Fic: Cinnamon (Tony/Pepper)
Title: Cinnamon
Prompt: Pepperony 100, #037. Spice
Rating: PG-13 (mild sexual content)
Word Count: 1,323
Summary: Post-Empty. Olfactory goodness, and Seductive Tony makes an appearance.
Author's Note: Fluffity fluff is fluffy. More angst coming soon, I promise :)
Cinnamon and sugar. He’s not sure where the hell it comes from, or why it’s suddenly the only thing he notices, even beyond the familiar, comforting scents of motor oil and metal. It’s no flowery perfume announcing the arrival of some unwanted female (not that any could get down into his workshop anyway), and it’s certainly not the fruity scent Pepper favors. No, that one he knows by heart.
He’d read, at some point (definitely not in a trashy women’s magazine at the dentist’s office; the men’s rags’ sex tips are worthless), something about how a woman shouldn’t change her scent, to make her significant other think of it if he happened to smell it when he’s not around her, and even though significant other isn’t a title he can claim, he’s always recognized the spicy, fruity perfume or lotion that Pepper prefers. He’d know it anywhere, actually.
Which is why he’s wondering where the hell this new smell is originating from.
Feeling more than a little like a dog on the scent, he wipes the grease from his hands with an old shirt and drops it haphazardly on top of his tool chest, starting up the stairs. When he reaches the top, though, and wanders into the kitchen, he finds the source of the smell.
Has he ever actually turned on his oven before? He can’t remember if he has. He’s never been one to cook for himself, doesn’t have to, and Pepper doesn’t cook here. In fact that was one of the clauses she’d put into her original contract; she doesn’t make his food.
But as though to taunt him with its surreality, the muffin tray sits just within view inside the oven, right at eye level, its contents nearly done, judging by how delicious they smell.
“Pepper!” he calls, loudly enough that she might be able to hear him in her office, if she’s not on the phone. But just as he’s about to call again, or rather bellow this time, something starts beeping behind him, a loud, obnoxious beeping that’s impossible to ignore, and he jumps about a foot, spinning around and staring at the tiny, innocuous-looking kitchen timer.
There’s a pause, and he lifts a hand, considering hitting it just to get it to shut up, but then Pepper trots into the kitchen as quickly as she can (not very quickly, considering today’s candy-red Christian Louboutins). She skids to a stop, almost topping into Tony, and he reaches out automatically to steady her, his hands taking hold of her hips until she regains her balance.
She stares at him for a long, long moment, but doesn’t ask him to remove her hands. He’s beginning to wonder if she’s broken. “Miss Potts?” he asks, his voice huskier than he’d meant it to be. She jumps, literally jumps, between his hands, eyes re-focusing rapidly.
“What--Ton--Mr. Stark?”
“Your muffins are scorching, Miss Potts.” Despite the tension suddenly appearing in the kitchen, and not tension of the angry, upsetting sort, he can’t keep the amusement from his voice. Her muffins. She’s making muffins. In his oven. He’d never thought he could possibly think of so many dirty things related to baking.
“Oh, crap,” she snaps, turning and stepping neatly out of his grip, nearly braining him with the oven as she grabs a pot-warmer and snatches the metal door open. With his impressive superhero reflexes, he jumps back out of the way as she reaches in to pull out the tray, but pouts a little when this save isn’t even acknowledged. But even while he’s trying not to die via oven door, he’s still a bit smug. He’d distracted her, even with that damned alarm going off right there... and it occurs to him that until just now, he’d also been distracted, because it’s still going off and all right, it’s going to die now--
She reaches out with her free hand and turns off the alarm as she sets down the tray of baked goodies, and he sighs, lowering his raised fist and ignoring the look she shoots him. “You know, if you kill me with an oven door I won’t be able to maintain world peace. There’ll be a nuclear holocaust. And it’ll be all your fault.”
The hand he’d reached over to steal a muffin gets smacked, and he retracts it with a small, pained noise. “Mean Miss Potts.”
“My oven is broken,” Pepper retorts, clearly embarrassed. “And my neighbor is having her baby shower.”
“I feel that the use of my oven means I should get one.”
“You’ve never used that oven since you built the house.”
“That’s not entirely true.” He’s sure it can’t be.
“It is. The warranty was still sitting inside.” She hands him the small packet. “But if you’re a good boy and order dinner, I might share.”
His smile lights up his face, and she stares for another moment, startled by the honest, almost childlike pleasure in that expression. She can’t keep an answering smile from her face and sighs. “Thank you, Miss Potts.” The smile shifts somewhat, to something else, and his eyes darken as he takes the half-step forward, invading her space. Large, solid and completely male, and she’s hard-pressed not to take an answering step forward, up against him the way she’d been less than a week ago...
“You’re welcome, Mr. Stark.” Instead of moving forward, she steps back, reaching sideways and plucking a still-hot muffin from the tray, holding it up to present to him... and hissing as she realizes how foolish that was and nearly drops the muffin; it’s hot.
Just like him, the traitorous--and completely predictable--voice in the back of her head reminds her.
Really? Just like him? That’s the best her limbic brain could come up with?
But, as it doesn’t hesitate to remind her, that part of her brain is better used for other things. Much better used.
Tony takes the muffin from her, setting it on the counter, and even though there’s a perfectly appropriate distance between them now, she can’t help but feel like her space is still being invaded. But she can’t bring herself to care as he doesn’t relinquish her hand, holding it carefully in his and leaning down. She’s frozen in place, waiting for him to take the step she knows he’s about to, waiting for him to start... sucking on her fingers, or something equally seductive and Tony-like and completely unappealing--but he doesn’t. He brings her hand close to his mouth and blows very gently on each of her fingertips, one at a time, his dark eyes fixed on hers the entire time.
Finally lifting his head, he smiles slightly. “Better?”
She nods wordlessly, eyes so wide that they’re almost completely round. He’s going to lean in and kiss her, now. He’ll reach forward and wrap her in his arms again, the way he had that night when she’d been the one to kiss him, and... and she’s not going to fight him because God, she wants him to kiss her right now--
But he surprises her again, gently setting her hand back down on the counter, as though it’s the most fragile thing he’s ever held. “Good.” And then he picks up the muffin, stuffing the entire thing in his mouth all at once and grinning widely at her, turning on his heel and wandering back off down to his workshop. She’s left to stand there, wondering whether she should go down and tackle him or bean him with the nearest pot or pan she can grab.
Prompt: Pepperony 100, #037. Spice
Rating: PG-13 (mild sexual content)
Word Count: 1,323
Summary: Post-Empty. Olfactory goodness, and Seductive Tony makes an appearance.
Author's Note: Fluffity fluff is fluffy. More angst coming soon, I promise :)
Cinnamon and sugar. He’s not sure where the hell it comes from, or why it’s suddenly the only thing he notices, even beyond the familiar, comforting scents of motor oil and metal. It’s no flowery perfume announcing the arrival of some unwanted female (not that any could get down into his workshop anyway), and it’s certainly not the fruity scent Pepper favors. No, that one he knows by heart.
He’d read, at some point (definitely not in a trashy women’s magazine at the dentist’s office; the men’s rags’ sex tips are worthless), something about how a woman shouldn’t change her scent, to make her significant other think of it if he happened to smell it when he’s not around her, and even though significant other isn’t a title he can claim, he’s always recognized the spicy, fruity perfume or lotion that Pepper prefers. He’d know it anywhere, actually.
Which is why he’s wondering where the hell this new smell is originating from.
Feeling more than a little like a dog on the scent, he wipes the grease from his hands with an old shirt and drops it haphazardly on top of his tool chest, starting up the stairs. When he reaches the top, though, and wanders into the kitchen, he finds the source of the smell.
Has he ever actually turned on his oven before? He can’t remember if he has. He’s never been one to cook for himself, doesn’t have to, and Pepper doesn’t cook here. In fact that was one of the clauses she’d put into her original contract; she doesn’t make his food.
But as though to taunt him with its surreality, the muffin tray sits just within view inside the oven, right at eye level, its contents nearly done, judging by how delicious they smell.
“Pepper!” he calls, loudly enough that she might be able to hear him in her office, if she’s not on the phone. But just as he’s about to call again, or rather bellow this time, something starts beeping behind him, a loud, obnoxious beeping that’s impossible to ignore, and he jumps about a foot, spinning around and staring at the tiny, innocuous-looking kitchen timer.
There’s a pause, and he lifts a hand, considering hitting it just to get it to shut up, but then Pepper trots into the kitchen as quickly as she can (not very quickly, considering today’s candy-red Christian Louboutins). She skids to a stop, almost topping into Tony, and he reaches out automatically to steady her, his hands taking hold of her hips until she regains her balance.
She stares at him for a long, long moment, but doesn’t ask him to remove her hands. He’s beginning to wonder if she’s broken. “Miss Potts?” he asks, his voice huskier than he’d meant it to be. She jumps, literally jumps, between his hands, eyes re-focusing rapidly.
“What--Ton--Mr. Stark?”
“Your muffins are scorching, Miss Potts.” Despite the tension suddenly appearing in the kitchen, and not tension of the angry, upsetting sort, he can’t keep the amusement from his voice. Her muffins. She’s making muffins. In his oven. He’d never thought he could possibly think of so many dirty things related to baking.
“Oh, crap,” she snaps, turning and stepping neatly out of his grip, nearly braining him with the oven as she grabs a pot-warmer and snatches the metal door open. With his impressive superhero reflexes, he jumps back out of the way as she reaches in to pull out the tray, but pouts a little when this save isn’t even acknowledged. But even while he’s trying not to die via oven door, he’s still a bit smug. He’d distracted her, even with that damned alarm going off right there... and it occurs to him that until just now, he’d also been distracted, because it’s still going off and all right, it’s going to die now--
She reaches out with her free hand and turns off the alarm as she sets down the tray of baked goodies, and he sighs, lowering his raised fist and ignoring the look she shoots him. “You know, if you kill me with an oven door I won’t be able to maintain world peace. There’ll be a nuclear holocaust. And it’ll be all your fault.”
The hand he’d reached over to steal a muffin gets smacked, and he retracts it with a small, pained noise. “Mean Miss Potts.”
“My oven is broken,” Pepper retorts, clearly embarrassed. “And my neighbor is having her baby shower.”
“I feel that the use of my oven means I should get one.”
“You’ve never used that oven since you built the house.”
“That’s not entirely true.” He’s sure it can’t be.
“It is. The warranty was still sitting inside.” She hands him the small packet. “But if you’re a good boy and order dinner, I might share.”
His smile lights up his face, and she stares for another moment, startled by the honest, almost childlike pleasure in that expression. She can’t keep an answering smile from her face and sighs. “Thank you, Miss Potts.” The smile shifts somewhat, to something else, and his eyes darken as he takes the half-step forward, invading her space. Large, solid and completely male, and she’s hard-pressed not to take an answering step forward, up against him the way she’d been less than a week ago...
“You’re welcome, Mr. Stark.” Instead of moving forward, she steps back, reaching sideways and plucking a still-hot muffin from the tray, holding it up to present to him... and hissing as she realizes how foolish that was and nearly drops the muffin; it’s hot.
Just like him, the traitorous--and completely predictable--voice in the back of her head reminds her.
Really? Just like him? That’s the best her limbic brain could come up with?
But, as it doesn’t hesitate to remind her, that part of her brain is better used for other things. Much better used.
Tony takes the muffin from her, setting it on the counter, and even though there’s a perfectly appropriate distance between them now, she can’t help but feel like her space is still being invaded. But she can’t bring herself to care as he doesn’t relinquish her hand, holding it carefully in his and leaning down. She’s frozen in place, waiting for him to take the step she knows he’s about to, waiting for him to start... sucking on her fingers, or something equally seductive and Tony-like and completely unappealing--but he doesn’t. He brings her hand close to his mouth and blows very gently on each of her fingertips, one at a time, his dark eyes fixed on hers the entire time.
Finally lifting his head, he smiles slightly. “Better?”
She nods wordlessly, eyes so wide that they’re almost completely round. He’s going to lean in and kiss her, now. He’ll reach forward and wrap her in his arms again, the way he had that night when she’d been the one to kiss him, and... and she’s not going to fight him because God, she wants him to kiss her right now--
But he surprises her again, gently setting her hand back down on the counter, as though it’s the most fragile thing he’s ever held. “Good.” And then he picks up the muffin, stuffing the entire thing in his mouth all at once and grinning widely at her, turning on his heel and wandering back off down to his workshop. She’s left to stand there, wondering whether she should go down and tackle him or bean him with the nearest pot or pan she can grab.