TM 165 - Night
What Happens in Providence Stays in Providence
Jean sits up, letting her long hair fall over her bare shoulders. "Just for the record," she says, "I still kind of agree with the people who think you're a fascist."
Tony's eyebrow rises, at the same time his gaze falls to trace the long line of her back. "And I kind of agree with the people who think this world is a lot safer without you in it."
Jean tenses. Her hand starts to rise, but then she clenches it into a fist and moves it down to her side. She pulls the sheet up past her waist and can't help hearing the echo of her Grandmother Grey's voice. Well, that's closing the barn door after the horses are gone. Dammit.
"You're not going to slap me?" Tony moves toward her. His chest is well-muscled, thick with dark hair. He smells the way he always smells, like something fragrant and expensive. Jean sees her underwear, on the floor, and reaches down to pick them up and slip them back on.
"I have a feeling, Mr. Stark, that you are quite the expert on getting women to slap you in the face. . ."
"Beautiful women." God, she hates that smirk. "You want to say 'beautiful women.' But you're too modest. Even after --" Now his hand is on her shoulder, and she tenses but she doesn't move away. His hand is warm, his hand is real. She's spent the last two days cooped up in her brain --
"If I wanted to hurt you," Jean says between clenched teeth, "I'd do a lot more than slap you." She's not going to slap him. She won't give him the satisfaction.
"No, Jean." And now he has his hand on her chest, not touching her breasts, but sliding up to her throat and collarbone instead. "You wouldn't hurt me just because you wanted to."
"All right, I wouldn't," she agrees, making a token effort to slide away from him. Not trying very hard. She feels his breath on the back of her neck. "I'd wait for you to give me a good reason to hurt you." Turning her head around to look at him, she says, "How long does that usually take?" Now he's grinning, unashamed, and she jerks away. The sheet starts to fall but she catches it with her mind. "Where's my bra?"
"Can't you just levitate --?" She gives him a look and he reaches hastily back across the bed. Yes, the man is very good at knowing exactly what he can get away with, where women are concerned. Holding the bra out -- it's white, cotton, the wire is bent, it's not a bra a woman wears to go have sex with a man she barely knows, for God's sake -- he says, "You act like this was my idea."
Jean closes her eyes, breathes deeply, and -- one of the curses of her telepathy -- is able to picture the past half hour in annoying clarity. The summit was over, Magneto and Doom and everyone judged a security threat had left Providence. After 48 hours in the control room, Cable had let the telepaths go with the warning that the artificial fatigue-reducers will wear off, and they need to go straight to a well-needed sleep. Jean had said she would, then marched straight down here, just like she told Rachel she would, banged on Tony Stark's door, and said she wanted nothing to do with him, and that he needed to stop telling the whole world that he was chasing her, and . . .
That hadn't exactly gone as she planned. "All right," she says now. "I started it. You pissed me off." He pissed her off with the way he was smiling at her, and so she kissed him, and he kept smiling, and so she pushed him down on the bed, to remind him that she was stronger than he was, and then. . .well, what happened then must have some explanation. Somehow.
"I haven't slept," Jean says, "in a very long time." She feels the truth of the words, her eyes suddenly heavy.
"So sleep." Tony moves back into the bed, pulling the sheets aside for her.
"You want me to --" She could just about fall into the bed right now, but. . .she shakes her head. "I can't stay with you. Cable will find out."
"Jean --" His mouth twitches. "Do you honestly think anything happens on this island that your son doesn't know about?" She swears under her breath, and Tony says, "You think Cable's in a place to judge you? Cable who's sleeping with the woman who shot the former president of the country he's now president of?"
"Flag Smasher was a bad guy," Jean snaps back, "and it's probably your buddies at SHIELD who paid Domino to shoot him, so don't try that angle, and don't insult my son. Because it pisses me off."
"But not enough for you to slap me?"
"Don't take it personally," Jean mumbles. "I'm just too tired." The bed, suddenly, is starting to look very good. She lies down, still almost naked against the sheets. When she shivers, Tony reaches over to pull the duvet across her chest. Jean's muscles tighten, though not in an entirely bad way, thinking he's going to try and feel her breasts again. But his hand moves away once he's satisfied she's tucked in. It's a casual gesture, almost a tender one, and he does it without thnking. "You know," Jean says, "I didn't only do this because I can't get along with Emma."
"Good to know," he answers. "I didn't only do this because Cap wouldn't let me fuck him."
Jean has the feeling of choking on a drink, even though she's not drinking anything, and then, when she sees Tony's smile -- she gives in and slaps him across the face. "I knew you had it in you," he chuckles, rubbing the red mark. Her own hand stings from the sharp points of his beard, but before she can move it away, he takes her palm between his fingers and starts to massage it. "So were you born without a sense of humor, or did sleeping with Cyclops all those years leach it out of you? I kind of hope it's the first one, because otherwise there are depressing implications for Miss Frost's rapier wit."
"If we're going to talk about Emma," she says, "I really am leaving."
She doesn't move. She can already feel the two sleepless days catching up, and just as she's drifting off, Tony puts his arm around her. "Come on, Jeannie," he whispers. "Stay the night."
OOC -- Borrowing iron_tony from myself, obviously. And yeah, I'm the dork who just hooked up her two RP-characters, but -- well, they wanted to and I couldn't come up with a good reason to tell them no.
Jean sits up, letting her long hair fall over her bare shoulders. "Just for the record," she says, "I still kind of agree with the people who think you're a fascist."
Tony's eyebrow rises, at the same time his gaze falls to trace the long line of her back. "And I kind of agree with the people who think this world is a lot safer without you in it."
Jean tenses. Her hand starts to rise, but then she clenches it into a fist and moves it down to her side. She pulls the sheet up past her waist and can't help hearing the echo of her Grandmother Grey's voice. Well, that's closing the barn door after the horses are gone. Dammit.
"You're not going to slap me?" Tony moves toward her. His chest is well-muscled, thick with dark hair. He smells the way he always smells, like something fragrant and expensive. Jean sees her underwear, on the floor, and reaches down to pick them up and slip them back on.
"I have a feeling, Mr. Stark, that you are quite the expert on getting women to slap you in the face. . ."
"Beautiful women." God, she hates that smirk. "You want to say 'beautiful women.' But you're too modest. Even after --" Now his hand is on her shoulder, and she tenses but she doesn't move away. His hand is warm, his hand is real. She's spent the last two days cooped up in her brain --
"If I wanted to hurt you," Jean says between clenched teeth, "I'd do a lot more than slap you." She's not going to slap him. She won't give him the satisfaction.
"No, Jean." And now he has his hand on her chest, not touching her breasts, but sliding up to her throat and collarbone instead. "You wouldn't hurt me just because you wanted to."
"All right, I wouldn't," she agrees, making a token effort to slide away from him. Not trying very hard. She feels his breath on the back of her neck. "I'd wait for you to give me a good reason to hurt you." Turning her head around to look at him, she says, "How long does that usually take?" Now he's grinning, unashamed, and she jerks away. The sheet starts to fall but she catches it with her mind. "Where's my bra?"
"Can't you just levitate --?" She gives him a look and he reaches hastily back across the bed. Yes, the man is very good at knowing exactly what he can get away with, where women are concerned. Holding the bra out -- it's white, cotton, the wire is bent, it's not a bra a woman wears to go have sex with a man she barely knows, for God's sake -- he says, "You act like this was my idea."
Jean closes her eyes, breathes deeply, and -- one of the curses of her telepathy -- is able to picture the past half hour in annoying clarity. The summit was over, Magneto and Doom and everyone judged a security threat had left Providence. After 48 hours in the control room, Cable had let the telepaths go with the warning that the artificial fatigue-reducers will wear off, and they need to go straight to a well-needed sleep. Jean had said she would, then marched straight down here, just like she told Rachel she would, banged on Tony Stark's door, and said she wanted nothing to do with him, and that he needed to stop telling the whole world that he was chasing her, and . . .
That hadn't exactly gone as she planned. "All right," she says now. "I started it. You pissed me off." He pissed her off with the way he was smiling at her, and so she kissed him, and he kept smiling, and so she pushed him down on the bed, to remind him that she was stronger than he was, and then. . .well, what happened then must have some explanation. Somehow.
"I haven't slept," Jean says, "in a very long time." She feels the truth of the words, her eyes suddenly heavy.
"So sleep." Tony moves back into the bed, pulling the sheets aside for her.
"You want me to --" She could just about fall into the bed right now, but. . .she shakes her head. "I can't stay with you. Cable will find out."
"Jean --" His mouth twitches. "Do you honestly think anything happens on this island that your son doesn't know about?" She swears under her breath, and Tony says, "You think Cable's in a place to judge you? Cable who's sleeping with the woman who shot the former president of the country he's now president of?"
"Flag Smasher was a bad guy," Jean snaps back, "and it's probably your buddies at SHIELD who paid Domino to shoot him, so don't try that angle, and don't insult my son. Because it pisses me off."
"But not enough for you to slap me?"
"Don't take it personally," Jean mumbles. "I'm just too tired." The bed, suddenly, is starting to look very good. She lies down, still almost naked against the sheets. When she shivers, Tony reaches over to pull the duvet across her chest. Jean's muscles tighten, though not in an entirely bad way, thinking he's going to try and feel her breasts again. But his hand moves away once he's satisfied she's tucked in. It's a casual gesture, almost a tender one, and he does it without thnking. "You know," Jean says, "I didn't only do this because I can't get along with Emma."
"Good to know," he answers. "I didn't only do this because Cap wouldn't let me fuck him."
Jean has the feeling of choking on a drink, even though she's not drinking anything, and then, when she sees Tony's smile -- she gives in and slaps him across the face. "I knew you had it in you," he chuckles, rubbing the red mark. Her own hand stings from the sharp points of his beard, but before she can move it away, he takes her palm between his fingers and starts to massage it. "So were you born without a sense of humor, or did sleeping with Cyclops all those years leach it out of you? I kind of hope it's the first one, because otherwise there are depressing implications for Miss Frost's rapier wit."
"If we're going to talk about Emma," she says, "I really am leaving."
She doesn't move. She can already feel the two sleepless days catching up, and just as she's drifting off, Tony puts his arm around her. "Come on, Jeannie," he whispers. "Stay the night."
OOC -- Borrowing iron_tony from myself, obviously. And yeah, I'm the dork who just hooked up her two RP-characters, but -- well, they wanted to and I couldn't come up with a good reason to tell them no.