First attempt at Ironman fic. Reviews welcome.
At first glance, he looks normal. Normal for him that is.
The exquisite tux, hair falling oh-so-casually over his left eye. Right down to the charming smile that graces his lips.
Only someone well acquainted with him would know that all was not well with Tony Stark.
All was not well at all.
He can see her standing there, wearing a pale blue gown that would make her look like an icicle if were not for the sunburst of red curls that fall upon her shoulders.
He frowns. She's talking to the blonde idiot from Accounting again.
He tries to make believe that he has no idea why this should be bothering him, but since he knows better, he decides to snag his own blonde in a fit of petulant jealousy.
Around fifteen minutes later his eyes are glassy from boredom, and though it had been fun trying to make Pepper jealous (she had looked in his direction and frowned, she really had), there's only so much small talk he can make with boring blond bombshells without his mind wandering.
So he slips past the throng of guests easily and slowly walks down to the only area in his house that he can call his own.
He enters the passcode that allows him entry into his workshop and slowly draws out the bottle of single malt he keeps hidden away for reasons he doesn't really know.
He pours out the first glass, hearing the quiet clink-clink the ice makes as it swirls around.
He stares at the glass and shakes his head.
It was going to be a long night.
A/N: I am aware of how painfully short this is, but I'm working on the second half if anybody cares to have a read.