Theme 84 - Relax
Title: Massage
Author: ZionAngel
Theme: 84 - Relax
Rating: … I’m gonna go ahead and say R
Length: 1318 words
Summary: Sitting hunched over a laptop has a wide range of unpleasant consequences.
AN: I swear on my life, I swear on Howard and Maria Stark’s graves that I am not abandoning this story. I love it. However, I just got a job, so no more free Tuesdays and Thursdays for me. :( That’s not going to help my posting speed any. But I do apologize, and I am doing my best to update as fast as I can.
The media is having a fucking field day.
It was one thing to know that the man in the metal suit was a famed billionaire, to catch just a glimpse of the suit’s strength and capabilities in a fight whose true details they did not know. But to know that that man and that suit had flown halfway around the world (she really hated that they were smart enough to check his jet’s flight record, and deduce that it played no part in his recent heroics) in near record-time, to know that it had destroyed a sizable arsenal of illegal weapons with some of the most sophisticated technology in the world, and to even have some shaky footage of the battle… well, that was another story entirely.
True, Iron Man’s existence and Tony’s little extra-curricular activity was not exactly new information, so there were slightly fewer phone calls, voice messages and emails to deal with than there were after the initial press conference. The difference, however, is so minute that Pepper doesn’t even care.
Most of the time, she’s glad the PR department has so much faith in her to handle Tony’s image with minimal help or interference. She knows him better than anyone else, and is best equipped to keep his image positive in light of even the worst incidents. But then there are times like these when that trust results in hundreds of reporters, journalists, tabloid writers and all manner of outside companies and investors scrambling for the scoop on what really happened, and what it all means. Normally, she would redirect about half of the inquiries to the PR department - but she doesn’t trust them to handle this the way she knows it needs to be handled.
And thus she finds herself, sitting on the ottoman in the living room, hunched over her laptop, Bluetooth headset securely in her left ear, with the TV on and Jarvis scanning channels for any word of Tony’s activities. She’s been multitasking at maximum efficiency all morning, and unfortunately, it’s beginning to take its toll. Sitting in this same position for the last four hours has been murder on her neck and shoulders, and as strong as her focus is, the pain is starting to break through.
She links her fingers behind her back and stretches just as Tony comes upstairs. “What have you been doing all morning?” she questions, admittedly to ensure that she’s not the only one working herself to death right now. She refrains from adding, “Besides making my life a living hell yet again.” Instead, she brings her hands up to rub her neck.
“Crunching numbers,” he offers absently, coming up to her. “Figuring out some new applications for the arc reactor.”
But she never hears his answer, because as he speaks the words, he brushes her hair away from her neck, and suddenly there are strong, intense fingers rubbing little circles into the muscles between her neck and shoulders.
She sighs involuntarily, her arms and neck going instantly limp as he presses his fingers deeper into her flesh. The sensation is so suddenly and insistently amazing and the soreness falls away from each muscle almost before he reaches it. She feels almost as if she’s melting into a little puddle of warmth, and for a moment, she’s afraid her laptop will fall to the floor, but her legs remain steady even as they relax.
“Pepper, you really should just watch TV in your office. You keep hunching over your laptop like this you’ll kill your neck.”
It’s not as if he’s never touched her before - he has. They’ve shared friendly, comforting hugs many times, especially since his return from Afghanistan, they’ve danced, they’ve casually touched each other on the arm or shoulder countless times. But he’s never touched her so closely, so… intimately, when one of them wasn’t under emotional stress. This is completely out of the blue, completely unwarranted, something he really shouldn’t be doing, certainly not without asking her first… but even if she could manage coherent speech at this moment, the last word she would ever say is stop.
After a few moments, she vaguely realizes that her eyes have slipped shut, and the warmth and relaxation of his hands is seeping through her body, lower and lower. Unfortunately, the collar of her shirt is high, so he can’t actually touch her skin, and she wishes the fabric would simply disappear. And in her dizzy, half-focused mind, she wishes his hands would move elsewhere, massage further down her body, the fabric vanishing along the way so he could touch her everywhere. She wishes he would let his hands drift lower, to the front of her body, dipping down between her legs where those unspeakably strong fingers could rub the same firm circles at her core until she comes in his arms -
It’s with that thought, the tightening in her chest and another breathless sigh that she realizes how arousing his simple touch is, how quickly and easily he is affecting her. She feels her nipples hardening uncomfortably, the wet heat between her legs. Her eyes flash around the room in panic, but she can’t help the mental image of the two of them, fused together as they make love on the couch, and she can almost feel him inside her as he thrusts, driving them both closer and closer -
“We’re going to a dinner party tomorrow night,” she blurts suddenly, desperate for anything to burn the images from her mind and quell the lust now coursing through her veins.
It works. His fingers freeze where they are, barely touching her shoulders.
She swallows hard and sits up straight so that his hands fall away. “One of the better investors is hosting, several of his guests are other investors who have lost some faith in the company, and one or two fairly influential reporters. We need to go and boost a little morale.” She clears her throat, hesitating before she turns to look at him over her shoulder. He’s watching her suspiciously, a bit angrily, through narrowed eyes, and after a moment, he huffs a little. He turns slowly, still eyeing her until the last moment, and slowly heads off in the direction of the kitchen. “Tony,” Pepper calls in a warning tone, still business-minded despite her arousal. “I’m not letting you out of this.”
“And I’m not letting you forget, Miss Potts, that this will be war,” he tosses over his shoulder, completely serious but with a slight hint of teasing in his tone. “I’m warning you in advance, Potts, you’re going to have a hell of a time getting me to behave myself.”
She has a quick flash of the two of them dancing, his arms wrapped tightly but comfortably around her waist, the other squeezing her hand firmly.
“It starts at 7:30,” she yells back as he disappears around a corner, trying to sound unfettered. And then he’s gone, leaving her to fully release the breath she’d been holding. She suddenly realizes just how badly this could turn out. Sure, maybe Tony’s just giving her a hard time because she’s dragging him to this, but maybe he could be a royal pain in the ass, hitting on anything in high heels (which may or may not include Pepper herself), and doing far more harm than good to the company’s image among these few, influential people. And then -
Well, last time, he had only agreed to behave himself on the promise of dances with her. And if his little massage was any indication, that could land her in some very embarrassing trouble. But really, no matter what he does or says, or how what he expects in return for playing nice, he has no choice but to go, and that means that she has no choice either.
Tomorrow is going to be a long night.