FIC: "Drive" (4/?) - Iron Man (movieverse), Tony/Pepper, R
"Drive"
Written for the Valentine's challenge at its_always_been . See master page for prompts, author's notes, and previous/subsequent chapters.
Bonus author's notes: I'm still not entirely happy with this chapter. I find Rhodey a really difficult character to get a handle on (which is why I usually don't write him), but having Tony spend an entire scene talking to himself would have been sad and boring, so there you go.
This chapter rated PG-13. Abandon hope of sex, all ye who enter here.
Now that I've really sold it, enjoy.
4. Hold and Hide
The following evening, after work, they’re in the back of the Bentley. Tony is headed home, and Pepper is off to an awards gala, to accept an environmental stewardship award on behalf of the company. One of the best things about her taking over as CEO is that Tony gets to skip out of these kinds of ridiculous, self-congratulatory events. Pepper is an excellent public speaker: perfectly pitched, devastatingly poised, and charmingly earnest and forthright, as Tony imagines a high school valedictorian might be. She writes her own speeches, deliberating over every single word. And she never deviates from the script.
Tony is slouched over his phone, half-heartedly skimming a research article with the thrilling title Validation of Genetically Engineered Bioluminescent Surfactant Resistant Bacteria as Toxicity Assessment Tools. He knows that he needs to get up to speed on developments in the field, but organic chemistry bores him to tears. He’s also still a little cranky about being kicked out of a warm and comfortable bed for no good reason.
Pepper, supremely indifferent to his annoyance, is reviewing her speaking notes. She’s dressed to the nines, wrapped in a length of fluid emerald silk: sleeveless and backless, with a wide waistband and asymmetrical hem, the dress seems to have been hand-molded to her curves. It’s the kind of dress that imparts a sense of the miraculous, a feeling of higher purpose. A silver pendant and a pair of sleek silver sandals completes the ensemble. Her hair cascades over her shoulders and down her back in an amber curtain of curls; he can still remember the soft brush of it against his face, his chest.
She’s looking enviably fresh and well-rested-she clearly had no trouble getting back to sleep after Tony’s departure. She pulls a pen out of her bag and makes a decisive note in the margin of card number three, reminding herself to pause for effect.
Happy, in the driver’s seat, is in black tie; he’s working security detail for Pepper this evening. His tux is slightly creased, and the jacket sleeves are far too short. He looks a bit like a costumed circus bear, but he’s grinning like he’s going to prom with the head cheerleader.
Tony remarks, in a conversational tone, “That pizza last night was pretty good.”
“Mm,” says Pepper, neutrally. She frowns at the card in her hand, absently pokes her lower lip with the pen.
“Didn’t you think so?”
“Yes, it was fine.”
“Fine?” He’s mildly insulted. Fine is a word he’s heard Pepper use to describe a five-hour budget meeting, or coffee from a convenience store. Fine is, frankly, a horrifying prospect. “You don’t think it was the best pizza you’ve ever had?”
She puts the cards down and meets his gaze with a stony glare, her clear eyes picking up some of the vibrant green of the dress.
“I bet it was at least in the top five,” he adds.
“It was fine,” she repeats. “Before I forget, did you ever send those technical schematics to Roger in R & D? I don’t think he got them.”
“You had seconds,” he points out.
“You offered.” Her lips curve in that secret little smile. “It seemed only polite.”
He’s suddenly engulfed by a sense memory-one in which Pepper is groaning and sweaty and demanding and anything but polite. In which everything in the world that she could possibly want is located in the sound of his voice, the movement of his body against hers. In which the only word she has breath for is his name.
“Tony.” She’s prodding him with the end of her pen now, irritated.
“Hm?”
“Technical schematics,” she repeats.
“Right. I’m on it.” He shifts a few things around on the phone’s virtual desktop, exports the documents in question.
“We also need to talk about when you’re going to make the unbitrium announcement.”
“Starkium,” he corrects absently.
“Unbitrium for now.”
Tony scowls. “It’s my element. I discovered it-actually, my father discovered it, but I synthesized it, so I get to name it. End of discussion.”
“Until IUPAC has a chance to convene and review your report-”
“I know you’re jealous, Potts, but I offered to name it after you. You refused.”
“You can’t name it after me. I’m not a scientist, I’m not a place, and I’m certainly not a mythological concept.”
“That dress is a mythological concept. You look amazing.”
He watches as the colour blossoms in her cheeks before blooming across her chest and back.
“You should talk to the boys in R & D, they mythologize you pretty much non-stop.”
“Be that as it may,” she says evenly.
“I sent those drawings to Roger weeks ago, he just wanted an excuse to call you.”
“The announcement-”
“Is it so much to ask that I get to have one thing named after me before I die?”
“You have a whole company named after you.”
“After my dad. Not me.”
“That bar in West Hollywood named a shot after you.”
He’d forgotten about that-Bacardi 151 and blue curacao and some other toxic chemicals, flamed in a shot glass. “You’re right, Potts. Now I can die, knowing that my legacy will live on.”
He means it as a joke, but Pepper doesn’t laugh.
“I named a cactus after you once,” she muses.
“You did? That’s… huh. Why?”
“I guess it just reminded me of you for some reason.” She reaches over, and as her hand nears his face he catches the familiar top-notes of her perfume-crisp and slightly alcoholic, cucumber vodka with a hint of citrus. She slowly traces the manicured line of his beard with a single fingernail, sending a jolt down his spine and straight to his groin. “Probably because it was prickly,” she adds.
Tony is too stunned to reply at first. Pepper rarely touches him when they’re in public-and then only supportively, never seductively.
“You’ll have to point it out to me,” he says finally. “Next time I’m over at your place.”
“It died, actually.”
Tony has no idea what to do with that information, so instead he opts for a change of subject. “Think there’ll be dancing at this thing?”
“Maybe. Too bad you’re not coming. I’d like to see you bust a move.” With a cheeky smile, she teases, “You must have at least one.”
“Oh, I’ve got moves, Potts. I’ve got moves the likes of which you’ve never seen.”
“I believe it,” she replies, still smiling. She puts a hand to her chest, fingers brushing over a slight abrasion that is almost certainly the work of Tony’s goatee, and he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Among other places.
As the car pulls into Tony’s drive, he remarks, “I’m not doing anything tonight, and that dress is too good to waste-why don’t we cut Happy a break?” He’s already picturing her sprawled across his bed, wearing nothing but those silver heels. “I’ll come by and pick you up later.”
Pepper’s smile dims slightly, and Tony finds himself talking faster now, the words spilling out before he has time to reconsider.
“I’ll take you out for drinks-something to eat, too, if you want. Maybe dancing after.” He grins. His face still feels uncomfortably hot. “I’ll show you all my moves.”
Happy abruptly yanks the door open on Tony’s side of the car, with rather more enthusiasm than is warranted-it’s all Tony can do to keep from tumbling out into the driveway.
Tony is still watching Pepper’s face, but it’s like trying to get a read on a marble statue. In the dark. With both hands tied behind his back. She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again without saying anything.
“Have a good night, sir!” shouts Happy, in case Tony has somehow managed not to notice that they’re idling at his front step with the car door hanging open.
“What do you think?” Tony prompts.
“I think I’ll stick to the plan,” says Pepper, softly. “But thanks for the offer.”
Tony gives a calculated shrug, and slides out of the car. “Have fun,” he says, in a tone that suggests he thinks it a highly unlikely prospect.
“Good night,” she replies.
As soon as Tony clears the door, Happy snaps it shut again and climbs back behind the wheel without further comment.
Tony stands on his front step and watches, feeling vaguely unsettled, as the car’s brake lights dim and disappear.
*
An hour later, Tony has a double scotch on the rocks in his hand, his bare feet up on the coffee table. The pizza-actual pizza, with sausage and green peppers and extra cheese-arrives at the same time that Rhodey does.
Rhodey-who makes it a point never to show up empty-handed, even when the invitation comes at short notice-has brought both imported and domestic fare: German beer and American potato chips, respectively. They fire up the Xbox, the spectre of the green dress fades away, and before too long Tony starts to feel real again.
It was a dumb thing to do, he tells himself-talking to her like that, with Happy standing right there. Pepper made it clear from the start that she wanted to keep their extra-curricular activities strictly on the down-low; regardless of how she was dressed, she was still on the clock, still had an image to maintain. What the hell was she supposed to say?
He and Rhodey are knee deep in Call of Duty: Black Ops before Tony asks, “Have you ever done the friends with benefits thing?”
“You better be talking about a woman,” says Rhodey, executing a skillful sniper shot. “Cause there ain’t enough beer in this whole damn state.”
“Hey, soldier. I won’t ask if you won’t tell.” Tony scoots over to Rhodey’s end of the couch and bats his eyes flirtatiously.
Without taking his eyes off the screen, Rhodey snaps out a hand and shoves Tony away. “Stop trying to killjack me, man.”
They play through to the end of the mission, trash-talking each other all the while, before Rhodey picks up the dropped thread.
“So… you and Pepper-”
Tony suddenly realizes that he’s on the verge of breaking Rule Number Four. “It’s not Pepper,” he interjects.
Rhodey looks distinctly nonplussed. “The hell you say.”
“It’s someone else. You don’t know her.”
“Uh-huh.” The soldier’s tone is skeptical. “You have a friend that I don’t know. A female friend.”
“Hey!” It’s true that Tony doesn’t have many friends, mostly because there aren’t a lot of people he genuinely trusts-and his interactions with women do tend to have a relatively narrow focus. But when Rhodey says it like that, it makes him sound like he couldn’t get a date at a women’s correctional facility. “There were about a hundred girls at my last birthday party alone.”
“True. But they weren’t your friends.”
“I know a lot of people,” Tony protests. “I could have female friends.”
“You could. But you don’t.”
“You know what?” Tony tosses his controller down-it skids clear across the coffee table before crashing to the floor. “Forget it. You’re right. I’m an entitled asshole. I’m lucky I have any friends at all.”
Rhodey shuts off the Xbox, then leans over and places his own controller on the table. “We about done?” he inquires, lethally cool. He settles into the couch, one arm slung over the back, watching and waiting.
Tony opens another beer and passes it to his friend. It’s about as close to an apology as he usually gets. Rhodey accepts it with a nod.
“So you and this woman… there’s no money involved, right?”
“No!” Tony has never paid for sex in his life, and he’s a little insulted that Rhodey feels the need to ask. There are times when he seems to think Tony is still fifteen years old and in need of a mentor. “It’s nothing like that. She just asked me not to talk about it.”
“Of course she did. So naturally, the first thing you do is tell me.”
“I said forget it.”
“Okay. On an unrelated topic, how are things going with Pepper?”
“They aren’t going.”
“I thought you two had a thing.”
“So did I. Maybe she didn’t take kindly to being compared to a semi-aquatic marine mammal.”
“I told you I was sorry about that. I just saw you guys arguing, figured I’d stay out of it. But I didn’t think that was the direction you were gonna take it in. I wanted you to know I was there before things got too involved. It was the only thing I could think of to say.”
“Yeah, thanks a million for that one.”
“Pepper seemed pretty happy with how things played out.”
“She did, didn’t she? And that’s what I don’t get.” Tony replays the scene over in his mind: the way she froze in utter shock the moment their mouths collided, arms hanging awkwardly at her sides like a doll; the way her knees buckled a little, causing her to stumble forward; the way she finally, finally responded, her mouth opening to his, her hands moving over the front of the suit-caressing it like it was just another part of him. “That kiss was like-I don’t know, it was like-”
“I know what it was like. I was there,” Rhodey reminds him. “So what happened?”
“I don’t know. We got back to the penthouse, and she said she thought we should sleep on it. Alone.”
Rhodey says nothing, but his look is sympathetic and understanding. Tony hates that look.
“The next morning, she said she didn’t think it was a good idea. And… that was it. She wouldn’t tell me why. She wouldn’t reconsider. Just ‘not a good idea.’ End of discussion. That was it. And then the other day, out of nowhere, we’re sitting by the pool, and she…”
He’d made a suggestive comment-Is it hot out here or is it just you?-and Pepper had put down her notepad and retorted, You’re all talk and no action, Tony Stark. And just like that, they were making rules and she was giving him that look and it was a done deal.
“What?” Rhodey prompts.
Tony gives his head a shake. “Nothing.”
“I tried it once,” volunteers Rhodey. “The friends with benefits thing.”
“Who-”
“Hey, man.” The soldier throws up his hands in the time-honoured gesture of neutrality. “First rule of Fight Club. Right?”
“Okay, no identifying details, but-come on. You have to give me something.”
“Another officer. I met her back in flight school.”
Tony waits, but Rhodey doesn’t volunteer anything further. “And?” he prompts.
“It was good for a while, but then it just got complicated.”
Tony looks at his friend curiously. The soldier has never lacked for female companionship, thanks to a combination of good looks and easy charm (the uniform probably doesn’t hurt either), but he and Tony have always had markedly dissimilar preferences when it came to both the length and the depth of their associations. “Complicated how?”
“It wasn’t fun anymore. She wanted more, and I liked things the way they were. We didn’t have enough in common for that. We only ever connected in bed.”
“But the sex was good?”
“While it lasted? Oh yeah.”
“Did you have rules?”
“Not really. It was more like a… standing arrangement. Tuesday nights.”
“Your Tuesday night poker game at the base?”
Rhodey smiles.
“That’s why you never let me crash,” muses Tony.
“No, there really is a poker game. And I go sometimes. But I don’t play cards for money with a man who cheats.”
“I don’t cheat.”
“Bullshit. I’ve been to Vegas with you, man. I have seen you cheat.”
“Being familiar with the laws of probability is not cheating.”
“You don’t even have to cheat, that’s what kills me about it. And you sure as shit don’t need the money.”
Tony shrugs. The truth of the matter is that he cheats because it makes things more interesting. “Gran Turismo 5?” he suggests, around a mouthful of pizza. “Unless you think I’m going to cheat.”
“I’ll still kick your ass,” retorts Rhodey, picking up the controller again.
After a few laps, Rhodey observes, “I believe you when you say it’s not Pepper.”
Studiedly casual, Tony inquires, “Why’s that?”
Rhodey leans sharply to the right: it always amazes Tony how, in spite of decades of flight experience and tens of thousands of hours logged in state-of-the-art simulators, the lieutenant colonel still plays every driving game like he’s a kid at the go-kart races. “She would know you well enough to know you can’t keep your damn mouth shut about anything. If you were really sleeping with her, you’d have taken out a billboard or blurted it out at a press conference.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How big of an asshole do you think I am? I would never do something so stupid.” Tony pauses for effect before adding, “No one reads billboards anymore.”
Written for the Valentine's challenge at its_always_been . See master page for prompts, author's notes, and previous/subsequent chapters.
Bonus author's notes: I'm still not entirely happy with this chapter. I find Rhodey a really difficult character to get a handle on (which is why I usually don't write him), but having Tony spend an entire scene talking to himself would have been sad and boring, so there you go.
This chapter rated PG-13. Abandon hope of sex, all ye who enter here.
Now that I've really sold it, enjoy.
4. Hold and Hide
The following evening, after work, they’re in the back of the Bentley. Tony is headed home, and Pepper is off to an awards gala, to accept an environmental stewardship award on behalf of the company. One of the best things about her taking over as CEO is that Tony gets to skip out of these kinds of ridiculous, self-congratulatory events. Pepper is an excellent public speaker: perfectly pitched, devastatingly poised, and charmingly earnest and forthright, as Tony imagines a high school valedictorian might be. She writes her own speeches, deliberating over every single word. And she never deviates from the script.
Tony is slouched over his phone, half-heartedly skimming a research article with the thrilling title Validation of Genetically Engineered Bioluminescent Surfactant Resistant Bacteria as Toxicity Assessment Tools. He knows that he needs to get up to speed on developments in the field, but organic chemistry bores him to tears. He’s also still a little cranky about being kicked out of a warm and comfortable bed for no good reason.
Pepper, supremely indifferent to his annoyance, is reviewing her speaking notes. She’s dressed to the nines, wrapped in a length of fluid emerald silk: sleeveless and backless, with a wide waistband and asymmetrical hem, the dress seems to have been hand-molded to her curves. It’s the kind of dress that imparts a sense of the miraculous, a feeling of higher purpose. A silver pendant and a pair of sleek silver sandals completes the ensemble. Her hair cascades over her shoulders and down her back in an amber curtain of curls; he can still remember the soft brush of it against his face, his chest.
She’s looking enviably fresh and well-rested-she clearly had no trouble getting back to sleep after Tony’s departure. She pulls a pen out of her bag and makes a decisive note in the margin of card number three, reminding herself to pause for effect.
Happy, in the driver’s seat, is in black tie; he’s working security detail for Pepper this evening. His tux is slightly creased, and the jacket sleeves are far too short. He looks a bit like a costumed circus bear, but he’s grinning like he’s going to prom with the head cheerleader.
Tony remarks, in a conversational tone, “That pizza last night was pretty good.”
“Mm,” says Pepper, neutrally. She frowns at the card in her hand, absently pokes her lower lip with the pen.
“Didn’t you think so?”
“Yes, it was fine.”
“Fine?” He’s mildly insulted. Fine is a word he’s heard Pepper use to describe a five-hour budget meeting, or coffee from a convenience store. Fine is, frankly, a horrifying prospect. “You don’t think it was the best pizza you’ve ever had?”
She puts the cards down and meets his gaze with a stony glare, her clear eyes picking up some of the vibrant green of the dress.
“I bet it was at least in the top five,” he adds.
“It was fine,” she repeats. “Before I forget, did you ever send those technical schematics to Roger in R & D? I don’t think he got them.”
“You had seconds,” he points out.
“You offered.” Her lips curve in that secret little smile. “It seemed only polite.”
He’s suddenly engulfed by a sense memory-one in which Pepper is groaning and sweaty and demanding and anything but polite. In which everything in the world that she could possibly want is located in the sound of his voice, the movement of his body against hers. In which the only word she has breath for is his name.
“Tony.” She’s prodding him with the end of her pen now, irritated.
“Hm?”
“Technical schematics,” she repeats.
“Right. I’m on it.” He shifts a few things around on the phone’s virtual desktop, exports the documents in question.
“We also need to talk about when you’re going to make the unbitrium announcement.”
“Starkium,” he corrects absently.
“Unbitrium for now.”
Tony scowls. “It’s my element. I discovered it-actually, my father discovered it, but I synthesized it, so I get to name it. End of discussion.”
“Until IUPAC has a chance to convene and review your report-”
“I know you’re jealous, Potts, but I offered to name it after you. You refused.”
“You can’t name it after me. I’m not a scientist, I’m not a place, and I’m certainly not a mythological concept.”
“That dress is a mythological concept. You look amazing.”
He watches as the colour blossoms in her cheeks before blooming across her chest and back.
“You should talk to the boys in R & D, they mythologize you pretty much non-stop.”
“Be that as it may,” she says evenly.
“I sent those drawings to Roger weeks ago, he just wanted an excuse to call you.”
“The announcement-”
“Is it so much to ask that I get to have one thing named after me before I die?”
“You have a whole company named after you.”
“After my dad. Not me.”
“That bar in West Hollywood named a shot after you.”
He’d forgotten about that-Bacardi 151 and blue curacao and some other toxic chemicals, flamed in a shot glass. “You’re right, Potts. Now I can die, knowing that my legacy will live on.”
He means it as a joke, but Pepper doesn’t laugh.
“I named a cactus after you once,” she muses.
“You did? That’s… huh. Why?”
“I guess it just reminded me of you for some reason.” She reaches over, and as her hand nears his face he catches the familiar top-notes of her perfume-crisp and slightly alcoholic, cucumber vodka with a hint of citrus. She slowly traces the manicured line of his beard with a single fingernail, sending a jolt down his spine and straight to his groin. “Probably because it was prickly,” she adds.
Tony is too stunned to reply at first. Pepper rarely touches him when they’re in public-and then only supportively, never seductively.
“You’ll have to point it out to me,” he says finally. “Next time I’m over at your place.”
“It died, actually.”
Tony has no idea what to do with that information, so instead he opts for a change of subject. “Think there’ll be dancing at this thing?”
“Maybe. Too bad you’re not coming. I’d like to see you bust a move.” With a cheeky smile, she teases, “You must have at least one.”
“Oh, I’ve got moves, Potts. I’ve got moves the likes of which you’ve never seen.”
“I believe it,” she replies, still smiling. She puts a hand to her chest, fingers brushing over a slight abrasion that is almost certainly the work of Tony’s goatee, and he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. Among other places.
As the car pulls into Tony’s drive, he remarks, “I’m not doing anything tonight, and that dress is too good to waste-why don’t we cut Happy a break?” He’s already picturing her sprawled across his bed, wearing nothing but those silver heels. “I’ll come by and pick you up later.”
Pepper’s smile dims slightly, and Tony finds himself talking faster now, the words spilling out before he has time to reconsider.
“I’ll take you out for drinks-something to eat, too, if you want. Maybe dancing after.” He grins. His face still feels uncomfortably hot. “I’ll show you all my moves.”
Happy abruptly yanks the door open on Tony’s side of the car, with rather more enthusiasm than is warranted-it’s all Tony can do to keep from tumbling out into the driveway.
Tony is still watching Pepper’s face, but it’s like trying to get a read on a marble statue. In the dark. With both hands tied behind his back. She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again without saying anything.
“Have a good night, sir!” shouts Happy, in case Tony has somehow managed not to notice that they’re idling at his front step with the car door hanging open.
“What do you think?” Tony prompts.
“I think I’ll stick to the plan,” says Pepper, softly. “But thanks for the offer.”
Tony gives a calculated shrug, and slides out of the car. “Have fun,” he says, in a tone that suggests he thinks it a highly unlikely prospect.
“Good night,” she replies.
As soon as Tony clears the door, Happy snaps it shut again and climbs back behind the wheel without further comment.
Tony stands on his front step and watches, feeling vaguely unsettled, as the car’s brake lights dim and disappear.
*
An hour later, Tony has a double scotch on the rocks in his hand, his bare feet up on the coffee table. The pizza-actual pizza, with sausage and green peppers and extra cheese-arrives at the same time that Rhodey does.
Rhodey-who makes it a point never to show up empty-handed, even when the invitation comes at short notice-has brought both imported and domestic fare: German beer and American potato chips, respectively. They fire up the Xbox, the spectre of the green dress fades away, and before too long Tony starts to feel real again.
It was a dumb thing to do, he tells himself-talking to her like that, with Happy standing right there. Pepper made it clear from the start that she wanted to keep their extra-curricular activities strictly on the down-low; regardless of how she was dressed, she was still on the clock, still had an image to maintain. What the hell was she supposed to say?
He and Rhodey are knee deep in Call of Duty: Black Ops before Tony asks, “Have you ever done the friends with benefits thing?”
“You better be talking about a woman,” says Rhodey, executing a skillful sniper shot. “Cause there ain’t enough beer in this whole damn state.”
“Hey, soldier. I won’t ask if you won’t tell.” Tony scoots over to Rhodey’s end of the couch and bats his eyes flirtatiously.
Without taking his eyes off the screen, Rhodey snaps out a hand and shoves Tony away. “Stop trying to killjack me, man.”
They play through to the end of the mission, trash-talking each other all the while, before Rhodey picks up the dropped thread.
“So… you and Pepper-”
Tony suddenly realizes that he’s on the verge of breaking Rule Number Four. “It’s not Pepper,” he interjects.
Rhodey looks distinctly nonplussed. “The hell you say.”
“It’s someone else. You don’t know her.”
“Uh-huh.” The soldier’s tone is skeptical. “You have a friend that I don’t know. A female friend.”
“Hey!” It’s true that Tony doesn’t have many friends, mostly because there aren’t a lot of people he genuinely trusts-and his interactions with women do tend to have a relatively narrow focus. But when Rhodey says it like that, it makes him sound like he couldn’t get a date at a women’s correctional facility. “There were about a hundred girls at my last birthday party alone.”
“True. But they weren’t your friends.”
“I know a lot of people,” Tony protests. “I could have female friends.”
“You could. But you don’t.”
“You know what?” Tony tosses his controller down-it skids clear across the coffee table before crashing to the floor. “Forget it. You’re right. I’m an entitled asshole. I’m lucky I have any friends at all.”
Rhodey shuts off the Xbox, then leans over and places his own controller on the table. “We about done?” he inquires, lethally cool. He settles into the couch, one arm slung over the back, watching and waiting.
Tony opens another beer and passes it to his friend. It’s about as close to an apology as he usually gets. Rhodey accepts it with a nod.
“So you and this woman… there’s no money involved, right?”
“No!” Tony has never paid for sex in his life, and he’s a little insulted that Rhodey feels the need to ask. There are times when he seems to think Tony is still fifteen years old and in need of a mentor. “It’s nothing like that. She just asked me not to talk about it.”
“Of course she did. So naturally, the first thing you do is tell me.”
“I said forget it.”
“Okay. On an unrelated topic, how are things going with Pepper?”
“They aren’t going.”
“I thought you two had a thing.”
“So did I. Maybe she didn’t take kindly to being compared to a semi-aquatic marine mammal.”
“I told you I was sorry about that. I just saw you guys arguing, figured I’d stay out of it. But I didn’t think that was the direction you were gonna take it in. I wanted you to know I was there before things got too involved. It was the only thing I could think of to say.”
“Yeah, thanks a million for that one.”
“Pepper seemed pretty happy with how things played out.”
“She did, didn’t she? And that’s what I don’t get.” Tony replays the scene over in his mind: the way she froze in utter shock the moment their mouths collided, arms hanging awkwardly at her sides like a doll; the way her knees buckled a little, causing her to stumble forward; the way she finally, finally responded, her mouth opening to his, her hands moving over the front of the suit-caressing it like it was just another part of him. “That kiss was like-I don’t know, it was like-”
“I know what it was like. I was there,” Rhodey reminds him. “So what happened?”
“I don’t know. We got back to the penthouse, and she said she thought we should sleep on it. Alone.”
Rhodey says nothing, but his look is sympathetic and understanding. Tony hates that look.
“The next morning, she said she didn’t think it was a good idea. And… that was it. She wouldn’t tell me why. She wouldn’t reconsider. Just ‘not a good idea.’ End of discussion. That was it. And then the other day, out of nowhere, we’re sitting by the pool, and she…”
He’d made a suggestive comment-Is it hot out here or is it just you?-and Pepper had put down her notepad and retorted, You’re all talk and no action, Tony Stark. And just like that, they were making rules and she was giving him that look and it was a done deal.
“What?” Rhodey prompts.
Tony gives his head a shake. “Nothing.”
“I tried it once,” volunteers Rhodey. “The friends with benefits thing.”
“Who-”
“Hey, man.” The soldier throws up his hands in the time-honoured gesture of neutrality. “First rule of Fight Club. Right?”
“Okay, no identifying details, but-come on. You have to give me something.”
“Another officer. I met her back in flight school.”
Tony waits, but Rhodey doesn’t volunteer anything further. “And?” he prompts.
“It was good for a while, but then it just got complicated.”
Tony looks at his friend curiously. The soldier has never lacked for female companionship, thanks to a combination of good looks and easy charm (the uniform probably doesn’t hurt either), but he and Tony have always had markedly dissimilar preferences when it came to both the length and the depth of their associations. “Complicated how?”
“It wasn’t fun anymore. She wanted more, and I liked things the way they were. We didn’t have enough in common for that. We only ever connected in bed.”
“But the sex was good?”
“While it lasted? Oh yeah.”
“Did you have rules?”
“Not really. It was more like a… standing arrangement. Tuesday nights.”
“Your Tuesday night poker game at the base?”
Rhodey smiles.
“That’s why you never let me crash,” muses Tony.
“No, there really is a poker game. And I go sometimes. But I don’t play cards for money with a man who cheats.”
“I don’t cheat.”
“Bullshit. I’ve been to Vegas with you, man. I have seen you cheat.”
“Being familiar with the laws of probability is not cheating.”
“You don’t even have to cheat, that’s what kills me about it. And you sure as shit don’t need the money.”
Tony shrugs. The truth of the matter is that he cheats because it makes things more interesting. “Gran Turismo 5?” he suggests, around a mouthful of pizza. “Unless you think I’m going to cheat.”
“I’ll still kick your ass,” retorts Rhodey, picking up the controller again.
After a few laps, Rhodey observes, “I believe you when you say it’s not Pepper.”
Studiedly casual, Tony inquires, “Why’s that?”
Rhodey leans sharply to the right: it always amazes Tony how, in spite of decades of flight experience and tens of thousands of hours logged in state-of-the-art simulators, the lieutenant colonel still plays every driving game like he’s a kid at the go-kart races. “She would know you well enough to know you can’t keep your damn mouth shut about anything. If you were really sleeping with her, you’d have taken out a billboard or blurted it out at a press conference.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How big of an asshole do you think I am? I would never do something so stupid.” Tony pauses for effect before adding, “No one reads billboards anymore.”