It's late.

Pepper's ginger-rimmed eyelids are heavy as she sorts through the unceasing stream of email in Tony's inbox. Press conference, click. Fan-mail, click. More fan-mail. Click, click, click. She watches with triumph as she drags a slew of highlighted messages into one folder. How efficient—it gets rid of 12 emails at once, and immediately 13 appear to replace them.

She is sitting straight-backed on the cream couch, one long leg tucked under the other. Her black stilettos were kicked off hours ago, but she doubts Tony has noticed. She looks over at him, briefly; he is slouched across the sofa, several feet away, one jean-clad leg resting on the coffee table. He holds the remote straight out, at eye-level, clicking through the 3,000 digital satellite channels, checking sports scores and reactions to his now week-old news. There is still plenty, and he pauses on a local Malibu news station with a particularly attractive blonde twenty-something talking about the possible futures of Stark Industries. The arc-reactor glows softly through his black wife-beater.

Pepper returns to her work.

"Honey Phelps," Tony mutters, "Do you think that's her real name?"

"Huh?" Pepper looks up, shaking her bangs out of her blue eyes, "I…I don't know, Mr. Stark."

"Honey's kind of ridiculous."

"So is 'Pepper'," Pepper replies absently, refusing to be swept up in Tony's 16-year-old banter.

"But that's a nickname. I bet 'Honey' is a nickname." Tony sounds decided, so Pepper agrees.

"Sure."

"Pepper…" Tony's voice has a slight whine to it, "What are you doing at…Jarvis!"

"The time is 2:26 AM," Jarvis's soothing voice interjects.

Pepper rolls her eyes without looking up, "There's a clock on the wall, Mr. Stark. Come to think of it, there's also one on the TV. Oh, and one on your wrist. It's called a watch."

She can feel Tony scooting closer to her on the couch, so she keeps her eyes trained on the laptop screen. She opens a 'Compose Message' window and scrolls through her address list for Colonel Rhodes's e-mail. Tony's tousled brown hair enters the corner of her vision.

"What are you doing over here, Pepper?"

She sighs, and looks up. "I'm writing an email to Colonel Rhodes about your meeting with him tomorrow."

"Oh? What are you saying?"

"I'm just confirming." Pepper looks straight into his brown eyes, "It's at 3 p.m."

"You look tired," Tony observes, "Really tired. Why are you still working?"

"Because there's still work to be done." Pepper dips her head and concentrates on the blurring screen in front of her.

"Screw work," Tony says, and closes her laptop. Pepper's mouth drops open in shock and she brings her gaze back up to his.

He grins—disarmingly, she notices—"You didn't save that email, did you? Well, Rhodey'll get the idea when I show up at 3."

Pepper brings both hands up to her temples and begins to rub in counter-clockwise circular motions. She closes her eyes and breathes through her nose. "There were other things on there that I didn't save, Mr. Stark."

"Do it tomorrow."

Pepper continues to breathe.

"Pepper, don't be that way. I'll do it tomorrow."

Pepper snorts. "Like you have any idea how to organize your personal life."

"I know my social security number, now. Pepper. Come on, Pepper." Tony grasps both of her wrists and lifts her hands away from her face.

She opens her eyes to find his sardonic brown ones inches from her own. There is a pregnant pause, and she is suddenly very aware of his big hands curled around her slender wrists, of the heat radiating off his body as he leans into her, of the way his brown eyes are slowly deepening in color. Of how the fluorescent-blue of the arc-reactor is pulsating softly in his chest.

She shakes her head, clearing the cobwebs and pulls her wrists from his grasp. "I guess I should go home, then."

Her hands are shaky as she pushes the black notebook computer into her practical briefcase, and she avoids looking at him by straightening the already-neat row of pens inside. "I'll uh, I'll see you tomorrow."

She closes the briefcase with a snap, and leans down to slip her heels back on. She fastens the ankle-strap around her left ankle and raises up, only to find herself centimeters from Tony Stark's infamous smirk. He looks like he is about to say something, but she beats him to it.

"Good evening, Mr. Stark."

He opens his mouth to return the salutation, but instead, he kisses her.

It only takes centimeters to close the gap between them and he feels her startled sigh as he presses his lips against hers. Her briefcase thuds to the plush carpeting as he reaches one arm around her size-2 waist and yanks her closer to him.

She doesn't know what to do with her hands, so she allows one to tentatively curl around the back of his neck, toying with his already-mussed hair. He wraps both arms around her, dragging her half onto his lap as he slants his mouth across hers, opening the seal of her lips with a quick thrust of his tongue.

He holds her like he can't get enough, and he tastes like expensive scotch and smells like rich cologne. His tongue delves into her mouth, effectively chasing away any doubts or even thoughts that were lingering in her brain, twisting and toying with her own. After what seems like hours, but is really only minutes, he pulls back—slightly.

She gasps for air and he breathes deep, before leaning back in.

She puts one hand on his chest, over his arc-reactor, sees the mellow blue glow through her fingers. Her other hand is still traitorously curling in his thick, disheveled hair.

The two seconds of breath has been enough to clear her head, and she dips lashes low and then up, her blue eyes wide and scared.

"Tony," she whispers.

He nods, his eyes still closed, and moves toward her but she pushes back.

"Tony!"

His eyes fly open at her urgency and he cocks his head. Upon seeing that there is no immediate danger to either him or her person, he pulls her closer.

"Stop." She extracts herself from his arms, and pushes herself, gracefully, off his lap. He looks like a 6-year-old child, or a puppy. She turns away, shakily bending over to pick up her briefcase. She smoothes out her charcoal grey pencil skirt and turns back, "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Stark."

She strides, as purposefully as she can, toward the front door of the mansion—wobbling only slightly on her five-inch stilettos.

-

As she exits, Tony lies back on the sofa, and lets out a low groan.

-

Pepper slips between her 1500-count Egyptian cotton sheets—Tony Stark's gift to her for Christmas of 2005—in nothing but white silk panties, and sighs.

-

It's going to be a long night.