swell of her upper lip, curl his finger down her cheek. He is very close to her and very warm, and when he reaches for her with his other hand, she steps away. One step. Two.
Tony's hand drops to his side. He says: "That will be all, Miss Potts."
Pepper: closes the door gently behind her. Deposits his shirt in the nearest laundry chute. Asks Jarvis to alert her if Tony tries to leave or breaks something sharp or finds something else to drink in his room. Asks him to ready a pot of coffee for her.
The house is dark; the lights are dim; the night before her, long. Pepper sets up her laptop on the low glass table in the living room. She smells faintly of smoke and sweat and scotch and Tony, and when she breathes him in, she thinks she can smell the sharp, cold scent of metal underneath it all.
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She smells faintly of smoke and sweat and scotch and Tony, and when she breathes him in, she thinks she can smell the sharp, cold scent of metal underneath it all.
That was one delicious gut punch, ma'am.
Cripes, I think you were made to write them, I swear.
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Thank you. :)
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Thank you. ♥
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*passes out*
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Oh holy sweet merciful God. ::whimpers::
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(Read: speechless)
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