Robert Downey Jr doing Wing Chun Kung Fu! Wow this one was a fun challenge to fulfill!
Over a forkful of veggies, she told him, “I don’t think you’ve /ever/ given me a present before. Not even Christmas. I’m not complaining, mind.” She contemplated him, unwilling to give up the topic this time. “So what might it be? Animal, vegetable, or mineral? Is it bigger than a breadbox?”
Tony thought for a moment, as if debating whether or not to actually answer, before he shrugged one shoulder and went along with it. “Mineral. Definitely smaller than a breadbox, or else it would just be gaudy.” He tilted his head to one side. “Do people even use breadboxes anymore?” he wondered, more to thin air than as any part of the conversation.
“My mom does,” Summer replied. “Always has. Mineral. That rules out a car. Might be computer parts, or a movie … ” She deliberately avoided what it clearly was, once he’d used the word ‘gaudy’, and pretended to ponder while she ate another bite. “Maybe it’s a Stark tablet with all my favourite books on it?”
Summer sensed the guards behind her, and sighed. Then again, he’d no real reason to believe her capable of seeing to her own safety; they’d not made it out to the hunt, and so he could not know her proficiency with bow, nor had he any way of knowing her — particular skills. Anger spurred her to spur her horse in a vain attempt to leave the guards behind.
Well, there would be other occasions to speak again, though she’d half-hoped he would stop her leaving. Perhaps she had been wrong to mention his past, but surely he couldn’t possibly expect her to ignore it? If he truly expected to treat her differently, he should have done so from the start — well, from their first meeting at Court, anyway. But no, he had begun with her as he had always begun with his women, and so how could she possibly know that his intentions might be different?
Even for her, such things were difficult to discern. Hair-fine shadings of emotion, at a time when her own were in turmoil, could easily deceive. Sleep did not come easily to her that night.
The next day, Humphrey started early and his first visit was to his guards to hear if his lady reached her home safely. The guards were not there, so he worried, until they finally arrived an hour after sunrise, being simply locked into London for the night as the gates were closed behind them after they followed the lady Summer, and the gatekeepers would not open for them no matter what. From their looks, they didn’t mind tho’; they must’ve slept the night in brothels and ale-houses.
Humphrey realised that it would be hard for him to escape the feast the next day: His brother sent him the seating plan and the menu, and as Chancellor of England summoned him to preside the feast. Now he was not only mandatory to attend, he was to wait on the king it seemed, though he was often summoned in his role only to sit at the king’s table like the rest of his brothers and uncles. With heavy heart tho, he rode to Westminster and learned all the details of the day ahead and what was expected of him. He couldn’t help but search the list of invitees to find the only name he cared for, and when he found it, he looked for the seating. He was terrified to see Summer and her father being seated with the once countess of Pembroke, and one of those culture-less Flemish merchants who was rumored her lover, they were known to be loudly complaining and arguing. He quickly revised the plan, before he left Westminster that night, noting that everything was as prepared as it could be.
The invitation to feast occasioned a loud and long argument between father and daughter, but the result was inevitable. Faintly sulky, Summer rode behind her father, politely sidesaddle, adorned with Humphrey’s necklace and properly resplendent in deep red linen. Deliberately demure, she trailed her father within, hands clasped and head bowed. She would not look for Humphrey. She would /not/.
He was brother to the King, Duke in his own right. Let him look for her.
But she couldn’t help glancing around.
All she could do was cry out under him, clinging and gladly helpless. It was almost painful, so sensitive was she, but an oddly desirable pain, like the scrape of nails into one’s skin. “Over,” she hissed, body starting to tremble.
His hands on either side of her head braced him as he pounded into her. His breath came in ragged pants until finally, with a sharp grunt he climaxed. Every muscle in his body stiffened as he half lurched forward and brought their chests flush against each other. He gave a full body shudder and half collapsed.
The weight of Victor’s body squeezed a laugh out of her. “Victor, darling,” Summer murmured, reaching up to stroke his hair. “You’re heavy, love.”
“Stop acting the fool and I’ll stop treating you as one.” One hand seized his elbow, and then it was as if she was falling, or the world went away; there was an unpleasant roiling in her gut.
Summer blinked, shaking her head hard. “What the fuck. Just happened.” She could see Tony, hand still clutched close to his chest, and the reactor seeming to flicker in and out of view. And nothing else. All around stretched greyness, filled with dim and sourceless light. She turned, slowly.
Tony went rigid at her touch, and then in surprise as he looked around quickly. His grip on the knife tightened further, and he clicked it open slightly, enough that he would be able to flip it the rest of the way open with a flick of his wrist.
“What did you do?” he demanded, forgoing looking around this new scenery (or lack thereof) in favor of keeping his eyes on her.
“I— I think we’re in your mind,” she whispered. Even that small sound carried in the space. “Some kind of interaction between my gift and your time hosting the demon … “
Tom performing at Stories Before Bedtime
if you know what I mean
Tony Stark’s Hall of Armor