Theme # 20- Skin
Title: If Only
Theme: 20- Skin
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing... really.
Summary: My take on if the kiss had happened with some stuff taken out of the movie and the novelization. And yes the theme works into it, trust me.
AN: Yeah, so it’s been a while… I blame writer’s block and friends who are totally awesome. And speaking of which, be on the lookout for ficness that me and one of these said awesome friends have been rping out. It’s a little different and something no one else has done yet that we know of, but it’ll totally be good stuff. Anyways onto the fic.
She keeps going on and on about the dress and them dancing and he wishes he could get her to stop because she’s being completely silly and yet there’s something about the way she’s frustrated that completely intrigues him. Then he starts to think about other things as she goes on, how, well, great it was to dance with her, to hold her in his arms like that and that he wouldn’t mind holding her in his arms in another manner. He thinks about the soft skin of her back beneath his large calloused hand as he held her to him, the way her muscles moved and occasionally twitched as they swayed. He thinks about running his hands up and down the smooth skin of her back as he…
She’s moving closer to him and he watches her, a brow ever so slightly arched. He’s pretty sure she’s going to kiss him and he’s pretty sure it’s going to be good. He lets her make the move, step into him and when she’s close enough he puts a hand on her lower back, just as he had when they were dancing. He caught her hesitating and he tilts his head to the side a little, encouraging her and wanting this. He’s imagined what it would be like to kiss her, to feel her lips against his and he’s willing to bet they’re soft.
His hand slides up her back as she finally lets her lips meet his and he’s right and wrong, her lips are indeed soft almost delicate, but he’s wrong about it being good, it’s better than good. It’s perfect. He lets his other hand settled on her hip, and his hand on her back moves, pulling her a little closer and then slides up to her shoulder blades her skin so soft that he almost doesn’t want to touch her with his rough worn hands.
He decides this kiss could go on forever and he curses the fact they’re on the roof of the Disney concert hall and that at any moment they won’t be alone anymore. He notes she seems to realize this too as she suddenly pulls back, her lips swollen and cheeks flushed. He tries to met her widened blue stare, but every time he almost does she looks somewhere else, he goes to tell her it’s okay and ask if she wants to go somewhere a little more private and no not for any other reason but to talk. However if it led to other reasons he wouldn’t object, when she speaks first.
“I would like… a drink… please. A martini, extra dry and extra olives…” She fumbles a little, stepping back from him, “at least three olives.”
Tony frowns a little, but nods and moves passed her, his hand grazing her lower back for one last touch as he does, because he’s decided her skin is hard to resist and he itches now with need to touch her in some fashion.
She turns as he leaves and leans against the railing and curses herself. She can’t believe she just did that, that she kissed her womanizing boss. Her eyes close and she pushes her hair back, touching her lips with her fingertips finding them still warm and her back she knows is marked by his touch, it’s an unseen mark, but she knows it’s there and that’s enough. She wants him to touch her again, in fact her mind is going places she works hard to keep it from going to. His hands touching her bare skin, touching her in intimate ways, she bites her lower lip at these thoughts and then quickly shoves them aside wondering what is taking him so long.
He stands there a moment staring at the retreating form of his once trusted mentor. The cameras flash at him, but he doesn’t even notice. He just watches the bald man get into his car and he watches the car as it drives away, as it gets smaller and smaller until finally it turns a corner and it gone. Finally when he can move again he goes and asks the valet attendant to bring his car around.
She knows more time than necessary has passed and she knows he isn’t coming back and she feels her heart sink just a little. Finally she makes her way downstairs again after assuring herself she isn’t going to cry and that she’s aggravated at herself more than him. She knew better, she never should have kissed him, never. She never should have enjoyed his rough hand against the sensitive skin of her back, “Stupid.” She mutters to herself as she locates Happy and sighs heavily, “I need to go by Mr. Stark’s house.”
Happy nods slowly, he can tell she’s upset and he wonders what happened, but doesn’t ask. He has respect for the lovely Miss Potts… if only she knew how much. But he knew he had no real chance, or at least he didn’t think he did, not when his competitor was Tony Stark. He follows her to the Rolls Phantom, holding the door for her as she gets in and closing it. He still says nothing as he drives her to their boss’s home. He pulls inside the gates and parks, climbing out only to have a cigarette as he watches her disappear inside.
She knows exactly where he is, at least she figures he’s there. She holds her dress up as she moves down the stairs, glancing through the glass and sure enough there he is on the sofa watching something, a news report of conflict in the Middle East it seems. She enters her code and slips inside, she notices he instantly turns the tv off and stands, turning towards her. He’s not in his tux anymore, well the pants, but he’s in a white wifebeater and she notices the definition of the muscles in his arms and for the briefest moment she allows herself to imagine those strong arms around her, holding her.
He looks at her and he knows he’s royally messed up because here she is in his dirty, cluttered garage/shop looking like some angel in a blue backless dress and the look on her face almost kills him. He opens his mouth to say sorry or something, anything to make that look and the pain in her eyes go away when she speaks.
“I’m not a cheeseburger Tony.” She stays just about five steps from the way out and folds her arms.
He blinks, she’s not making sense and then it hits him, “I know.”
She shakes her head, looking down for a moment, her lips forming a disappointing frown, “No. You don’t. You have no idea.”
He wants to tell her that he does, more than she realizes, but he can’t… he just can’t. He wants to cross to her, to touch her and hold her to feel her skin beneath his hands, but again he can’t make himself move because he’s too afraid she’ll run or worse reject him.
She looks at him and she can’t tell what he’s thinking, but the way he’s so still and making fists with his hands makes her believe he’s nervous or something and she lets her eyes met his across the room, “I’m not one of those girls. I won’t be one of those girls.” And with that she turns and leaves the garage, going back up the stairs and out of his house because she wants to go home and get this troublesome dress off and possibly burn it.
He watches her leave, he doesn’t say a word because words don’t seem like a good idea right now. He knows she isn’t one of those girls, she never was and never would be. He flexes his hands again still able to feel her skin and it’s driving him almost mad because he wants to touch every inch of her to see if her skin is that soft all over. He’s pretty sure it is, and he knows his dreams will be haunted tonight, not by the hell in the Middle East which he’s going to take care of, but by the hell that red haired woman has just put him in.