Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to Iron Man or the associated Marvel Universe. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

Author's Notes: Thirst was written for lj user jamaillith for the given prompt of balcony (location), fireworks (sensation), and Pepper's dress (color). See the author's notes for the preceding story (Give Us a Hand o'Thine) for additional information re: the prompt.


Thirst


The night is chill, but not uncomfortably so; the blast of cool air on his face is a relief. Pepper rests with her arms folded upon the railing, just within the circle of light that falls at his heels as he steps on to the balcony. Her hair is pulled high; her shoulders are bare; her legs are a faint and curving silhouette obscured by the folds of her gown. Tony scuffs his heels as he draws near and the ice in his glass clinks against the sides, soft as a bell, clear as a warning. Pepper tips her head just so, peering over her shoulder; and at his approach, she smiles.

Tony rests his weight against the cement railing. "Hiding, Potts?"

"Getting some air," she says, "but close."

"Out here, alone, in the dark? Seems dangerous."

"Might be," she says. "But I didn't want to miss the fireworks."

Tony follows her gaze. Small rockets rise from the shoreline, splashing the sky, lighting the sea. Pepper's hair shines nearly as brightly.

"I love them," she says, as though through a dream. She tips her face to the sky. "The fireworks, I mean."

Tony watches the light play across her throat. "Yeah," he says. "They're nice."

Pepper turns to meet his eyes, her eyebrows arched, the corners of her mouth twitching up. Tony takes a large mouthful of his scotch and studies the light on the waves.

"'Nice'?" she says.

He widens his eyes over the glass. Swallows. "Sorry - what's that? I missed it."

Pepper shakes her finger at him. "I'm on to you, mister."

"I hope not," says Tony.

Pepper smiles. A firework cracks, spilling blue across the night sky, and the color is echoed on the pale skin of her face, the long, slow slope of her throat, the white chiffon of her bodice.

He is suddenly, acutely thirsty. Tony tips his scotch back, draining the glass dry.

"What're you staring at?" Pepper says. Her voice is soft, her tone amused; she suspects, but does not know.

"The fireworks," he says, quite easily. He blinks to clear his eyes.

"I hear they're very nice," she says as though in confidence.

The swell of her lip is hard to mistake, the curve of her shoulders more so. In the strained pool of light she is beautiful and strange, an indeterminable quantity at once achingly familiar and unknown to him. As ever, when faced with the unknown he wishes to know. The corner of her mouth that tilts slightly down when she thinks. The hard line of her collarbone. Her shoulders: left, then right. The freckle on her ear. The tiny scar on the inside of her thumb.

He lifts his glass, then hesitates at the sound of ice striking ice striking glass. There is nothing more to drink.

Pepper smiles still, her face turned to him, her hands folded before her, awaiting the rejoinder that does not come. Another rocket splits in the sky, washing her face with a sudden brightness.

Tony sets his glass aside.


This story was originally posted at livejournal on 05/14/2008.