I'm having writer's block on Access Granted, and this is what my brain gives me instead. I think it's the heat; its ninety degrees and humid and I have no AC. This is rated T for mild sexual content and a pair of lacy underwear.
I own nothing.
Tony looked at the hamper sitting next to his bed, his nose wrinkled. Honestly, what was she thinking? He hadn't folded his own laundry since he was in college. And now this? This basket of warm clothes, wadded into a haphazard pile, that small little infuriating note attached.
Please fold – laundromat was closed and you needed shirts, so I had Dummy wash these. Don't let him fold them, he doesn't understand the concept of buttons.
Tony scratched his ear. This, quite frankly, sucked. He would have to think of a way to get back at his pretty assistant, but for now he supposed there was nothing to do but get on with it. He lifted the hamper and turned it upside down onto the bed, a cascade of clothing falling upon the mattress.
"Like I don't have better things to do," Tony grumbled, pulling a T-shirt from the pile.
"Domesticity suits you, Sir," Jarvis offered.
"Shut up or I'll make you a girl."
Tony spent a few minutes figuring out how to make the shirt look like it usually did, all crisp corners and angles. It actually wasn't too hard – some basic geometry applied to the folds of the sleeves and to the center of the shirt created an appealing square of cotton.
He looked at the pile, daunted – one down, a mountain to go.
Halfway through he saw something red, bright, bright red, something he was sure he didn't own. Tony yanked on it and pulled out a tiny stretch of cherry-red lace, something that looked decidedly like-
Tony took a moment to think if he had had any company over lately, and the answer was a resounding no. No woman had graced his bed for nearly a year – he was painfully aware of that exquisite fact. Which meant that this particular number belonged to-
"Whoa," Tony spluttered, dropping the offending underwear onto the bed and staring at it as if it had fangs. He willed himself not to think about what this meant. He told himself to quell the image of his unfailingly stunning Pepper walking around with that underneath those killer skirts.
He clearly imagined her walking around in only that, and his traitorous body immediately stirred at the unbidden image that played in his mind.
"Whoa okay," he said again, trying to tame the flush of heat that filled him. It wasn't as if he had never seen lacy underwear before. And this pair wasn't even on a woman.
But it had been. It had been on one very interesting woman. Tony looked at the offending article lying on his bed (which brought to mind another wanton image) and wondered about the best way to approach the situation. The easiest thing would be to discard the underwear, burn it, whatever – and never mention it again. It was highly unlikely that Pepper would bring it up. But Tony didn't like to do things the easy way. And he definitely didn't like to pass up a chance to make Pepper blush in that disarmingly charming way of hers.
Instead, with a devilish grin, he pocketed the red underwear and went on folding the clothes, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Tony sat on the couch, his legs splayed, his head resting on the back, eyes seemingly glued to the television. He flipped channels absently, throwing in enough inane comments to make Pepper believe he wasn't secretly watching her out of the corner of his eyes. Which he was. But she was oblivious to his presence regardless, reading news reports on her laptop.
He switched the channel once more and turned the volume up. After a moment Pepper glanced up at the television, and then gave him a glare.
"The college years –that's legal." Tony turned his head to look at her. "So...Pacey or Dawson?"
"Pacey," she replied without missing a beat.
Tony grinned. "I knew you'd go for the dark haired one."
"I'm trying to work."
"Fine, I'll just go downstairs. And watch Joey and Pacey fight by myself." Tony stood, stretched, and flicked the television off. Then, smoothly, he dropped something.
"Tony you dropped some...thing." Pepper's eyes went wide. "Oh my God. What is that?"
Grinning, he lifted the underwear from the floor with one finger and held it up triumphantly. "Maybe you should tell me, Ms. Potts?"
He could see her visibly swallow, her cheeks turning a bright crimson that matched the lace perfectly. She stood abruptly, her laptop sliding dangerously off her lap and onto the couch.
"Give me those."
"Not so easy."
Tony took a meandering step toward Pepper, the underwear swinging gaily from his finger. "I have just one question."
"Dummy probably picked them up from my office. I changed there the other day for the gala. Happy?"
Tony blinked, stunned momentarily by the thought of Pepper being naked in his house. Within his reach. With bright red underwear.
"That wasn't my question."
"What?" Pepper snapped. She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and glared. "Stop blackmailing me."
"Just one question."
She looked at him warily, her blue eyes confused and afraid. Tony found he really wanted to taste her lips.
Tony took another step closer, grabbed her by the hands and pulled her closer. His smile faded as he became all too aware of her body next to his, the piece of underwear clutched between their hands.
"What color is it today?" he asked softly, one eyebrow rising.
If possible, Pepper turned even redder.
"Don't be crude," she whispered in her most peevish tone.
"I can't stop thinking about it." It was true, very true. He had spent half the night awake thinking about his assistant bringing him memos in variations of red.
"Tony," she whispered, fear now lingering in her voice. "Stop. This isn't a good idea."
"Neither is leaving your underwear in my laundry."
"It's just underwear," Pepper said, as if trying to convince herself of it.
"It's your underwear."
Pepper held his gaze, her blue eyes breathtaking, her lips parted and her breath coming more heavily than it had been earlier. She wetted her lips and Tony nearly lost it, ready as he was to pounce on her.
"Thank you for retrieving my undergarment, Mr. Stark," she said, slipping her hands – and her underwear – from Tony's grasp. He felt the loss of her skin contact acutely. "Will that be all?"
Tony watched her, his eyes tracing the curve of her jaw and the dance of her freckles on her nose. No, he wanted to say, that wasn't all. He wanted to count those freckles, to learn the feel of her ribs, to find out where she was ticklish, to find out how to make her moan.
Instead: "That will be all, Ms. Potts."
It must have been the tone in his voice, sincere from the disappointment and desire he felt, that made Pepper brush past him and pause at his side.
"White," she said. "Silk and white."
Tony shut his eyes and groaned inwardly.
No idea where this came from. But fun anyway! R&R.