Robert Downey Jr. – Iron man3 world premiere in Korea (2013.04.04)
Monthly Archives: May 2013
“It’s my birthday. It’s my birthday, it’s my birthday.” A happy giggle spilled from his throat. “This hasn’t happened since.. Well, last year.” He bit his lip, looking at the other. “You did remember my birthday.. Right?”
“Of course I remembered it. Are you drunk /already/?”
“No, stop, don’t look at me like that; it makes me feel like I’m naked.”
Involuntarily she chased his thumb with her tongue for a second before the new command registered. “Yes, sir,” she murmured, coming to her feet in a single liquid movement. Tshirt first, over the head and stifling the groan as muscles in her back protested, then shorts swiftly. She took a little more time with undergarments, but not much, then climbed onto the cushions beside Victor.
His eyes raked over her body while his fingers traced lazy and light patterns over her torso before he withdrew. “Spread your knees.” He watched her, while the scene inside his head unfolded. “Pleasure yourself for me darling.” Victor leaned back a bit then, so that he was resting against the arm of the sofa while he watched her, splayed out before him
Summer flushed, so hard her ears popped. But “yes, sir,” she whispered, relaxing back against the cushions while one hand curved down her chest, between her thighs. She slid a finger in between her labia, eyelids fluttering, and pressed inward, ignoring her clit for the moment.
A look of deep wanting warred with the predatory one in his eyes. His own arousal stirred as he watched the flush creep along her cheeks and down her chest. It was bloody well intoxicating to watch and it certainly got his blood going. The “good girl” was barely audible as it slipped out of his lips and into the air. His teeth bared themselves a little and he took in her sweet scent.
Victor always went straight for her sweet spots, but left to herself, Summer preferred to draw things out a little more. She stuck to the edges, light touches increasing her sensitivity in the same way that dim light dilated the eyes. Her eyes rolled back, finger sliding in slow time with helpless whimpers. Then a second finger, curving a little but still focussed on a steady pumping.
“So close, sir,” she slurred, forcing her eyes open.
Still distracted by kissing and cuddling, Summer blinked. “Huh? Oh.” She looked over at the bar — they still need to do something about that, really; it was a horrible reminder of a lot of things — and found the silvery heap, about where he did, usually, leave his keys.Cautiously, she picked it up. A key. A very shiney, ornate key, with a tag. ‘Key to the Tower,’ it said, in a curvy script. She blinked at it, puzzled for a long moment.
“Tony, is this — are you asking me to move in?”
Tony watched her make her way to the bar—old, rather abandoned, but he was still fond of it all the same, even with all it unwittingly stood for—and hitched his thumbs into his pockets and rocked back on his heels.
“That’s a distinct possibility, yeah,” he replied, managing a casualness that he likely wouldn’t have been able to maintain if not for the last, lingering fuzzy edges of his contact high.
“A straight answer would be nice,” she muttered, turning the shining metal over in her fingers. To live here. Not ‘almost’, the way it worked now, where every couple days she went home to feed the cats and get clean clothes and new books.
To live with Tony. /With/ him. Could she? Not, was she capable, but was she allowed? She blinked, and something hot and wet ran down her chin. “Shit. Sorry.”
Happy Birthday?
“I thought it was Christmas that was supposed to make people feel like that, not birthdays.” Summer approached from behind, deliberately. On-going joke, that: Tony, you need me as a bodyguard. She put her own drink down on the little table, then put her hands in her pockets, gazing up at the same spot he was.
“I won’t tell you to forget about it, but this isn’t helping,” she went on, softly.
There were several things that Pariah did not like; people coming up behind him whether he knew they were there or not, and Christmas. The fact that he had to deal with both at the same time was not helping his mood in the slightest.
On a scale of one to ten, where five was normal and ten was manic, he was basically hovering around a two at that moment.
“Christmas is worse.”
He looked over at her for a second before looking up at the sky once more.
“You can tell me to forget about it, but I won’t.”
“This isn’t helping,” she repeated. She put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re tearing yourself apart.”
And sensing it was tearing her apart.
“Tony … ” Daring, a little bit. “Will you talk to me?”
Remember that time when this happened?
being a cutie pie, it was inwented in Russia
Anton, you couldn’t possibly be any cuter.
Happy Birthday?
It was supposed to be today. It would have been, had it not been for one thing…
Pariah Stark, Anthony “Pariah” Stark, was a dead man. Dead men don’t have birthdays. And even with wish being alive and well, that would make his birthday some time in March now, wouldn’t it?
Honestly, he’d prefer the former: Dead men don’t have birthdays. That would make things easier, wouldn’t it? After all there was nothing to celebrate, and there certainly would be anything to celebrate if he went through with all the ideas he had bouncing around in his head.
No, it would be easier if he were still dead, but here he was. Alive and well, though the definition of ‘well’ would have to be drawn into question, and all he could really do was watch the world keep spinning. That’s what dead men did, wasn’t it? Those who stuck around just kind of floated about, haunting the world and watching it spin on and on and on…
The ice in his glass clinked as it shifted and finally drew his attention from the view. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking out here in the first place, but dead men could do what they pleased. After all, they were dead. The laws that applied to the living did not apply to him anymore. He sat at his table at the little outdoor cafe, probably looking a sight all covered up on such a beautiful warm day. Drink in hand, eyes gazing ever upwards.
If he looked hard enough he could imagine the hole was still there, ripping the sky apart.
He took another sip of his drink.
Happy birthday indeed.
“I thought it was Christmas that was supposed to make people feel like that, not birthdays.” Summer approached from behind, deliberately. On-going joke, that: Tony, you need me as a bodyguard. She put her own drink down on the little table, then put her hands in her pockets, gazing up at the same spot he was.
“I won’t tell you to forget about it, but this isn’t helping,” she went on, softly.
Happy birthday to me. I turn forty three.
Whee. Excitement.
You don’t seem excited.
