Fic: Empty, 2/2 (Tony/Pepper)
Title: Empty (2/?)
Author: sarisa_rahe
Fandom: Iron Man
Rating: PG-13
Character/pairing: Tony/Pepper
Word count: 1,075
Spoilers: IM
Warnings: Language, mild sexual content.
Summary: From the Pepperony 200 prompt #104, Empty. Tony's out of contact in South America, and Pepper's left behind to panic worry.
Author's Note: One-shot that grew a bit more...
Part One
Mere seconds ago, Tony had been preparing himself to hear her quit, to hear it be for good, this time. But before he’d had time to even begin processing that, she’s suddenly pressed against his front, her mouth against his, and he has a moment of shocked... inability to process this. Or anything else.
Slowly, his arms close around her, though; he notices, in the back of his mind, that she’s so lean that he can wrap them the entire way around her, encircling her completely with each arm. And she hasn’t deepened the kiss; despite the shock and the automatic rush of lust, almost overwhelming in its intensity, he’s too afraid to push it further. But even as the shock slowly fades into only arousal and a wave of relief that makes him shudder a little, he can feel his world narrowing down to Pepper.
It’s not an uncommon sensation. Tony Stark has always had the ability to hyper-concentrate, to focus so singularly on one task, one line of thought, one person, to the exclusion of everything else. It’s what makes him effective as Iron Man, what keeps him so absorbed in his work with the suit and the bots and all of his inventions that Pepper can talk to him for fifteen minutes and he won’t even have registered that she was speaking, much less what she’d said.
But more and more, lately, his focus has been Pepper. He hasn’t known what it meant, but he knows he can think about nothing else for hours when the mood takes him. He’s never, however, experienced this. The thousand and one thoughts racing around his head at any given moment when he’s not concentrating on a single project, the flood of ideas and arguments and theories and strokes of genius, narrows into a single rushing stream as he feels her body against his, her mouth pressed to his.
When they both pull back a moment later, breathing hard, hearts racing, he can’t do anything but stare at her eyes. Not feel her up, not try to shove her back against his workbench as he would have with any other woman, those few months ago (although fuck knows he wants to, wants to tear her clothes away and lose himself in her, now, now that he knows what she feels like, what she tastes like). No, he stands there, having forgotten the rest of the world, everyone but her.
In an gruff, uneven voice, he manages, “Pepper?”
She’s staring back, her breath coming so fast that she’s almost hyperventilating, and doesn’t move for at least a minute after he’d spoken. What is she doing?! This--she can’t do this, not with Tony, no, no no no, she has to back away, away from him, not be touching him, but his arms are around her and he’s looking at her like that and she can’t, she really can’t...
Realizing distantly that she can’t breathe very well and is going into the beginnings of a panic attack, she finally summons the strength to put her hands against his arms and push slowly away. “I can’t... I can’t think...”
He lets her go, arms falling to the side and suddenly empty, but she misses the stricken expression on his face before he hides it, turning away and staring at the scotch still on the workbench. Her eyes fix on his back, and she shakes her head slowly.
“You need to shower and sleep.” Her voice is just as rough as his had been. “I should... my things are here, I’ll...”
His hand clenches on the glass of scotch, and he tosses it back. “Stay in one of the guest rooms.” His voice is flat, and she flinches. She hadn’t gone through with it. Is he angry with her, now? Because of that stupid slip, Christ, she hasn’t just ruined everything... has she?
“No, I should go--”
“Stay, dammit, Pepper.”
Her flinch is bigger this time, hearing the angry violence in his voice. “I’m sorry. Tony, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have... I didn’t mean to, I don’t know what I was thinking...”
His back is to her, and she can’t see his eyes close. But a moment later, they open again, dull this time, and he pours another shot, tossing it back. “Not a problem. Don’t worry about it.” He’s not good enough for her. He never has been, and God knows she’s smart enough to realize that. One moment of getting his hopes up... well, it was a mistake. And now he wonders exactly how much whiskey it will take to make him forget what it was like when she was his entire world, just for a minute. “Go to bed, Pepper.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds, but he can almost hear her nod. “Good night, Tony.”
He doesn’t respond, and she almost trips over the flat cement floor on her rapid retreat to the stairs, disappearing up to the main floor by the time he turns back around.
Nothing out of place in the shop, he thinks, mind growing fuzzy with three days’ exhaustion and now yet another fuckup with Pepper. Computer screens showing Jarvis’ satellite map of South and Central America, the television broadcasting CNN silently, and... his dirty sweatshirt on his chair?
He’s too tired to remember if he’d left that there, and wonders... well, if Pepper had, she must have... just been cold. Or something. He doesn’t know. But by the time he follows her up the stairs, three drinks later, there’s no sign of glass or orange juice on the marble floor, and he doesn’t even know to miss its lack. He just makes his way up the curving staircase to the second level, passing the closed door of the farthest guest room from his own bedroom but refusing to stop and knock.
He knows what’ll happen. If she was going to leave tonight, she’d’ve done it already. Either he’ll find a letter of resignation on his worktable in the morning or she’ll be in one of her black pantsuits, Miss Potts in all her efficient, terrifying glory, and it’ll be as though nothing happened tonight at all. He can’t decide which idea he loathes more, but eventually chooses alcohol over either, taking another swig from the bottle in his hand as he shuts his own doors for the night.
Author: sarisa_rahe
Fandom: Iron Man
Rating: PG-13
Character/pairing: Tony/Pepper
Word count: 1,075
Spoilers: IM
Warnings: Language, mild sexual content.
Summary: From the Pepperony 200 prompt #104, Empty. Tony's out of contact in South America, and Pepper's left behind to panic worry.
Author's Note: One-shot that grew a bit more...
Part One
Mere seconds ago, Tony had been preparing himself to hear her quit, to hear it be for good, this time. But before he’d had time to even begin processing that, she’s suddenly pressed against his front, her mouth against his, and he has a moment of shocked... inability to process this. Or anything else.
Slowly, his arms close around her, though; he notices, in the back of his mind, that she’s so lean that he can wrap them the entire way around her, encircling her completely with each arm. And she hasn’t deepened the kiss; despite the shock and the automatic rush of lust, almost overwhelming in its intensity, he’s too afraid to push it further. But even as the shock slowly fades into only arousal and a wave of relief that makes him shudder a little, he can feel his world narrowing down to Pepper.
It’s not an uncommon sensation. Tony Stark has always had the ability to hyper-concentrate, to focus so singularly on one task, one line of thought, one person, to the exclusion of everything else. It’s what makes him effective as Iron Man, what keeps him so absorbed in his work with the suit and the bots and all of his inventions that Pepper can talk to him for fifteen minutes and he won’t even have registered that she was speaking, much less what she’d said.
But more and more, lately, his focus has been Pepper. He hasn’t known what it meant, but he knows he can think about nothing else for hours when the mood takes him. He’s never, however, experienced this. The thousand and one thoughts racing around his head at any given moment when he’s not concentrating on a single project, the flood of ideas and arguments and theories and strokes of genius, narrows into a single rushing stream as he feels her body against his, her mouth pressed to his.
When they both pull back a moment later, breathing hard, hearts racing, he can’t do anything but stare at her eyes. Not feel her up, not try to shove her back against his workbench as he would have with any other woman, those few months ago (although fuck knows he wants to, wants to tear her clothes away and lose himself in her, now, now that he knows what she feels like, what she tastes like). No, he stands there, having forgotten the rest of the world, everyone but her.
In an gruff, uneven voice, he manages, “Pepper?”
She’s staring back, her breath coming so fast that she’s almost hyperventilating, and doesn’t move for at least a minute after he’d spoken. What is she doing?! This--she can’t do this, not with Tony, no, no no no, she has to back away, away from him, not be touching him, but his arms are around her and he’s looking at her like that and she can’t, she really can’t...
Realizing distantly that she can’t breathe very well and is going into the beginnings of a panic attack, she finally summons the strength to put her hands against his arms and push slowly away. “I can’t... I can’t think...”
He lets her go, arms falling to the side and suddenly empty, but she misses the stricken expression on his face before he hides it, turning away and staring at the scotch still on the workbench. Her eyes fix on his back, and she shakes her head slowly.
“You need to shower and sleep.” Her voice is just as rough as his had been. “I should... my things are here, I’ll...”
His hand clenches on the glass of scotch, and he tosses it back. “Stay in one of the guest rooms.” His voice is flat, and she flinches. She hadn’t gone through with it. Is he angry with her, now? Because of that stupid slip, Christ, she hasn’t just ruined everything... has she?
“No, I should go--”
“Stay, dammit, Pepper.”
Her flinch is bigger this time, hearing the angry violence in his voice. “I’m sorry. Tony, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have... I didn’t mean to, I don’t know what I was thinking...”
His back is to her, and she can’t see his eyes close. But a moment later, they open again, dull this time, and he pours another shot, tossing it back. “Not a problem. Don’t worry about it.” He’s not good enough for her. He never has been, and God knows she’s smart enough to realize that. One moment of getting his hopes up... well, it was a mistake. And now he wonders exactly how much whiskey it will take to make him forget what it was like when she was his entire world, just for a minute. “Go to bed, Pepper.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds, but he can almost hear her nod. “Good night, Tony.”
He doesn’t respond, and she almost trips over the flat cement floor on her rapid retreat to the stairs, disappearing up to the main floor by the time he turns back around.
Nothing out of place in the shop, he thinks, mind growing fuzzy with three days’ exhaustion and now yet another fuckup with Pepper. Computer screens showing Jarvis’ satellite map of South and Central America, the television broadcasting CNN silently, and... his dirty sweatshirt on his chair?
He’s too tired to remember if he’d left that there, and wonders... well, if Pepper had, she must have... just been cold. Or something. He doesn’t know. But by the time he follows her up the stairs, three drinks later, there’s no sign of glass or orange juice on the marble floor, and he doesn’t even know to miss its lack. He just makes his way up the curving staircase to the second level, passing the closed door of the farthest guest room from his own bedroom but refusing to stop and knock.
He knows what’ll happen. If she was going to leave tonight, she’d’ve done it already. Either he’ll find a letter of resignation on his worktable in the morning or she’ll be in one of her black pantsuits, Miss Potts in all her efficient, terrifying glory, and it’ll be as though nothing happened tonight at all. He can’t decide which idea he loathes more, but eventually chooses alcohol over either, taking another swig from the bottle in his hand as he shuts his own doors for the night.