FIC: "Drive" (6/?) - Iron Man (movieverse), Tony/Pepper, R
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: Dang, y'all. Work has been kicking my ass lately, and then last weekend I had to have some dental work done. All of which is a roundabout way of saying, sorry for the lack of updates.
I've rewritten this chapter a number of times, and I'm still not entirely satisfied. But guess what? Life goes on.
Activities of a sexy nature under the cut.
6. In the Back Seat
“What’s the plan for tonight, boss?” asks Happy.
The question startles Tony-he’s jumpier than usual, edgy with unsatisfied need.
“I don’t know.” He carefully avoids looking over at Pepper, seated beside him in the back of the limo. “Home first to change, then maybe… yeah. What was that bar in Santa Monica where we closed down the VIP room?”
“It’s just called M, sir. Like the letter.”
“Hm. Pretentious. Whatever, the girls were cute and the bartenders free pour.”
“That place has been shut down multiple times for health code violations,” Pepper observes.
“Happy has hand sanitizer, we’ll be okay.”
Tony projects a relaxed nonchalance, splaying his legs and letting his head fall back to rest against the leather seat. He gazes at the ceiling and tries to fit together the magic combination of words that will convince Pepper to go home with him. However, he’s distracted by the persistent mental image of Pepper pleasuring herself in the shower. He wants to ask her whether it’s part of her morning routine, whether it’s the reason she’s able to be so focused in her work, whether she-
It’s Happy who notices the way Pepper can’t seem to settle in her seat, the way she keeps rolling her shoulders, rubbing at her neck.
“Sore back?” asks the driver, shooting her a sympathetic glance in the rearview mirror.
She waves his concern away with a graceful flick of her long, slender wrist. “Too much time spent hunched over a desk,” she remarks.
Tony immediately pictures Pepper bent over her desk, short-skirted and spreadeagled. He places himself in the scene, and imagines walking up behind her, grabbing her by the hips, and-
“I hear that.” Happy’s reply abruptly derails Tony’s train of thought just as it was about to enter the tunnel. “Sitting in the car all day plays hell with my sciatica. You oughta get yourself one of those lumbar pillows, Pep.”
Tony scowls. That’s ‘Ms. Potts’ to you, buddy. Which is patently ridiculous; he’s never been big on formality with his staff, and Pepper and Happy have been friends for years. Besides, even if he did have any right to be jealous, there’s nothing to be jealous of.
“Maybe.” Pepper locks her fingers together and stretches her arms out in front of her until her shoulders pop loudly. She gives a satisfied little sigh, leans back, and closes her eyes.
Tony crosses his legs, shifts away from her and looks out the window.
Happy asks, “D’you sleep on your stomach?”
Tony is absurdly pleased that he already knows the answer to that question.
“Yes,” she replies, absently massaging the back of her neck. “Is that bad?”
“Probably doesn’t help. When you sleep like that, you get all out of alignment. You’re supposed to keep your spine straight.”
“Still working on that correspondance M.D. from Hollywood Upstairs Medical College, Happy?” asks Tony, smirking. He’s acutely aware that he’s being a prick.
Happy chuckles, ignoring the subtle barb. “You bet, boss. Gonna be a cosmetic surgeon-that’s where all the money is in this town.”
Tony opens his mouth to say something hilariously inappropriate, but is silenced by Pepper’s irritated look.
“I think what I need to do is start going back to yoga again,” she tells Happy. “I skipped my last couple of classes, and now I’m paying for it.”
“Oh, yeah? My physio guy recommended I look at doing some yoga. Said it’d be good for my back. Is it a good workout?”
“It isn’t what you’d call high-impact, but it’s a good tension release. Very energizing. You should come with me, if you want to check it out. I usually go on Sunday evenings.”
Tony remembers last Sunday night: Pepper’s casual clothes, the yoga mat waiting by the door. She’d skipped her class for him. At least she got her exercise, he thinks, grinning.
“Sure, okay,” says Happy, a little too quickly. He recovers with, “I mean, just to see what all the fuss is about.”
“Great. Give me a call on Sunday if you’re not busy.”
Tony interjects, “Pepper, can I bend your ear about something for a second?”
“Sure.”
“Sorry, Happy. Work stuff. NDA.” He thumbs the button to raise the privacy glass.
“No problem,” says Happy cheerfully.
Once they’re safely enclosed, Pepper turns to him expectantly. “What?”
He points out the window behind her. “Look over there.”
She twists her body, squinting at pinpoints of light through the tinted glass. “I don’t see any…” She trails off as his hands land on her shoulders.
He pushes against muscle and bone with the heels of his hands-gently at first, then gradually increasing the pressure.
“Oh,” she says. “Mm. Okay.”
He digs in with his fingers, kneading, probing, and she groans feelingly. “Maybe I should start advising my dates to stretch first,” he remarks.
“Not a date,” murmurs Pepper, but she leans into his touch just the same.
He squeezes and releases, his thumbs finding and working at the knot centred between her shoulder blades. The muscles of her shoulders and back are strong, pliable, and-most pleasingly of all-familiar. He feels her shiver a little as he strokes up along the nape of her neck; she’s sensitive there, he remembers. He rubs his fingertips over her scalp, loosening her ponytail, tilting her head forward to allow him better access to the cluster of nerves at the base of her skull. She drops her chin, and then he’s holding her head in his hand. It suddenly strikes him just how completely she must trust him: he can’t remember the last time he gave himself over to anyone so entirely, the last time he left himself so exposed. Or the last time he wanted to.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” he inquires, although he’s certain she would have let him know.
“No.” She shifts in her seat and braces her back against him, one hand curled around his knee. “It’s good. Although I can’t help but feel that you might have an ulterior motive.”
The truth is that he honestly doesn’t. While it’s possible that a small measure of certain baser feelings-jealousy, possessiveness-prompted the initial action, Tony actually isn’t trying to get somewhere. He’s satisfied just being able to touch her. It’s an unnerving realization.
“I would never be that selfish,” he replies, cheekily.
Pepper’s hand is steadily working its way up his thigh. He tells himself it’s completely accidental-the car is moving, she’s seated at an angle, she’s just trying to keep her balance. It doesn’t stop him from getting hard.
“Of course.” Her laugh is deep and throaty. “What was I thinking?”
“Although, if you’d like me to be that selfish, I’m thrilled to oblige.”
“Probably not the best idea,” she warns-in a tone of voice that suggests she believes that, in point of fact, it would be an excellent idea. “We’ve been drinking.” Her fingertips are digging into his inner thigh with definite intent now, grabbing and kneading.
He politely refrains from pointing out that the drinking happened before the evening’s first round of entertainment. “There’s a reason they call it social lubricant.”
“I think you’re misinterpreting the expression.”
“Potts.” He watches his breath raise goosebumps on her skin. “I’m gonna do things to you that they don’t even have names for.”
“I like the ones that have names,” she says, breathlessly.
“Oh, I can do those too.” He tugs her collar aside, presses his mouth to the side of her neck, and does a slow, lingering swipe along her shoulder before adding, “And we don’t have to be at work tomorrow, which means I can do them all. Night. Long.”
“Well, I can’t.” She’s unzipping his fly. He’s surprised, given all of the emphasis on discretion that has preceded this moment-but he’s not about to protest. “I have plans.”
“Gonna go home and give yourself a little shock therapy?”
Her hand slips into the opening in his shorts. “Maybe.”
“You do that a lot?”
“What, this?” Her palm is dry and she’s pulling at him, a little roughly-but it feels good. Really good.
“No, I-I mean-” He’s hunched over, almost defensively, even though the last thing he wants to do right now is shield himself from her. “God, Pepper…”
“Depends what qualifies as ‘a lot.’”
“What-what do-when you-” There’s a lot of friction and it’s too much, too fast, he can’t quite get the words out.
“What do I think about?”
He manages to produce an affirmative noise, his mouth muffled against her shoulder. He’s distantly aware that his hand is gripping her hip, holding her tight against him.
“When I’m touching myself, you mean?”
He wants to pull her into his lap-to drag her pants down and drive himself up into her-but doing that would mean interrupting what she’s doing now. And what she’s doing now feels incredible.
“You just want to know if I think about you.”
“Uh-huh...” Her hand is slick now, finally, and she’s stroking him ruthlessly. Efficiently. He feels as if he’s holding his breath, even when he can hear himself exhale.
“Yes.” She says it so quietly that at first he thinks he might have just imagined it. “Yes,” she repeats, louder. She sounds almost… angry. But excited, too. Maybe both, he isn’t sure, he isn’t sure if he really cares. “Of course I do.” The rhythm of her hand movement changes, like she’s shifting gears, and it’s too soon, it isn’t fair, it isn’t-
“Don’t stop,” he pleads. But she isn’t stopping; she’s speeding up, tightening her hold on him. His hips slide forward on the leather seat, rising to meet her hand in counterpoint.
“Come on,” she urges. “Come on, Tony.” And then he’s biting her shoulder to keep from crying out, the entire world telescoping inward as he spends and spills into her hand.
When he’s able to open his eyes again, Pepper is rooting around in her purse, finally emerging with a purloined wet-nap which she uses to scrub her hands clean. He can’t help but wonder if this was their intended use when she dropped them into her purse at the start of the evening.
She passes him a fresh one before turning aside, with what seems to him to be an excessive amount of modesty. He takes the opportunity to make himself decent.
“Thanks,” he says, a bit awkwardly-she’s thanked him twice now, and it seems rude not to return the gesture.
“You’re welcome.” She turns and flashes a wide smile, reaching over to lightly scratch his goatee. Her fingers smell lemony, astringent.
Tony doesn’t normally want what he can’t have; the things that he can have are so numerous and so prolific that there seems little point in chasing rainbows. He’s unaccustomed to this, the subtle knife-point of thwarted desire twisting in his stomach.
“Come home with me.” He closes his eyes, leans into her touch, craving it. “We can make up some excuse about work. We’ve pulled all-nighters before.”
She draws her hand away. “I don’t think so,” she says, carefully. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me over the weekend.”
He sits up straight, the charm of the moment instantly dissipating. “Are you pissed off at me?”
“No. Tonight was fine. But I think we need to establish a bit of distance.”
“Why do we need distance all of a sudden? You seemed okay with being up close and personal until about a minute ago.”
She sighs. “I feel like you’re getting the impression that this is something more than it is.”
“Is this because of that crack about my dates? It was a joke, Pepper.”
“I know.” She bites her lip-a sure sign that she’s holding something back.
Tony feels the heady rush that means he’s about to do something reckless. “While we’re on the subject… what is it about us dating that is so unappealing to you?"
"You don't date," she tells him, evenly.
"Sure I do.” He stalls the inevitable interjection with, “Okay, maybe not lately. But I have dated."
"No, you haven't,” she insists. “In all the years I've known you, you have never been on an actual date. You take girls out for expensive meals, and then back to your house for sex, and then they wake up in the morning, and you're gone."
"That's not true."
"In what sense is what I just described not true?"
"Sometimes I take them to my car for sex."
Pepper doesn’t laugh.
“Just because I date more efficiently than you do-”
“It’s not a date when you don’t make any effort to form a connection that isn’t physical,” she asserts, and now she is beginning to sound distinctly pissed off. “What you do when you go out with girls is not dating. It’s an exchange of goods for services.”
“Come on,” he protests.
She ignores him and continues with, “You don’t talk to them, unless it’s to break out a pick-up line. You don’t listen to them, unless they’re telling you something you can use to get them into bed. Half the time you don't even know their names. You use women, Tony. You consume them, like they're fast food, and then you discard them and you keep moving. Which is fine-I mean, it’s not fine, it’s shallow and it’s disrespectful-but it can work, as long as everyone involved has clear expectations."
"I don't understand what this has to do with you and me."
"Look. I think it's great that we can be friends. I enjoy spending time with you. And I'm okay with us having this arrangement, because it’s convenient: I’m way too busy to date, I’m not comfortable having sex with strangers, and I’m not interested in being celibate.” She enumerates the points on her fingers for emphasis. “And you’re pretty good in bed.”
“Pretty good?” echoes Tony dubiously.
“I’ve read the gossip magazines. You don’t need any more testimonials,” she retorts. “My point is, this is just sex. Period. Let’s not fool ourselves into thinking it’s anything more."
“But what if we want it to be something more?”
“I’m not interested in negotiating the terms, Tony. We either have a deal, or we don’t.”
“Are you seeing anyone else?”
“I’m not sleeping with anyone else, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Are you planning to?” He can think of at least one other person they both know, who fits Pepper’s criteria of a non-stranger, and who would be more than understanding about her work schedule. Someone who’d be willing to do things like attend a yoga class on his day off just to be around her for a few hours. Someone who notices when she’s hurting.
“No. But I’ll tell you if that changes. And I’d like you to do the same. I don’t expect you to be exclusive, but I do expect you to be honest.”
I don’t want anyone else, he thinks. But he knows better than to say it out loud. “I will,” he says instead.
“Thank you.”
“Seriously though, Pepper… only pretty good?”
She laughs.
He persists with, “Any notes you’d like to give me?”
“My enthusiasm almost got us caught earlier tonight. Do you think I’m faking?”
“How’s your back?”
She shifts and twists experimentally. “Better. Thanks.”
“So. We’re done talking about this? We can raise the cone of silence?”
Pepper looks surprised, but nods.
On the other side of the glass, Happy is listening to a baseball game.
“Who’s winning?” asks Tony-knowing he’s in for about a ten-minute recap, which should eat up most of the time it will take to get to Pepper’s condo. As Happy talks, Tony leans forward, elbows on his knees, and feigns an intense and all-encompassing interest in the world of professional sports. He feels safer not being alone with her: there’s less chance he’s going to say something in a post-orgasm haze that neither of them will be able to forget. Or forgive.
In the periphery of his gaze, he can see Pepper still watching him in the rearview mirror. It strikes him that they’ve spent the majority of the time they’ve known one another observing each other through filters and lenses and reflective surfaces, trying to find the way they’re supposed to fit together. And he’s further away from the answer now than ever.
Tony doesn’t remember starting to fall in love with Pepper Potts-and he has no idea how he's supposed to stop.
Bonus author's notes: Dang, y'all. Work has been kicking my ass lately, and then last weekend I had to have some dental work done. All of which is a roundabout way of saying, sorry for the lack of updates.
I've rewritten this chapter a number of times, and I'm still not entirely satisfied. But guess what? Life goes on.
Activities of a sexy nature under the cut.
6. In the Back Seat
“What’s the plan for tonight, boss?” asks Happy.
The question startles Tony-he’s jumpier than usual, edgy with unsatisfied need.
“I don’t know.” He carefully avoids looking over at Pepper, seated beside him in the back of the limo. “Home first to change, then maybe… yeah. What was that bar in Santa Monica where we closed down the VIP room?”
“It’s just called M, sir. Like the letter.”
“Hm. Pretentious. Whatever, the girls were cute and the bartenders free pour.”
“That place has been shut down multiple times for health code violations,” Pepper observes.
“Happy has hand sanitizer, we’ll be okay.”
Tony projects a relaxed nonchalance, splaying his legs and letting his head fall back to rest against the leather seat. He gazes at the ceiling and tries to fit together the magic combination of words that will convince Pepper to go home with him. However, he’s distracted by the persistent mental image of Pepper pleasuring herself in the shower. He wants to ask her whether it’s part of her morning routine, whether it’s the reason she’s able to be so focused in her work, whether she-
It’s Happy who notices the way Pepper can’t seem to settle in her seat, the way she keeps rolling her shoulders, rubbing at her neck.
“Sore back?” asks the driver, shooting her a sympathetic glance in the rearview mirror.
She waves his concern away with a graceful flick of her long, slender wrist. “Too much time spent hunched over a desk,” she remarks.
Tony immediately pictures Pepper bent over her desk, short-skirted and spreadeagled. He places himself in the scene, and imagines walking up behind her, grabbing her by the hips, and-
“I hear that.” Happy’s reply abruptly derails Tony’s train of thought just as it was about to enter the tunnel. “Sitting in the car all day plays hell with my sciatica. You oughta get yourself one of those lumbar pillows, Pep.”
Tony scowls. That’s ‘Ms. Potts’ to you, buddy. Which is patently ridiculous; he’s never been big on formality with his staff, and Pepper and Happy have been friends for years. Besides, even if he did have any right to be jealous, there’s nothing to be jealous of.
“Maybe.” Pepper locks her fingers together and stretches her arms out in front of her until her shoulders pop loudly. She gives a satisfied little sigh, leans back, and closes her eyes.
Tony crosses his legs, shifts away from her and looks out the window.
Happy asks, “D’you sleep on your stomach?”
Tony is absurdly pleased that he already knows the answer to that question.
“Yes,” she replies, absently massaging the back of her neck. “Is that bad?”
“Probably doesn’t help. When you sleep like that, you get all out of alignment. You’re supposed to keep your spine straight.”
“Still working on that correspondance M.D. from Hollywood Upstairs Medical College, Happy?” asks Tony, smirking. He’s acutely aware that he’s being a prick.
Happy chuckles, ignoring the subtle barb. “You bet, boss. Gonna be a cosmetic surgeon-that’s where all the money is in this town.”
Tony opens his mouth to say something hilariously inappropriate, but is silenced by Pepper’s irritated look.
“I think what I need to do is start going back to yoga again,” she tells Happy. “I skipped my last couple of classes, and now I’m paying for it.”
“Oh, yeah? My physio guy recommended I look at doing some yoga. Said it’d be good for my back. Is it a good workout?”
“It isn’t what you’d call high-impact, but it’s a good tension release. Very energizing. You should come with me, if you want to check it out. I usually go on Sunday evenings.”
Tony remembers last Sunday night: Pepper’s casual clothes, the yoga mat waiting by the door. She’d skipped her class for him. At least she got her exercise, he thinks, grinning.
“Sure, okay,” says Happy, a little too quickly. He recovers with, “I mean, just to see what all the fuss is about.”
“Great. Give me a call on Sunday if you’re not busy.”
Tony interjects, “Pepper, can I bend your ear about something for a second?”
“Sure.”
“Sorry, Happy. Work stuff. NDA.” He thumbs the button to raise the privacy glass.
“No problem,” says Happy cheerfully.
Once they’re safely enclosed, Pepper turns to him expectantly. “What?”
He points out the window behind her. “Look over there.”
She twists her body, squinting at pinpoints of light through the tinted glass. “I don’t see any…” She trails off as his hands land on her shoulders.
He pushes against muscle and bone with the heels of his hands-gently at first, then gradually increasing the pressure.
“Oh,” she says. “Mm. Okay.”
He digs in with his fingers, kneading, probing, and she groans feelingly. “Maybe I should start advising my dates to stretch first,” he remarks.
“Not a date,” murmurs Pepper, but she leans into his touch just the same.
He squeezes and releases, his thumbs finding and working at the knot centred between her shoulder blades. The muscles of her shoulders and back are strong, pliable, and-most pleasingly of all-familiar. He feels her shiver a little as he strokes up along the nape of her neck; she’s sensitive there, he remembers. He rubs his fingertips over her scalp, loosening her ponytail, tilting her head forward to allow him better access to the cluster of nerves at the base of her skull. She drops her chin, and then he’s holding her head in his hand. It suddenly strikes him just how completely she must trust him: he can’t remember the last time he gave himself over to anyone so entirely, the last time he left himself so exposed. Or the last time he wanted to.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” he inquires, although he’s certain she would have let him know.
“No.” She shifts in her seat and braces her back against him, one hand curled around his knee. “It’s good. Although I can’t help but feel that you might have an ulterior motive.”
The truth is that he honestly doesn’t. While it’s possible that a small measure of certain baser feelings-jealousy, possessiveness-prompted the initial action, Tony actually isn’t trying to get somewhere. He’s satisfied just being able to touch her. It’s an unnerving realization.
“I would never be that selfish,” he replies, cheekily.
Pepper’s hand is steadily working its way up his thigh. He tells himself it’s completely accidental-the car is moving, she’s seated at an angle, she’s just trying to keep her balance. It doesn’t stop him from getting hard.
“Of course.” Her laugh is deep and throaty. “What was I thinking?”
“Although, if you’d like me to be that selfish, I’m thrilled to oblige.”
“Probably not the best idea,” she warns-in a tone of voice that suggests she believes that, in point of fact, it would be an excellent idea. “We’ve been drinking.” Her fingertips are digging into his inner thigh with definite intent now, grabbing and kneading.
He politely refrains from pointing out that the drinking happened before the evening’s first round of entertainment. “There’s a reason they call it social lubricant.”
“I think you’re misinterpreting the expression.”
“Potts.” He watches his breath raise goosebumps on her skin. “I’m gonna do things to you that they don’t even have names for.”
“I like the ones that have names,” she says, breathlessly.
“Oh, I can do those too.” He tugs her collar aside, presses his mouth to the side of her neck, and does a slow, lingering swipe along her shoulder before adding, “And we don’t have to be at work tomorrow, which means I can do them all. Night. Long.”
“Well, I can’t.” She’s unzipping his fly. He’s surprised, given all of the emphasis on discretion that has preceded this moment-but he’s not about to protest. “I have plans.”
“Gonna go home and give yourself a little shock therapy?”
Her hand slips into the opening in his shorts. “Maybe.”
“You do that a lot?”
“What, this?” Her palm is dry and she’s pulling at him, a little roughly-but it feels good. Really good.
“No, I-I mean-” He’s hunched over, almost defensively, even though the last thing he wants to do right now is shield himself from her. “God, Pepper…”
“Depends what qualifies as ‘a lot.’”
“What-what do-when you-” There’s a lot of friction and it’s too much, too fast, he can’t quite get the words out.
“What do I think about?”
He manages to produce an affirmative noise, his mouth muffled against her shoulder. He’s distantly aware that his hand is gripping her hip, holding her tight against him.
“When I’m touching myself, you mean?”
He wants to pull her into his lap-to drag her pants down and drive himself up into her-but doing that would mean interrupting what she’s doing now. And what she’s doing now feels incredible.
“You just want to know if I think about you.”
“Uh-huh...” Her hand is slick now, finally, and she’s stroking him ruthlessly. Efficiently. He feels as if he’s holding his breath, even when he can hear himself exhale.
“Yes.” She says it so quietly that at first he thinks he might have just imagined it. “Yes,” she repeats, louder. She sounds almost… angry. But excited, too. Maybe both, he isn’t sure, he isn’t sure if he really cares. “Of course I do.” The rhythm of her hand movement changes, like she’s shifting gears, and it’s too soon, it isn’t fair, it isn’t-
“Don’t stop,” he pleads. But she isn’t stopping; she’s speeding up, tightening her hold on him. His hips slide forward on the leather seat, rising to meet her hand in counterpoint.
“Come on,” she urges. “Come on, Tony.” And then he’s biting her shoulder to keep from crying out, the entire world telescoping inward as he spends and spills into her hand.
When he’s able to open his eyes again, Pepper is rooting around in her purse, finally emerging with a purloined wet-nap which she uses to scrub her hands clean. He can’t help but wonder if this was their intended use when she dropped them into her purse at the start of the evening.
She passes him a fresh one before turning aside, with what seems to him to be an excessive amount of modesty. He takes the opportunity to make himself decent.
“Thanks,” he says, a bit awkwardly-she’s thanked him twice now, and it seems rude not to return the gesture.
“You’re welcome.” She turns and flashes a wide smile, reaching over to lightly scratch his goatee. Her fingers smell lemony, astringent.
Tony doesn’t normally want what he can’t have; the things that he can have are so numerous and so prolific that there seems little point in chasing rainbows. He’s unaccustomed to this, the subtle knife-point of thwarted desire twisting in his stomach.
“Come home with me.” He closes his eyes, leans into her touch, craving it. “We can make up some excuse about work. We’ve pulled all-nighters before.”
She draws her hand away. “I don’t think so,” she says, carefully. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me over the weekend.”
He sits up straight, the charm of the moment instantly dissipating. “Are you pissed off at me?”
“No. Tonight was fine. But I think we need to establish a bit of distance.”
“Why do we need distance all of a sudden? You seemed okay with being up close and personal until about a minute ago.”
She sighs. “I feel like you’re getting the impression that this is something more than it is.”
“Is this because of that crack about my dates? It was a joke, Pepper.”
“I know.” She bites her lip-a sure sign that she’s holding something back.
Tony feels the heady rush that means he’s about to do something reckless. “While we’re on the subject… what is it about us dating that is so unappealing to you?"
"You don't date," she tells him, evenly.
"Sure I do.” He stalls the inevitable interjection with, “Okay, maybe not lately. But I have dated."
"No, you haven't,” she insists. “In all the years I've known you, you have never been on an actual date. You take girls out for expensive meals, and then back to your house for sex, and then they wake up in the morning, and you're gone."
"That's not true."
"In what sense is what I just described not true?"
"Sometimes I take them to my car for sex."
Pepper doesn’t laugh.
“Just because I date more efficiently than you do-”
“It’s not a date when you don’t make any effort to form a connection that isn’t physical,” she asserts, and now she is beginning to sound distinctly pissed off. “What you do when you go out with girls is not dating. It’s an exchange of goods for services.”
“Come on,” he protests.
She ignores him and continues with, “You don’t talk to them, unless it’s to break out a pick-up line. You don’t listen to them, unless they’re telling you something you can use to get them into bed. Half the time you don't even know their names. You use women, Tony. You consume them, like they're fast food, and then you discard them and you keep moving. Which is fine-I mean, it’s not fine, it’s shallow and it’s disrespectful-but it can work, as long as everyone involved has clear expectations."
"I don't understand what this has to do with you and me."
"Look. I think it's great that we can be friends. I enjoy spending time with you. And I'm okay with us having this arrangement, because it’s convenient: I’m way too busy to date, I’m not comfortable having sex with strangers, and I’m not interested in being celibate.” She enumerates the points on her fingers for emphasis. “And you’re pretty good in bed.”
“Pretty good?” echoes Tony dubiously.
“I’ve read the gossip magazines. You don’t need any more testimonials,” she retorts. “My point is, this is just sex. Period. Let’s not fool ourselves into thinking it’s anything more."
“But what if we want it to be something more?”
“I’m not interested in negotiating the terms, Tony. We either have a deal, or we don’t.”
“Are you seeing anyone else?”
“I’m not sleeping with anyone else, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Are you planning to?” He can think of at least one other person they both know, who fits Pepper’s criteria of a non-stranger, and who would be more than understanding about her work schedule. Someone who’d be willing to do things like attend a yoga class on his day off just to be around her for a few hours. Someone who notices when she’s hurting.
“No. But I’ll tell you if that changes. And I’d like you to do the same. I don’t expect you to be exclusive, but I do expect you to be honest.”
I don’t want anyone else, he thinks. But he knows better than to say it out loud. “I will,” he says instead.
“Thank you.”
“Seriously though, Pepper… only pretty good?”
She laughs.
He persists with, “Any notes you’d like to give me?”
“My enthusiasm almost got us caught earlier tonight. Do you think I’m faking?”
“How’s your back?”
She shifts and twists experimentally. “Better. Thanks.”
“So. We’re done talking about this? We can raise the cone of silence?”
Pepper looks surprised, but nods.
On the other side of the glass, Happy is listening to a baseball game.
“Who’s winning?” asks Tony-knowing he’s in for about a ten-minute recap, which should eat up most of the time it will take to get to Pepper’s condo. As Happy talks, Tony leans forward, elbows on his knees, and feigns an intense and all-encompassing interest in the world of professional sports. He feels safer not being alone with her: there’s less chance he’s going to say something in a post-orgasm haze that neither of them will be able to forget. Or forgive.
In the periphery of his gaze, he can see Pepper still watching him in the rearview mirror. It strikes him that they’ve spent the majority of the time they’ve known one another observing each other through filters and lenses and reflective surfaces, trying to find the way they’re supposed to fit together. And he’s further away from the answer now than ever.
Tony doesn’t remember starting to fall in love with Pepper Potts-and he has no idea how he's supposed to stop.