Title: Creativity Has Its Own Rewards
Author: S J Smith
Rating: Teenish
Summary: There's absolutely no mistletoe at Pepper Pott's apartment.
Disclaimer: If I owned absolutely any of this, I'd be less worried about job security.
"Is that mistletoe?"
Pepper glanced up overhead, at the green sprig hanging haphazardly off her kitchen cabinet, then back at Tony. "No, it's basil."
Tony raised his eyebrows. It was his first actual visit to her apartment, and he'd been taking in the Christmas decorations (tasteful and subdued, nothing too over the top for her, but she'd hidden away her favorite Christmas stocking, the one her great aunt Rose had made her when she was as child, all out of felt with sequins sewn on, and a white reindeer with bells jangling from his collar when she'd known Tony was coming over), making appropriate-type Tony noises. Now, he followed her glance up to the sprig of greenery. "Are you sure it's basil? Because if it's mistletoe, we'd have to." He pursed his mouth.
Shaking her head, Pepper said, "No, it's still basil."
"Hmm." Tony frowned, as if the basil was personally annoying him. "Disappointing."
"I don't have any mistletoe in this apartment, Tony."
He nodded, and opened her refrigerator, rummaging in the drawers. "You do have broccoli."
"What's broccoli have to do with anything?"
Tony retreated from the refrigerator to hold the broccoli over his head, and made a kissy face. "Sometimes, you have to be creative?"
Pepper sighed, going to him and lacing her hands around the back of his neck. "There is a thing as too much creativity," she warned.
"Hmm," Tony said, pecking her mouth. "I don't think so." He came back for seconds. "Nope. Never a thing as too much creativity." He tossed the broccoli, putting his hands on her hips and pulled her more tightly against him. "In fact, I'm thinking about getting very creative right now, possibly on that counter."
Squealing as Tony lifted her up, Pepper clung to his shoulders as he deposited her on the counter, kissing her hard. And next time, she thought, as his hands moved down over her thighs, she'd get some damned mistletoe.