Playing Nursemaid
Author: starhawk2005
Date: Sept 2008
Pairing: Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Rating: Adult (18+). Tony would approve, I'm sure. ;)
Summary: Pepper's tired of the holding pattern they've been in, ever since Tony came back from Afghanistan.
Beta: Many thanks to cincoflex, for helping to make sure I didn't stray from the bounds of 'in-character-ness'. *gives her plate of brownies*
Disclaimer: Not mine. Which is too bad, because imagine the gas money I'd save, if I had an arc reactor to power my car!
Author Notes: My first fic for the fandom, and hopefully not my last. When are those DVDs coming out, dammit? The Muses need some half-naked!Tony inspiration!
Pepper bites back a snappy comment as her boss staggers up the stairs from his garage, battered and bruised. There used to be a time when she always knew what to say to him, when she had her comebacks to his come-ons lined up like soldiers. A strange dance had existed between them, but both of them had been comfortable with it.
Back then, he was predictable. The drinking, the women, the attempts to avoid engagements he deemed 'boring and pointless'…Pepper used to know how to handle it all. The flirting remarks he made to her, she either brushed off, or threw banter back. It was comfortable, the verbal sparring, it was them.
But since Afghanistan, since Iron Man, everything's different. He hasn't brought home a woman in weeks. He still avoids social events – even more determinedly than before – and he's still drinking, but everything else….His eyes linger on her when he thinks she isn't looking, and, somehow, the flirtations have changed.
Now, as Tony stumbles up the stairs towards her, Pepper steels herself. Because no matter how much he's changed, no matter how proud of him she is – and she is, he predicted that to the letter, damn him – he's still her boss, and there are some lines you just don't cross. Yes, she almost kissed him that night at the gala, the night of the backless blue dress, but that was a lapse in judgment, and she's not going to let it happen again.
It's difficult, though. Especially difficult, when he's bloodied and abraded and tired like this.
Vulnerable.
"Miss Potts," he says, stopping a pace in front of her. "Would you mind very much-?" He gestures towards the study.
"Not at all, Mr. Stark," she answers, all formality. This has become one of their new routines. Perhaps she shouldn't be surprised. She was and is his makeup person, even before Iron Man, so it hasn't been much of a stretch for her to become his first-line paramedic after a mission as well.
The study is dark, except for dim moonlight falling through the huge windows, but Tony doesn't turn on the lights. He limps over to his desk chair, falling into it with a loud groan. "Better bring me a drink, Pepper."
She doesn't argue – it's not in her job description. She just pours half a tumbler of his favourite one, brings it to him, and then snaps on the desk lamp before reaching for the first-aid kit in the second drawer down on the left. That drawer used to hold various odds and ends – snips of wire, pieces of circuit boards, crumpled napkins with women's phone numbers scribbled on them – but now it's home to bandages and surgical tape, gauze and antibiotic ointment. The new reality of Tony Stark, presumptive superhero.
She turns the lamp, taking his right hand and studying the gashes on his knuckles within the circle of its light. "What did you do?" she asks.
"Punched a tank," he says, all smugness now. He knocks back the entire contents of the glass in one shot, grimacing, then grins up at her. "It was something to see, Potts. It practically folded in half under my fist. I obviously need more protection, more padding for my hands, though. Maybe some kind of flexible foam…no, there has to be something else…"
He rambles on, slipping into what Pepper long ago labeled as 'Tony-speak', a litany of half-intelligible ideas, interspersed with curses and frustrated mutterings, and the occasional excited outburst as something 'clicks' into place in his train of thought, but she doesn't mind. It gives her a chance to focus on his wounds, bandaging each little gash.
Unfortunately it doesn't help distract her from the fact that it's Tony's hand she's holding.
Pepper has always admired his hands. Strong and capable and sure, and now that his hand is lying across hers, she almost reluctantly adds 'warm' to the list. The back of his hand is soft, though, soft as the calluses and tiny burn marks on his fingers and palm are rough. She feels an unwelcome twinge inside her, deep inside, the same feeling that tried to drive her to kiss him that night.
No.
Done with his hand, she starts to straighten up. Maybe she's lucky tonight, and that's the only injury she needs to treat. She can make her escape and get out of here, before the forbidden thoughts and desires get stronger.
But Tony is shrugging off his black wifebeater (such a horrible name for a piece of clothing, Pepper's always thought). "Hang on, I think I've got some kind of cut around the reactor." The device in question fills the room with a faint blue light, and Pepper reluctantly leans over him again, this time examining his chest.
Bruises galore, but that seems to be the unavoidable drawback of wearing a metal suit, and there's nothing she can do about those anyways. But he's right, the skin around the arc reactor has torn a little, and she reaches for the antibiotic ointment and bandages again. It's not unusual – human skin was never meant to fuse to metal like this, and Tony's exertions inside the suit certainly don't help matters – but it doesn't make things any easier for Pepper.
Grimly, she does what she has to do to help him, and then she makes her escape, only allowing herself to finally sigh with relief once Happy has let her off in front of the expensive apartment building she lives in. When she's not at Tony Stark's beck and call, that is.
But there'll be other injuries, she knows. She needs to develop a new immunity to the patented Stark charm, and fast.
The dress is utterly ridiculous, but she wears it anyway, only realizing once she's standing in the middle of the well-appointed room, in the middle of a conversation with some colleagues, that she neglected to put on deodorant after her shower earlier. Oh God.
When Tony appears, she feels even more off-balance. He never goes to his own parties. Never. What's changed? What did Afghanistan do to him? His eyes are locked on her, and she feels suddenly naked...But it's not entirely unpleasant.
He swaggers over and asks her to dance. She tries to refuse, but he grasps her hand firmly and overrides her feeble objections, tugging her out to the floor.
They banter about how she smells, and about social security numbers. He's watching her carefully, a look in his eyes she hasn't seen before, or at least, never directed at her before. Warmth. Desire.
His hand, located so chastely on the (bare, oh my God) small of her back, suddenly slips lower, brushing over the edge of her dress, and curving down, down. Smoothing along her curve.
"Tony!" she gasps, but at the same time, she doesn't want him to stop. Not really.
He pulls her forward until they are pressed hip to hip, chest to chest, his erection digging unsubtly into her belly. His beard slides roughly against her cheek, his lips – so soft – brushing her ear. "I missed you, Pepper. All that time in Afghanistan, without you. That was the worst torture."
Pepper doesn't know what to say. She's lost. It feels so good in his arms, and it doesn't matter that he's doing things he would never do, saying things he would never say-
There's a sudden jump-cut, and she finds the two of them are standing together on the balcony. That's how she finally realizes that this is just a dream, not reality. Never reality.
That's why it's safe for her to start her little speech about how he's her boss and she can't dance with him, how it's OK for him to be how he is with other girls…and end it by leaning into him.
Just like he did in reality, he doesn't move. Not as pushy as he was on the dance-floor, he waits, but his gaze moves down her body, and it's almost a physical caress.
This time, she doesn't teeter on the brink and pull back. No, this time, because she knows it's safe, she leans in the rest of the way and kisses him. Aggressively, exactly the way she never acts in real life, she pushes his lips apart with her tongue, tasting both expensive scotch and him.
His hands are on her shoulders, holding her there, and it's odd because the hand on her left shoulder is warm. Very warm. Much warmer than any other part of him that she's in contact with, even his lips on hers. It's puzzling-
The strangely warm hand tightens, then shakes her gently. "Pepper," he says, and his voice is too loud, too jarring and urgent, but not in a way that suggests he wants her in his bed, wants to be between her thighs. No, it's the kind of urgency she's come to expect from-
Pepper snaps suddenly awake, almost crying out as she realizes in the next moment that a darkened figure is towering over her, shaking her.
"Pepper, it's OK," the shape says, and it's Tony. It all comes back to her now – working on Tony's commencement speech for Harvard, feeling her eyelids getting heavier and heavier as the sun set and the room slowly dimmed - she must've fallen asleep here. Again. Funny how that keeps happening, almost as if she's waiting up for him.
"Why are you sitting in the dark like this?" he asks, letting go of her. "Turn on the lights, on dim, Jarvis!" He backs off, and Pepper is grateful. It gives her a chance to breathe deeply, calm her racing heart. But she also misses the pressure and warmth of his hand on her shoulder. God help her.
She can see him now, and it's evident why he woke her. There's blood on his upper arm, and a few thin streams of it painted down the side of his face. "My God, Tony, what happened?" Her protective armour of sarcasm snaps into place, belatedly. "You didn't punch a tank again, did you?" She wonders suddenly if she was moaning in her sleep, and whether Tony heard it.
Thank God she doesn't blush easily.
"No," he says, and he seems embarrassed. "It was just a little accident. It was nothing, really."
"Jarvis?" Pepper asks impatiently. She knows that tone in his voice. It means she'll get to the bottom of it faster by asking someone other than Tony Stark.
"Mr. Stark was unharmed until he arrived back at home base. Then he decided to use the existing hole in the roof to land, but misjudged." Jarvis informs her flatly.
"Tattletale," Tony accuses.
"Thank you, sir," the computer replies in the same tone, and Pepper hides her smile. She dons instead her role of the ever-suffering assistant, ready to assist her boss.
The dream, however, still lies heavily on her.
She shoves it aside in her mind. "You need to stop being so careless, Tony," she berates him, vacating the chair so he can sit. She rummages for the first aid kit, an action that is becoming distressingly familiar to her. The thought of him getting injured, really injured, maybe even dying one of these days, makes her hands tense around the kit. It's almost preferable to focus on the lingering flavour of her dream, rather than the thought of permanently losing him to his new lifestyle.
"Yes, Mommy," he says equably. "Are you going to kiss my boo-boos and make them all better?" The old teasing tone is back in his voice, and Pepper tenses again, for a different reason. Her dream, still lurking at the edges of her thoughts, comes back to her full-force.
Pepper just presses her lips tightly together and shakes her head, not in the mood to banter with him. She bends over him, keeping her eyes locked to his wounds and her work whenever possible.
The arm wound turns out to be a shallow scrape. Nothing too hard to handle. The gash at his hairline is the more difficult injury for her to deal with, though, mainly because he's watching her, and it's hard to avoid his eyes when she's literally right in his face.
"You know," he suggests, eyebrow quirking, "You keep doing this, and I'll have to buy you a special uniform. We could call you 'Naughty Nurse Potts'. Got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" His eyes glint mischievously.
The mental image of her, complete with white stilettos, short white skirt, and nurse's cap makes her smile, even as she shoots back, "Not in my job description, Mr. Stark."
"Even if I gave you a substantial raise, Ms. Potts?" he teases. He pauses and thinks about what he just said, a familiar smirk crossing his face as he glances down in the general region of his crotch. "Pun intended."
"Not even then," she shoots back, but she can't help picturing what it might be like, playing that kind of game with him. Leaning over him just like this, balancing skillfully on her high heels, giving him a good view of her cleavage as she bends over him…Pepper shivers a little, then shoves the thoughts away. It's wrong, and she won't go there. Period. He's her boss, end of story.
She presses the last bandage in place as lightly as possible, starting to step back, but his hand wraps around hers, freezing her in place. His grip is warm, but his eyes are warmer, softer. "Pepper," he says, and the word seems full of promise.
She can't move, can't take back her hand. But she doesn't really want to, she has to admit that to herself. The warm feeling in her belly is still there, despite her best efforts, and part of her wants to stoke it higher.
"Thanks for patching me up," he says casually as he lets go of her hand. Despite his apparent calmness, there's a certain look in his eyes, and she thinks he knows just how ready to give in she is.
It's that certainty, that he knows, that drives her to pull her hand back, turn to leave. She doesn't want to be numbered among the small army of his conquests, giving in so predictably. "You're welcome, Mr. Stark. Goodnight." she says. She doesn't look back over her shoulder as she exits the room and turns down the hallway.
Pepper only makes it about three steps before the thought occurs – there's no small army of conquests now. Since he came back from Afghanistan, the man's been a relative monk. Sure, she's seen girls hit on him, but she hasn't seen him respond, let alone bring one home to bed.
Come to think of it, the only woman he's been flirting with since he came back from that awful place, is her.
His past words come back to her: "I don't have anyone…but you."
That was quite the admission, coming from him…and yet, an honest one. Pepper had been sure of it at the time, and she was still sure now.
She hovers in the hallway, well aware of the choice in front of her. She can continue to play the game, continue to be just Tony Stark's assistant. She can trade verbal barbs and banter, always staying at arm's length. She can take her fat paycheque home at the end of the month, and pretend she's still working for the bonvivant playboy that had originally hired her.
Or, she can finally acknowledge the fact that Tony Stark has grown, changed. Turned into someone she can be proud of, someone that she even has feelings for.
Someone whom she is sure has feelings for her.
Even as the cons start to rear their ugly heads – that as Iron Man, one day he may be horribly crippled, or even killed. That he's still drinking.That the boss-assistant relationship will be violated – she finds herself retracing her steps back to the office. Tony is still behind the desk, now staring intensely into a tumbler of Scotch. One thing still hasn't changed, and she finds herself pausing, hanging again at the cliff's edge, part of her wanting to point to the alcohol as a deal-breaker, part of her wanting to end this dance with him. End it, and start a whole new measure.
He glances up at her, confusion creasing his brow. "Pepper? Everything OK?" He frowns, watching her. She doesn't usually hesitate like this.
Something changes in his eyes. The same look he'd given her that night at the gala, on the balcony. As if he knew he had to wait and let her make the decision.
The two of them can go on like this for months, weeks, maybe years. Pepper knows that. But the real question is, does she want that?
She crosses the room in what feels like only one or two steps, then leans over him, bracing herself on the arms of his chair. She doesn't stop to think about it, she's been doing that since he got back from his captivity, and she's suddenly tired of it all. Pepper just closes her eyes, leans in and kisses him.
It isn't much like her dream at all, in fact. His moustache is pricklier than she'd imagined, and his mouth tastes of Scotch. But his lips are also warm and soft, and his hands wrap around her wrists in a way she's only – literally – dreamed about.
Part of her is shocked at herself. Virginia Potts, the consummate professional, coming onto her boss. Unprofessional, unladylike…pick the derogatory adjective.
But she doesn't give a damn.
They move apart, but not very far, their foreheads still pressed together. His dark eyes look up into hers, and she's suddenly nervous. What if she's wrong? Maybe he doesn't feel anything for her after all. Or no more or less for her, than he felt for any of the others?
He clears his throat, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. "I can't remember," he says, his gaze wandering down her face to focus on her lips. "Did we agree I'd have to fire you, first? Because in all honesty, I'd prefer to have my cake and eat it, too." His gaze drops lower, lower, then moves back up, full of suggestion while a smirk curves the side of his mouth. "Pun still intended," he adds.
"I don't know what to do," she says, her assertiveness suddenly waning in the face of reality. Because it's true, she doesn't really know where they'll go from here. How to define 'them'. She's in uncharted territory, but she doesn't want to think about it, not at all. She just wants to kiss him again.
He shrugs, releasing one of her wrists, and slides his hand around her hip to the small of her back. Gentle pressure coaxes her forward. "Guess we'll figure it out as we go," he answers.
Her pencil skirt is too tight, it's too hard to straddle his lap. She pulls her other hand free of his grasp, a blush finally heating her face as she takes hold of the skirt and tugs on it, pulling it up to just above mid-thigh. Enough that she can settle herself comfortably in his lap – well, as comfortable as she can be, given the erection straining against his worn old jogging pants (how many times has she tried to get him to throw them out?) and pushing into her. He watches the whole operation very intently, for once tactfully refraining from saying anything.
She isn't usually the aggressor. It's why she backed off that night on the balcony. Well, one of the reasons, anyway.
But since taking the lead seems to be working, she's going to stay at it. Pepper cups his face in her palms, marveling at how soft his cheeks are under the rasp of beard, and kisses him again.
Kiss follows after kiss, his tongue playing softly in her mouth, and she runs her hands down his arms, his chest. Her fingers pause over the arc reactor, exploring the surface of it through his shirt, lingering on it. This is the thing keeping him alive, and even though she's even held it in her hands before, separate from his body, it still seems a miraculous thing to her.
Sensing her interest, Tony breaks off the kiss, looking up at her as he peels the shirt up and yanks it over his head, dropping it absently behind the chair. He pulls her closer again, his mouth searching out the hollow of her throat this time, and a shudder rips through her. His hands drop to the bare skin of Pepper's thighs, caressing first the outside, then sliding across and over, thumbs shifting down to trace slowly up her ticklish inner thighs. She gasps at the intimacy of it, and presses herself down against him.
Trying to center herself, her fingertips seek out the arc reactor again, tracing out its rounded edge. Funny, it hadn't been vibrating when she'd changed it for him that first time; it had just sat in her hand, pale blue light filtering between her fingers. But now, nestled into Tony's body, it seems to have a new vibrancy, a new life of its own, pulsing under her touch. Beating in time with Tony's flesh-and-blood heart? Perhaps, because when his hands move even higher, approaching the edge of her pulled-up skirt, and Pepper moans in her throat and pushes her hips forward again, the pulsing under her hand seems to speed up.
"Get up on the desk," he says suddenly, and she doesn't think she's ever heard that tone in his voice. He's given her a lot of orders, instructions, and directives in the past, as befits a boss, but nothing in that particular tone before. Rough, smoky, demanding. Desperate. "Please," he adds.
She's not sure what he means, but she stands up anyway, her questions answered when he impatiently swipes everything from the desk surface – coffee cups, pens, crumpled papers, even a small notebook computer tumbles to the floor with a bang and clatter that makes her wince (thank God she makes daily backups) – then his hands are on her hips, guiding her to sit on the edge of the desk. "I'll buy another one," he mutters, reading her mind, before his hands go between her thighs again, sliding up higher than before, pausing a bare inch under the edge of her skirt, and he's looking up at her, waiting for permission.
She teeters for a moment, caught between lust and propriety. It's not too late to break away from him, pull her skirt back down, claim it was a mistake and make a run for her car. They each have a mask they wear - used to wear – in the mornings after Pepper would find some girl sprawled naked on the bedsheets in his room, and part of her thinks that if she leaves now, those masks will smooth everything over tomorrow.
Except she doesn't want to stop. She needs him, needs this, and she has to have it now, because one day he might not be there, might not come back from a mission, and she'll always regret it if she doesn't take this last step.
Pepper doesn't trust her voice, so she spreads her thighs wider and pulls her skirt nearly all the way up, ignoring the burning in her cheeks. He shifts forward in the chair, his hands sliding higher, and he kisses the inside of her thigh, his breath practically searing her skin. Her spine feels like it's turned to jelly, and she has to lie back, bracing herself on her elbows.
Tony's mouth moves higher, inch by burning inch, and God, she feels like she has a fever now, sweat on her brow and beading on her chest, her nipples tightening. She's soaking wet, she can feel it, and he's about to find it out for himself. The thought makes her breath hitch.
He finally kisses her there, his lips pressing against black lace, and she moans as the feeling jolts through her. "Tony," she whimpers, almost surprising herself.
"At your service. And isn't that a pleasant change?" he quips, his hands peeling her panties away with the ease of long practice, but she stops her thoughts from following along that line of logic. That was Old Tony. This is New Tony. Iron Man TonyTM.
He tastes her then, fingers pressing firmly along her hips to hold her still as she squirms. It's almost too much, her nerve endings on fire as his tongue dips inside her, then dances across her to reach her clit and scour delicately across it. Her fingernails dig into the desk blotter, his name spilling from her again as his tongue presses against her clit and she feels fingertips slipping gently into her.
"Wait," he says. "Let's move this to my bedroom." Pepper doesn't mind all that much. She's waited this long, what's a couple more seconds?
She gets off the desk and pulls her skirt back down, letting him take her hand and twine his fingers through hers. She glances back as he tugs her gently out of the room, stifling a very un-Pepper-like giggle at the thought of Tony discovering her crumpled lace panties on the floor the next time he comes in here.
But he's not taking her towards the master bedroom, but down the stairs. Down, past the lab where he dreams up all his marvels. Past the protective glass windows that encase all his work, to the small, plain bedroom where he often sleeps when he's in the middle of a creative binge.
Secretly, she's glad. The master bedroom, that's where he takes all his conquests, and as far as she knows, no one's ever slept in this particular room, except Tony. Alone.
He lies down on the steel-gray comforter, guiding her down beside him. "You OK with this?" he asks, suddenly. As if he's uncertain. It's very endearing, very New Tony.
"Yes," she says firmly. "Now stop stalling. You'd better finish what you started or, Iron Man or not, I'm going to kick your a-." She cuts herself off, the 'professional' part of her (still not entirely shut down, apparently) shocked at what she almost said, but Tony laughs. Very un-boss-like. But that's both Old Tony and New Tony, isn't it?
"Yeah, those stilettos of yours are deadly. Speaking of which-"
She closes her eyes as he strips her. Hot hands slide down her legs and undo the shoes in question, then caress their way back up to undo her skirt and pull it down. Her fingers twine in his hair as Tony removes her blouse and bra and suckles for the first time at her nipples, until she can't stand it any longer and she pushes his chest until their positions are reversed, him on his back while she practically rips the decrepit jogging pants off him.
No underwear, but Pepper barely notices, because the greater realization is, that Tony Stark is naked underneath her.
Stark. Naked. Stark naked. She smiles.
"What? Share the joke."
"I was just thinking how appropriate it was, you being 'stark naked'."
He groans and rolls his eyes, then pulls her back down to him. "Stand-up comedy isn't really your thing, Potts. Don't quit your day job."
"I don't plan to."
"Better not."
They kiss again, but she jerks back with a moan as his hand sneakily moves between them, settling between her thighs and rubbing over sensitive flesh. "God, you're so beautiful," Tony says, eyes dilated as he watches her react.
Not to be outdone, she wraps her hand around him, pumping slowly along the heated shaft, watching his eyes close and his head fall back. The arc reactor seems to burn just a little more brightly, tingeing everything in white-blue light.
"I want you," he finally growls out. "Want to be- inside you-" he clarifies, just in case there is some question, gasping as Pepper tightens her grip around him.
There are condoms in the bottom of the plain wood night-table next to the bed, and she almost wonders if she's been wrong about Tony bringing conquests down here. But she notices most of them have expired. She goes through the collection until she finds one that's still viable, trying not to be distracted by Tony on the bed, watching her impatiently as he runs his own hand lazily up and down the length of himself.
When they finally join, their bodies coming together…she can't really find any words to describe it to herself. Perfect, maybe, but she's always thought 'perfection' was overrated. 'It's about time' is probably closer. She decides then that it's better not to think anything at all. Just enjoy it.
Later she'll only remember their first time together as flashes of sensation, sight and sound. The feel of him deep inside her, hot and slick. The heat of the arc reactor under her palm. The slick slide of his fingers across her clit, and the wet dart of his tongue across her nipple. The feel of the bandage on his arm under her fingers. The way Tony growls low in his chest and finally flips them over, pinning her beneath him, pushing hard inside her until Pepper gives in and climaxes, finally coming to orgasm himself some indefinable time later.
When it's all over they lie entwined, spent and sated. Her head is on his shoulder, and every breath she takes is scented with him, the reactor relatively quiescent under her hand. She doesn't want to think, doesn't want to second-guess herself.
Pepper allows herself to fall asleep instead, never sure when Tony falls asleep.
If he does.
Tony stands in the middle of the garage, arms outstretched while the chaos of the Iron Man suit assembly whorls around him. Pepper still has mixed feelings about this other persona of his, but it's not her place to say anything. If her boss wants to put on a metal suit and zoom around saving the world, well-
"Pepper, take a memo," Tony says imperiously, shifting impatiently as his robots start piecing the arms of the suit in place. "'Turn that hole in the ceiling into a permanent entryway'." He glares at it balefully. "And widen it."
"Yes, Mr. Stark," she answers, hiding her smile.
His suit is nearly complete, only the helmet remains. His face framed in gold metal, he flashes her one of his dazzling smiles. "Wait up for me. For at least a little while?"
She smiles back at him openly this time. "Yes….Tony."
The next instant, he's gone in a roar.
If I were Iron Man, I'd have this girlfriend, who knew my real identity. She'd be a wreck. She'd always be worried I was gonna die, which would only make her even crazier about me…
It's all true, she muses.
And she wouldn't have it any other way.