What happens in Vegas...
So, yeah. More Iron Man crackfic, spawned last night in the comment threads of another crack fic. This is all I have so far, but needless to say, Tony and Pepper have managed to get hitched in Vegas, only Tony doesn't remember. Got it?
Please feel free to pick up the story and continue it, because I think I'm too chicken (or possibly too distractable) to do so. We shall see. I blame an insane combination of the heat, the fact that I've been watching YouTube clips of RDJ on Ally McBeal, and the Hive Mind's Porn Thread of Doom.
eta: dammit, I knew I should have stayed up late last night to finish watching the clips. They've been yanked from YouTube already. And Ally McBeal isn't on Netflix. Weird. Yes, this is what fandom does to me. I never had any desire to watch Ally McBeal before this.
This clearly never happened. I didn't write it. It's not mine. Nope. Hopefully I shall now be able to return to my regularly scheduled angst.
Please feel free to pick up the story and continue it, because I think I'm too chicken (or possibly too distractable) to do so. We shall see. I blame an insane combination of the heat, the fact that I've been watching YouTube clips of RDJ on Ally McBeal, and the Hive Mind's Porn Thread of Doom.
eta: dammit, I knew I should have stayed up late last night to finish watching the clips. They've been yanked from YouTube already. And Ally McBeal isn't on Netflix. Weird. Yes, this is what fandom does to me. I never had any desire to watch Ally McBeal before this.
This clearly never happened. I didn't write it. It's not mine. Nope. Hopefully I shall now be able to return to my regularly scheduled angst.
She wakes up on the floor, her cheek roughened by the carpet. The first thing she sees is the long sine wave of a red silk tie inches away from the hand that lies curled under her chin, so she reaches out to run one finger down the length of it, slippery smooth, and that's when she realizes she knows this tie, she picked out this tie this morning, and Tony had argued with her that he'd rather wear--
Pepper Potts sits bolt upright, a tangle of hair caught in her mouth, and blinks.
There's a ring on her ring finger. There's a ring there, too small, not even her size, a band of the gaudiest filligreed gold she's ever... and... are those sapphires? Why is she on the floor? Why is she sleeping on the floor?
Her head whips around and there, that's the crumpled shape of Tony's jacket, Tony's $1,000 suit jacket, left draped over the arm of a high-backed chair by the wall. And ah, God, those are the trousers there on the floor. And there's a blunt fingered hand, dangling over the side of an entirely too-large bed. Pepper holds her breath and rises to her knees, peering over the edge of the mattress to see -- Tony alone, spread out on his belly, his face buried in a white pillow. A sheet is rucked around his hips, exposing a wide length of his back, still smattered with yellowing bruises along his ribs from his most recent outing in the armor.
Okay. So. It's not every day that Pepper wakes up on the floor of her employer's penthouse hotel suite, because that's clearly where she is right now. And let's not forget the ring.
The room sort of lists to one side, and she blinks again, and yeah. This is a hangover she's got going here, and the last time Pepper drank enough to be hung over had been... too long ago to remember clearly. But her brain is starting to wake up, lagging sorely behind the rest of her body, and while she can't quite get over the fact that she was sleeping on the floor of Tony Stark's hotel room, she's too relieved that she and Tony are the only two people in the suite to think too deeply about the implications of why she's still here at all.
Then the ring catches her eye again, and her memory catches up with her brain, and now she's wishing there was someone else in the room with them, some leggy blonde draped over Tony's back, because that would mean what she thinks she remembers about last night would be nothing but some kind of alcohol fueled fever dream.
Tony snuffles into his pillow and she freezes, absolutely paralyzed. And before she can move, before she can scurry back to her own more modest room three floors down and figure out what the hell is going on, he's raised his head and is staring at her, his mouth hanging open just slightly.
"Um," Tony says. "Hi?"
"Mr. Stark," Pepper smooths her hand over her skirt, as if it's perfectly natural for her to be kneeling on the floor of his hotel room, a yard away from his bed.
"Are you," Tony breaks off and sits up, and she averts her eyes, but he's wearing boxers for once. "Are you on the floor, Potts? Why are you on the floor?"
Of course, she doesn't have a good answer for that, and really, it's the least of the things she doesn't have an answer for right now.
Pepper Potts sits bolt upright, a tangle of hair caught in her mouth, and blinks.
There's a ring on her ring finger. There's a ring there, too small, not even her size, a band of the gaudiest filligreed gold she's ever... and... are those sapphires? Why is she on the floor? Why is she sleeping on the floor?
Her head whips around and there, that's the crumpled shape of Tony's jacket, Tony's $1,000 suit jacket, left draped over the arm of a high-backed chair by the wall. And ah, God, those are the trousers there on the floor. And there's a blunt fingered hand, dangling over the side of an entirely too-large bed. Pepper holds her breath and rises to her knees, peering over the edge of the mattress to see -- Tony alone, spread out on his belly, his face buried in a white pillow. A sheet is rucked around his hips, exposing a wide length of his back, still smattered with yellowing bruises along his ribs from his most recent outing in the armor.
Okay. So. It's not every day that Pepper wakes up on the floor of her employer's penthouse hotel suite, because that's clearly where she is right now. And let's not forget the ring.
The room sort of lists to one side, and she blinks again, and yeah. This is a hangover she's got going here, and the last time Pepper drank enough to be hung over had been... too long ago to remember clearly. But her brain is starting to wake up, lagging sorely behind the rest of her body, and while she can't quite get over the fact that she was sleeping on the floor of Tony Stark's hotel room, she's too relieved that she and Tony are the only two people in the suite to think too deeply about the implications of why she's still here at all.
Then the ring catches her eye again, and her memory catches up with her brain, and now she's wishing there was someone else in the room with them, some leggy blonde draped over Tony's back, because that would mean what she thinks she remembers about last night would be nothing but some kind of alcohol fueled fever dream.
Tony snuffles into his pillow and she freezes, absolutely paralyzed. And before she can move, before she can scurry back to her own more modest room three floors down and figure out what the hell is going on, he's raised his head and is staring at her, his mouth hanging open just slightly.
"Um," Tony says. "Hi?"
"Mr. Stark," Pepper smooths her hand over her skirt, as if it's perfectly natural for her to be kneeling on the floor of his hotel room, a yard away from his bed.
"Are you," Tony breaks off and sits up, and she averts her eyes, but he's wearing boxers for once. "Are you on the floor, Potts? Why are you on the floor?"
Of course, she doesn't have a good answer for that, and really, it's the least of the things she doesn't have an answer for right now.