The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers!

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers!
Chapter Twenty Eight: Domesticity
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. probably some drinking.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators, dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.

The Mary Sue Virus: Lights, Camera, Avengers! - The Index

~*~

Astrid hummed to herself as she finished chopping up the mushrooms. The enticing scent of steaks broiling in the oven filled the kitchen and the rest of her little apartment, made her mouth water even as she worked at finishing dinner. Life had settled into a routine pattern, with Thor spending half of his time with her on Earth and the other half with his family in Asgard. On the occasions when he was with her, she made a point of actually cooking a full meal for the two of them. It was a way to sit and talk and enjoy each other's company without stepping foot outside of the apartment. With every new mission the Avengers took on, Thor's popularity grew and that made it difficult to go out to restaurants because someone was always recognizing him.

After dumping the mushroom slices into a bowl, she glanced up and watched as Thor carried plates and glasses over to her tiny, two person table. He looked at home in her kitchen, at ease with the tasks assigned to him. None of those included using any of the appliances, but he didn't seem to mind that in the slightest. He was clad in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, the material hugging his frame in order to display every last line and curve of muscle. Hands used to wielding Mjölnir in battle were in the middle of carefully arranging the dinner plates on her table. And he hummed while he worked, some tune she thought she recognized but couldn't place.

As if sensing her gaze on him, he looked up and caught her eye. The smile that spread across his face was brilliant and wide and blinding. It reminded her of the sun coming up over the horizon in the morning. "The steaks smell delicious, fair Astrid," he told her.

"I make my own spice blend and I used that to season them with," she explained. A faint flush of embarrassment swept through her at the way he stared, prompting her to turn back to the bowls of sliced and chopped vegetables. There were carrots, celery, cucumbers, radishes, onions, and mushrooms for the salad, all waiting in their own small bowls. "Will you get the peas and the eggs out of the fridge? They're in the clear bowls on the top shelf."

"Of course," he replied and moved to do her bidding. It was kind of strange to see a man who was so obviously a warrior helping out in the kitchen. But it was endearing and, somehow, it seemed right. He acted like he was as at home in her kitchen as he was in battle. Seconds later, he joined her at the counter with the requested items in hand. He'd also grabbed their favorite dressings. She took the bottles and settled them beside the large bowl of lettuce.

"If you'll get a couple of bowls, we can start making our salads," she suggested as she headed for the oven. He said nothing but the faint sounds of the linoleum clinging to the bottoms of his shoes marked his passage to the cabinet where the bowls were housed.

The words to a song her mother had taught her ages ago sprang to mind and soon filled the silence of the kitchen as she sang them out in a sweet, strong voice. Pot holder in hand, she pulled the steaks from the oven and rested the pan on an empty burner. A pair of foil wrapped potatoes came out next, one at a time, and were left to rest on the stove top for a few moments.

She was aware of Thor moving past her, taking the bowls over to the counter so that they resided next to the salad bowl and all of the little extras she had ready. It was unfortunate that her place was so small because she was forced to serve the meal off the counters. But it made putting their plates together fun because they often times brushed against one another and an otherwise boring task became something far more sensual than it should be. Those were the nights where dessert was usually physical instead of edible. And those were the nights that were no less sweet than the ones where they consumed their slices of cake or their scoops of ice cream or their bakery bought cookies.

Thor had a definite sweet tooth, so Astrid always kept some kind of sugary confection on hand because she never knew when he'd be struck with a craving. He wasn't really particular just so long as it appeased his appetites. Of course, some nights were spent with both kinds of desserts. She'd laid in a supply of frostings and other spreadables for nights such as those.

The refrigerator's door opened up again, prompting Astrid to look up from fishing for a pair of tongs in time to see him withdraw a bottle from inside. He carried it to the table and set it in the center before moving up behind her in order to dig the corkscrew out of the same drawer. If he pressed against her for a little longer than necessary, she didn't say anything. She certainly didn't mind. "I think dinner's ready. You can start dishing up a plate for yourself."

"Allow me to open this bottle of mead. Then I will fill my plate," he promised her, his voice a low murmur of sound that was heat and promise. Astrid suppressed a shiver of anticipation and nodded. Thor leaned in and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then pulled away and headed toward the table. She busied herself with making her salad. A little bit of each type of vegetable she'd prepared went into the bowl with the lettuce, as did croutons, bacon bits, and sunflower seeds. She was in the process of pouring dressing over all of it when Thor rejoined her. "You have prepared a veritable feast, Astrid. It all smells delicious."

"Well, hopefully it will all taste as good as it smells," she replied, twisting the cap back in place on the dressing bottle. She made to move out of his way, intent on taking the bowl to the table so she could pick up her plate and load it up with her potato and steak. Thor caught her, one hand reaching out to take her bowl from her even while the other nudged her closer to his body.

"You worry over trivial matters, Astrid. Every meal you have ever prepared for me has been excellent," he informed her before dipping his head toward her. Astrid went up on her toes so that she could meet him halfway. His lips were painted with the sweet taste of mead, his preferred drink with meals. Carry over from time spent in Asgard feasting with his friends. They'd found it in a specialty store and the stuff was pricey, but Thor swore it was almost as good as what he got in Asgard. When he pulled back, he gave her a smile and a wink and let her go.

Astrid made for the table after snagging her salad from him and set it by her seat. She scooped up the plate and carried it toward the stove where the steak and potato waited for her. She'd barely had time to pick up the tongs used to shuffle the potatoes in and out of the oven when Thor was once again pressed up against her back. One arm lowered his plate over her shoulder while his free hand traced patterns up her side. She smiled, pretended that his touch wasn't equal parts sensual and ticklish, and put the larger of the two steaks onto his plate. The potato joined it. She loaded the remaining steak and foil wrapped spud onto her plate.

Thor followed her to the table, a silent shadow at her back.

They settled into their seats, the stoneware plates making a soft thunking sound as they set them down. There was spread and sour cream, bacon bits and chives and cheese, steak sauce and a plate of rolls. There was no need for talk as they dressed their potatoes the way they wanted them. Astrid stole occasional glances at Thor to find him watching her. Every time their eyes met, he would give her a gentle grin and her lips would curl up into a soft smile. It never ceased to amaze her how kind and tender Thor could be.

Music filtered into the kitchen from the living room, easier to hear without the sounds of dinner being prepared. It was something light and instrumental. It was loud enough to keep the silence at bay, but not so loud that they couldn't talk over it if they so chose. Astrid didn't feel like breaking the comfortable cocoon of quiet that had wrapped around them. It was rare that they had a day where there wasn't something pressing and they could just sit and enjoy one another's company. Astrid always made the most of those days.

"I have been considering something, fair Astrid," Thor announced, bringing her head up so that she met his gaze. His eyes were filled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. She wondered what he'd been thinking about that made him look at her that way. "You know of my feelings for you. You know that there is no woman in this realm who is dearer to me than you."

He paused and gave her an anxious look. She nodded her head at him, letting him know that she did, in fact, know just how much he cared about her. His smile blossomed at that, wide and uninhibited and infectious. He set his utensils down and focused all of his attention on her. "I wish to introduce you to my parents."

"You... " Astrid's voice trailed off. She blinked a couple times but couldn't find the words. He wanted her to meet his parents? Was he serious? "You want to take me to Asgard to meet your mother and father?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Of course, I'll have to speak with my father first, as mortals rarely ever visit Asgard. But I believe he will be eager to meet you. I speak of you often when I'm in Asgard. My parents and my friends have heard a great deal about you."

"I don't know what to say." And she didn't. This was a big surprise to her. She hadn't realized he'd been thinking anything of the sort.

"Say that you would like to accompany me. As soon as you agree, I will seek out permission from my father to take you to Asgard. And then I will introduce you to my friends and family. I'm certain you would enjoy yourself. And I believe they would enjoy meeting you."

Astrid gave it some thought. It felt a little strange that he was the one asking her to meet his family. Wasn't that supposed to be her line? Except she had no clue where her family was and she was sure they didn't want to see her. It would be nice to have some kind of family again. That's what this felt like. A way for Thor to give her a family, someplace to belong. How could she say no to that?

"I would love to meet your parents, Thor," she told him. The smile he gave her was blinding and it told her she'd made the right decision. Suddenly, meeting his family and his friends, the people he talked about most, didn't seem quite so frightening. Not as long as he was at her side.

~*~*~*~*~

The rattle of keys against the lock let her know that Clint had arrived. Her stomach rumbled softly, reminding her that he was supposed to be bringing dinner. He'd called her before leaving his place to let her know he was on the way and conversation had naturally turned to food. Seeing as Clint had just come off a four day mission and was exhausted, and Alex had no cooking skills to speak of, take out was the order of the day. This was not a problem for her. She was secretly hoping for something from that little Italian place near his own apartment.

The door opened on silent hinges and allowed the rich, spicy aroma of Chinese to drift into the room. Alex glanced up from the sheet of paper in her lap to watch as he let himself into her apartment. He was dressed casually in a pair of old jeans that were faded with many washings and a t-shirt that fit him snugly. A leather jacket finished off the look and she took a moment to enjoy the way the jeans hugged his ass. One hand was curled around his keys, the other held a large brown paper bag.

Routine saw him setting the bag down on the end of her coffee table on his way to the kitchen. She took the opportunity to gather up the papers she had scattered over the surface of the table, the couch, and her lap and shift them all into a single pile, which she then moved off to the side so that the spot before her was cleared off. By the time she was finished, Clint was returning with plates and bottles of water for them. Alex reached out to snag the brown paper bag and ripped open the top so that she could bring the aromatic cartons of food out. He settled on the couch beside her before putting a plate and a bottle of water on the table in front of her.

A spoon came out of his jeans pocket, which he used to scoop rice out of one of the cartons. Fried and steamed rice ended up on both plates. Then he dug into the first of the entreés and began spooning out portions to each plate. There were four of them, mostly because they could never figure out exactly what they wanted. Alex usually liked a bit of Szechwan beef and some sesame chicken. Clint generally got cashew chicken and Mongolian beef. There were also egg rolls, fried wontons, and barbequed spare ribs. And Clint had gotten two bowls of soup, one wonton and one egg drop. Another pair of spoons, this time for use with the soup, were brought out of his pocket and laid on the table.

After he'd loaded up both plates with each of the four entreés, they started in on their meal in silence. Clint sat with his knee touching hers, just a minor thing that left her feeling warm inside. They'd slipped into this pattern of eating without speaking, of touching to convey what they felt and what they needed. It was his way of letting her know that he cared, that he loved her, and he was happy to be sharing the meal and this time with her. She understood the sentiment because she felt the same way, which was why she let her knee press back against his so that he knew, too. They let the silence stretch, a good and comfortable silence that needed nothing other than that simple touch for them to speak volumes to one another.

Dinner was an amazing mix of rich, flavorful sauces, crisp vegetables, and tender meats. The soup was hot and uncomplicated. The ribs had a nice zest to them. The wontons were crunchy. The egg rolls were divine. A medium sized cup of duck sauce sat between their plates for easy dipping and there were occasional battles for the right to dip their tasty treat in the sweet sauce first. There were a few instances when Alex got too much sauce on her egg roll or wonton and it would dribble down her chin. Clint then felt obliged to lean in and lick the sauce away. To kiss the flavor of it off her lips.

When he pulled back after her last spill, she saw his eyes drift to the stack of papers on the other side of her plate. "Are you working on something for S.H.I.E.L.D.?" he asked. His tone was casual, friendly. Just asking because it was there. But she knew better. He was curious as all fuck. She glanced at the stack for a second, then shook her head.

"No. Nothing for work. Just some research I'm doing on my own."

He took a moment to absorb that. Finally, he nodded and went back to his meal. Alex watched as he scooped up a mix of both rices and some of the cashew chicken. She watched him chew out of the corner of her eye, his gaze distant and considering. He was going to ask her what she was working on. She could tell. And if he asked, some part of her would rebel against giving him answers. Then the pleasant evening they were spending together would go right to shit. She didn't know why she was wired that way. She just knew she was. Which meant she needed to cut him off at the pass.

Alex put her chopsticks down on the edge of her plate and reached out to take the top sheet of paper off the pile. There was a gloss to the image at the top, showing a two storey house painted in pale blues and greys nestled in the middle of a bright green lawn. An honest to goodness white picket fence circled the perimeter, while a black top driveway sat to one side with a matched garage. The house was in the middle of a quiet suburban neighborhood. She stared at the image for a few moments before handing the sheet of paper to him.

"I've been looking at different properties around the city. I was thinking its about time we move in together. You're always over here anyway, Clint. And it isn't that I mind having you here, but it seems kind of ridiculous to have two different residences when you've practically moved into mine already." She paused to take a breath, stopping only for a second or two before pushing on. If she let him speak when she wasn't done with her speech, she'd never get it finished. "We've got something good going between us. At least I think we do. And getting a place together is the next step in our relationship, isn't it? So I've been looking at houses and... I like that one. Its quiet. Away from the city. An unassuming place for a couple of people like you and I to live. But it would be ours."

Clint set his chopsticks down and took a good, long look at the picture. She waited silently, patiently, for him to conclude his exam and look at her. To speak to her. When he lifted his eyes to hers, she could see touches of confusion in his gaze. There were also equal parts amazement and growing pleasure. "You're sure about this? Do you really think you're ready to tackle living together?"

"This thing between us. Its more than lust. Its deeper than the physical. Or have you changed your mind about that?"

"I love you, Lexi. You know that. I tell you every morning after we wake up and every night before we fall asleep. Nothing is going to change my mind about us. I want to be with you," he replied, reaching out with his free hand to trace his fingers over the curve of her jaw before spearing them into her hair. A smile was curving up the corners of his lips when he closed the distance between them and kissed her quick and light. "I think it would be amazing to get a place together. As long as you aren't doing this because you think you need to."

"No. I want to. I really do. It feels right. It feels... natural," she replied, letting him see the truth of her words in her gaze. Clint smiled, his fingers sliding through her hair so that he could cradle the back of her head in the palm of his hand. "Its taken me a while to get to this point in my life, but I know that there is no where else on earth that I would rather be than right next to you. At your side. Always."

"Going soft on me, Quinn?" he asked, voice laced with amusement.

"As if that will ever happen, Barton," she snarked, making sure to punch him hard so that he knew she would never make it easy on him. Truth be told, she thought she was going a little soft. She wasn't sure that this was the best idea she'd ever had, but she knew that if she didn't do something, nothing would ever change. Clint had shown over the months since they'd gotten back together that he wouldn't push her into anything if he didn't think she was ready for it. It amazed her that he seemed that in tune with her while, at the same time, it annoyed her because she felt like she was keeping him from the things he wanted.

"That one almost felt like it had some strength behind it. Keep working on it, Lexi. Maybe one day you'll be able to punch me and make it hurt," he teased. She faked a growl and punched him again.

"I'll show you hurt," she replied, drawing her hand back to punch him a third time. Clint chuckled and brought an abortive end to her play simply by tumbling her backward onto the couch and pinning her down with his own weight.

"Baby, you have a strange idea of foreplay. But you know I'm all for it if it makes you happy," he told her, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear as he went straight for the bare spot behind it that he knew drove her wild. She considered fighting him, just a little bit. Then she let the consideration go and wrapped her arms around his neck, let her fingers tease across his shoulder blades.

"You make me happy, Clint," she replied simply. Her answer caught him off guard because he pulled back so that he could stare down at her. She shrugged a shoulder and offered him a smile. "I know. Surprising. I can admit something without making a federal case out of it."

"I'll have to write this down for posterity," he teased.

"Stranger things have been known to happen," she said, then tugged him down until he was close enough to kiss without lifting her head. Traces of the sauce from their half-eaten dinner lingered on his tongue and lips, and she licked those traces off while she kissed him. He pulled away from her eventually, regretfully, and sucked in a breath.

"Dinner's getting cold. We should finish eating." Clint sat, offered a hand to Alex so he could pull her up into a sitting position. She let him do so, let him pull her into him for just a moment before righting herself and reaching for her chopsticks. He did the same and scooped up a few carrots and a chunk of chicken. Even as he chewed, he reached out for the sheet of paper with the house listing on it, forgotten in the heat of the moment. "You really want to do this, Lexi? You really want to get a place together? A home?"

"Yes. I really want to, Clint. You and me and a home we can call our own." Alex smiled and nodded and stuffed a piece of beef into her mouth. By the time she saw the glimmer of mischief in his eyes, it was too late to do anything but finish chewing and swallow. Naturally he waited until she did just that to ask his next question.

"So. When do we tell your mom?"

~*~*~*~*~

Phoebe was relaxed into the big, plushy chair that resided in Tony's living room, a large book opened across her lap, as she stared out the floor to ceiling windows at colors streaking across the sky. The sun was finally dipping down behind the city and the edge of the world, painting everything in shades of gold and orange and purple. It had been a quiet day, spent split between reading and lounging in bed with Tony. She'd seen a gradual change come over him and while he still worked far too much, he didn't seem to be spending as much time in his workshop as before. And even though they'd passed a good portion of the day just laying in bed, that didn't necessarily mean they'd done anything besides lounging. Okay, there had been a couple bouts of lusty sex. Because, come on, she was dating Tony Stark. But most of their time had been spent talking or just kind of cuddling close.

Sometime about an hour or so ago, Tony had disappeared without a word. She'd taken that as a hint that he felt he'd spent enough time with her for a bit and she'd wandered into the living room to read before the fire crackling in the hearth. Tex and Denver were curled at her feet, protecting her with their eyes closed and their noses resting on their front paws. The security Tony had on his building was so insane that the boys had been redesignated as pets. It was a sad lot in life when an AI was far more capable of protecting her than her dogs were.

Their heads came up, ears perked forward, as some faint sound she hadn't heard caught their attention. When there was no further reaction, she decided it had to be Tony. Or possibly Pepper. Had it been Happy, they'd have been up with tails wagging, waiting eagerly for the treats he carried with him. She closed the book and set it aside just as Tony stepped into the room. He had a tray in his hand. It held a glass of iced water and a dome that she suspected covered a plate of food.

Tony offered her a smile that was far from his usual confident smirk. It was just a smile, a good and sincere one, before he settled the tray in her lap. He leaned in to give her a kiss, his hand remaining on the lid covering her plate. When he pulled back, she stared at him questioningly. "You have no idea what having you in my life is like for me. You know what my life was like before you came into it. I just wanted to show you that I appreciate all you've done. And I want you to know how much I care about you."

As soon as he was finished speaking, he pulled the lid away from the tray. Phoebe found herself a plate of something that was mimicking food. She saw chunks of what she thought were some kind of meat, but it was hard to tell exactly what kind because they looked and smelled burnt. Those lumps were scattered across a bed of limp noodles. She couldn't be sure, but it looked like fettuccini. There was a sauce covering the whole lot. It was kind of greyish. He'd garnished the plate with a wilted piece of lettuce. Maybe. It could have been parsley. But there was no telling. The only thing on the plate that looked edible was the slice of garlic toast. She suspected it had come out of a box.

She turned a curious look his way to find that he was waiting impatiently for some kind of reaction. "What is this?"

Tony looked affronted at her question and there was a hint of his patented Tony Stark snark in his voice when he answered her. "Its dinner." He said it as if she should know what it was.

That caught her by surprise. It took her a few moments to find her voice. "...You made me dinner?"

"Yes. I made you dinner." He crossed his arms over his chest, lid still clutched in one hand. He was giving her the haughty look he got when someone questioned his genius. She'd seen it an awful lot in the beginning of their relationship, when she'd more or less questioned every last inch of his intelligence.

Um. Okay. She'd obviously touched a nerve. She ventured another question to sort of test the waters. "Why did you make me dinner?"

His eyes lit up with challenge at her question. Obviously he felt she should know the answer already and she was about to find herself in trouble. She'd gotten good at reading his moods over the course of their relationship. He had the same look in his eyes now as he'd had that day she'd told him she couldn't date him because of his issues. "Because I wanted to do something nice for you? Don't tell me I'm not allowed to do something nice for you because I'll go out and buy you an island just to prove I can do something nice for you."

Tony wanted to do something nice for her? What the hell was going on? She was sure something was going on. He'd never attempted to cook for her before. If they weren't going out to some hot spot to be seen, she was the one who prepared their meals. Except for those days when Tony wanted pizza delivered. She hadn't even been aware he knew how to use the kitchen appliances. There was definitely something going on here.

She was in the middle of trying to puzzle it out when something Pepper mentioned to her came back to her. She and Tony's right hand woman had been out on one of their weekly lunches when Pepper had mentioned to Phoebe the time Tony had made a meal for her. She'd thought it odd at the time, but hadn't voiced any concerns. And then she'd found out that Tony had actually been dying and he'd been trying to let Pepper know and... Phoebe's thoughts slammed to a halt so hard that her head actually ached for a second or two.

Oh, God! Was that was this was? Tony was dying? There was something wrong and he was trying to cushion the blow. She looked up at him with wide eyes, certain by the expression on his face that she'd gone pale or something. "Okay, Tony. What's wrong? I can handle it. Whatever it is, I'm strong enough to..."

His confusion deepened. "What are you talking about, Phoebe? There's nothing wrong. I just wanted to make dinner for you. Do something nice for you since you're always taking care of me. Even when I'm an absolute, brilliant ass to you."

"Please tell me you're not dying. Pepper warned me about these kinds of things. Just say you're not dying and I'll be good," she said softly. Tony shot her a look that clearly said he thought she was completely deranged.

"I'm not dying. And how does Pepper even fit into this conversation? You aren't making any sense, Phoebe," he told her. The lid was left on the coffee table, completely forgotten as he squatted down in front of her so that he could look her in the eye. "I don't know what's going on, Phoebe, but I promise you I am not dying."

She wasn't convinced. Of course he wouldn't want her to worry. Tony didn't necessarily shield her from the terrible things, but he did what he could to cut down on the amount of worry she felt. That in mind, she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. "Jarvis, you'd tell me if there was something wrong with Tony, wouldn't you?" If there was a hint of desperation in her voice, she didn't think it was out of place.

"I would indeed tell you, madam," Jarvis intoned in a polite voice. She thought he sounded slightly amused by the entire exchange. Perhaps he was. Tony had done such a good job of programming Jarvis that she sometimes forgot he wasn't a living, breathing human being. "I can assure you that Mr. Stark is in excellent health and there is no need to concern yourself."

"Oh, thank God," she sighed. When she looked at Tony again, he was smirking at her. There was something going on behind his eyes that said he was never going to let her forget this moment of insanity. Not that she felt her thoughts were entirely unjustified. I mean, Pepper had said he'd been dying for real once. Something to do with the arc reactor in his chest. "I'm glad you're not dying."

"Trust me. So am I. Now," he rose to his feet and stood over her, arms once more crossed over his chest. "Are you going to eat the dinner I made for you? You're insulting me by not eating it. My feelings are hurt. I spent a long time preparing that for you. It would be nice if you could acknowledge all of my hard work by at least tasting the meal I made for you."

"What did you make for me?" she asked, her gaze returning to the plate in her lap. Unfortunately, the food on the plate looked just as unappetizing the second time as it had the first. Maybe even more so.

"Its chicken fettuccini." His tone suggested that she should have already known the answer, that the identity of the meal he'd made her should be perfectly obvious. When she continued to sit and stare for a few more moments, Tony cocked a brow at her and screwed an intensely hurt look onto his face. Damn it. He was going to guilt trip her. "Aren't you going to try it? I spent all that time making dinner for you. You've got to at least try it."

Phoebe did her best to hold back the sigh that worked its way up her throat, then speared chicken and noodles with her fork. The trip from the plate to her mouth was a long, hesitant one, made while Tony's eyes watched her every move. She had no choice but to chew and swallow after forking the stuff into her mouth. The chicken was definitely burnt, so dry that it nearly crumbled to dust on her tongue. The noodles were soggy and the sauce was oily. She wasn't sure how he'd turned it grey. She was sure she didn't want to know. Just as she was sure she didn't want to take another bite because the taste was... "Jarvis, don't ever let Tony cook again. This is awful."

"That hurts, Phoebe. I slaved over this meal."

She pointedly ignored him. "Jarvis? Please. Order pizza now."

"You would rather have take out instead of a home cooked meal? One made with love?" She rolled her eyes. Oh, he was really working it. Fine. If that was how he wanted to play it.

"Taste that, Tony." Phoebe glared up at him, her hand holding the fork out to him. He took a look at the fork, then the food, then her face. He obviously saw that there was no give in her expression. He wasn't going to be able to talk his way out of this. Sighing, Tony took the fork and speared his own piece of chicken and a few grey, soggy noodles. She allowed a vindictive smile to spread across her face as he lifted the fork to his mouth, tucked the food between his lips, chewed and swallowed. And she took great enjoyment in the look of revulsion that crept across his face. She might have laughed gleefully when he heaved. Just a little bit.

"Shit, that's terrible. Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Phoebe glared at him again, prompting him to glance toward the ceiling. "Jarvis, order pizza for Phoebe and I. And don't ever let me near the kitchen again if I say anything about attempting to cook."

"Pizza is already on its way, sir," Jarvis replied serenely. "And your kitchen privileges have been revoked. I will inform Miss Phoebe immediately the next time you take it upon yourself to attempt cooking a meal."

"Good," Tony replied. He reached down to take the tray from her lap and carried it away without another word. He was back in five minutes to pull her from her chair. She lifted a brow at him, silently asking him what he thought he was doing. They moved to the couch. He sat and pulled her down so that she was sitting across his lap. He offered her a grin. "I thought I should attempt to make it up to you for trying to poison you. I promise I'll never cook for you again."

"I'm going to hold you to that, Tony. And what kind of making up did you have in mind?" she questioned cooly, even though she was already sure she knew what was coming next.

Tony didn't disappoint her, simply shifted her position until she was somehow on her back on the couch and he was laying on top of her. She almost protested the sudden change, but then his lips were working a path from her shoulder to her mouth and it just wasn't worth the effort anymore.

~*~*~*~*~

Miri made her way out of the elevator, up the hall toward Phil's apartment door. The rich, spicy aroma of the Thai she'd picked up on her way over chased after her, an enticing promise that had teased her for the past half hour. Key in hand, she stopped before the black panel with brushed steel numbers screwed to it and slid the brass key into the lock. The tumblers turned and the door opened on silent hinges, allowing her to step into the apartment's hallway. She could hear the low hum of the television and suspected that Phil was indulging in a marathon of one of his favorite bad reality TV series.

She tucked her keys away in her bag and carefully set it on the nearest flat surface, kicked off her shoes, and headed for Phil's bedroom.

Much like her apartment, Phil's place was rather spartan, with plain but functional furniture and very little of his real personality filling it. The walls were covered with what could be considered hotel art, splashes of color that lacked any personal connection to him. The walls were plain white behind the paintings and prints. The only concession he'd made to comfort, the only thing that marked his presence in the place, were the midnight blue panels covering his windows and patio door. It was a stark contrast to all the white and utilitarian furniture. She knew from personal experience that the same blue covered his bed in the form of a thick comforter. The sheets on his bed were a pale blue and she'd spent hours staring at his eyes, watching the way their particular shade of blue shifted colors because of his bedding.

She breezed past the living room and stepped into the hall that ran between his bedroom and his home office. The bathroom was at the end. The sounds of the television were louder here and, after a few seconds, she recognized childish screaming that indicated he was watching "Supernanny." The door was ajar, allowing her to push it open with one hand. "I got Thai, Phil. I hope that's okay?"

It was the first time she'd ever seen Phil give her anything that could be a sheepish look. He immediately came to a halt and the whine of the tread died as he hit the button that killed the power to the piece of exercise equipment. Sweat darkened his hair and flattened it against his head. His shirt and sweat pants were damp with it. His cheeks were flushed red. "Thai is just fine," he replied. His tone suggested he wasn't going to even bother addressing the fact that he was disobeying doctor's orders.

Too bad she wasn't going to let him get away with it. "Phil, honey." The endearment caught her by surprise, but she covered it over with a faint frown. If he made note of it, he didn't acknowledge it. Miri set the bag down on the top of his dresser and moved further into the room, stopping when she stood next to the treadmill. "Why is it so hard for you to rest up? You could have lost your leg. It needs time to fully recover from the trauma."

"You know I dislike being idle, Miri," he replied. One hand reached for the power button, but she caught it halfway there and twined her fingers in his. He sighed tiredly. It was an old argument with them, but she was determined to see that he listened. If he pushed too hard too soon, he'd do more harm than good.

"I know, Phil. And I don't blame you. But I keep telling you that you have to take it easy. If you do anymore damage, Fury will bench you. You'd go insane if that happened. Do like the doctor says and rest," she insisted, tugging gently to draw him down off the treadmill. He allowed it even though she could see he really wasn't ready to give up the push for recovery.

Miri thought about chewing him out. It was a familiar route, though, and it never really brought any lasting results. She was tired of trying to bully him. And, deep down somewhere, she knew it wouldn't really work anyway. So it was time for a different tact. Time to convince him that there were better ways of spending his down time. Ways that would help him build up his strength again, but wouldn't be so strenuous that he could harm himself. She put on a sultry smile and let her free hand rise so that she could lay it against his cheek. There was a hint of bristle under the dampness of sweat and it sent a faint thrill rolling down her spine.

Ever since the helicarrier had come down, she'd been doing some serious thinking. Hell, if she was honest with herself, she'd been doing that serious thinking since the morning Phil had gotten his phone call and then walked out her door without a word. And Miri had come to realize something. Oh, the knowledge had been there, teasing at the edges of her brain for a while. But it had taken finding Phil and having Tony shove it in her face for her to realize the full truth. She loved Phil. She was in love with Phil. Head over heels, over the moon, silly for him. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

Now that she knew this for a fact, she'd been trying to find some way to tell him. When they'd first gotten together, there'd never been a mention of emotions or attachment. Theirs had been a purely physical relationship. Somewhere along the lines, that had changed. It had been a slow, gradual thing. But she'd seen the change in him as much as she'd seen it in herself, had seen him open more and more of himself up to her. And though they were closer, he'd still never really expressed how he felt. That left her unbalanced and unsure. She briefly considered telling him about her feelings now, but pushed the thought aside. The time wasn't right and, regardless of what he felt for her, Phil would see it as a ploy to gain his compliance. That wasn't what she wanted.

"I get tired of laying on my back, trying to find acceptable ways to pass the time," he told her. "I want to strengthen up and get back to work. Surely you can't fault me for that." The look he sent her would have melted The Grinch's icy heart.

"Of course I don't fault you for wanting to get back to what you do best. But I want you at full health when you get back to what you do best," she told him, shifting her hand so that she could slide her thumb across his lips. "However, I don't plan on reading you the riot act again. I think by this point, its obvious to everyone that you won't listen anyway. So, how about this? How about you and I climb into bed and we find another way to drain off all that growing energy. If you're strong enough to run on the treadmill, you're strong enough to engage in other forms of exercise."

Phil quirked a brow at her, his lips twitching up into a knowing smile. Then his gaze slid past her toward the paper bag containing their Thai. "What about dinner?"

"We can heat it up later," she told him, voice a husky murmur against the sharp, loud commands of the supernanny.

"I should shower," he hedged. She knew it was a ploy, that he simply wanted to see what she'd do.

"We can shower later," she promised and tugged him toward the bed. He pulled his hand free of hers and settled both on her hips. She could see in his eyes that he knew what she was doing. She could also see that he was willing to let her get away with it for now. She shot him a sly smile. "Get naked for me."

He stepped back and reached for his shirt. Miri settled on the edge of the bed and rid herself of her suit coat and skirt, as well as her blouse. She left her bra and panties, then settled her hands behind her and leaned back. Phil left his damp shirt and sweats on the treadmill while his shoes were kicked away and his socks were left to lay where they came off. That left him in his boxer briefs. She made sure he saw it when she flicked her gaze up and down his body, barely paying any attention to the fresh road map of scars that were still in the process of healing. "You're not naked yet, Phil."

"Just making sure, Miri," he replied with a smile, then bent and rid himself of his underwear.

She scooted back so that there was room beside her and patted the bed. "Stretch out here, lover," she whispered. He complied, settling himself on his back on the mattress. Miri smiled at him. Leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. Then she blazed a trail from his mouth across his chest to his cock. She pressed her lips against the head, let the tip of her tongue lick at the slit, then rolled her eyes up so she could watch his face when she took him in her mouth and swallowed him down.

~*~*~*~*~

The smell of freshly baked bread teased Elsa's nose, drawing her along the hall toward the kitchen. She could hear the sound of something sizzling away in a pan, the clink of utensils as they hit the sides of pots or came to rest on a solid surface. When her grandmother had passed away, Elsa had inherited a good portion of the woman's estate. Some of the money had been gifted to various foundations. Another portion had been used to set up a charity in her grandmother's name and Elsa was on the board of trustees, so she'd spent all day in meetings. She was tired and cranky and wanted nothing more than to come home and simply relax into the plush softness of her own sofa.

But the wonderful aroma of food had put the kibosh on this plans. And she was ever so glad it had. Because it was novel to come home and find that someone was using her kitchen. It was even more surprising to find that that someone was Steve. He was clad in a pair of jeans that hugged his ass and a plain blue t-shirt that stretched across the rise and fall of muscles in his shoulders and arms. She leaned against the door jamb and simply took in the view.

Steve turned to look at her, his smile wide and genuine. A hint of a frown showed as lines between his eyes as his brows drew down. "You look exhausted. I thought you were just going to some meetings?"

"These meetings are always draining. My grandmother had specific ideas about what to do with her money and she put me on the board of trustees to ensure that her vision was followed. The rest of the board doesn't see things quite that way, so I spent a good portion of my time fighting with them." She offered him a smile and pushed away from the door. She'd already ditched the heels so the floor tiles were cool and comforting against her feet as she padded toward him. "That smells wonderful. What are you making?"

"Nothing special. Just one of my mother's recipes. I thought you'd like it. Simple fare, but I can promise it'll be hearty."

"I'm sure it'll taste as good as it smells, Steve," she replied. There was a smear of flour on his cheek and another on his forehead. She reached out and wiped them both away, dusting her hand off on her skirt. His sharp gaze caught the motion and he frowned. "It'll come out with a good brushing. Or dry cleaning. Don't worry about it. It isn't like I don't have more business suits. How long until dinner? I would really like to go shower and wash the stress of the day away."

"Let me," he said, then turned her around before she could fathom his intent. He gently tugged her suit coat down her arms and off, tossing it casually into one of the barstools lined up on the other side of the island. She opened her mouth to protest, but his hands chose that moment to curl around her shoulders so that his fingers could dig in and an obscene groan of pleasure came out instead. Steve chuckled behind her. Said nothing at all and let his hands work her shoulders and neck.

Heat blossomed under his touch and began to creep out along her aching muscles. It met at her spine, slid down and climbed up so that her neck went loose and she had to reach out and put her hands on the island to keep from falling flat on her face. There was something magical in those big hands as they moved slow and steady over the tense muscles in her shoulders. Several long moments later, they dipped further down her back to work at the tight muscles across the small of her back.

Elsa couldn't hold back the moans and groans that came with the loosening of a particularly tight spot. And she couldn't keep her mind from bringing up how it would feel to have those hands touch her in other places. She could imagine the heat of them curled around her breasts, his thumbs sliding with even, measured strokes over her nipples. She practically feel them cupping her ass, pulling her close to him while his mouth worked more magic against her lips and throat. She swore she could feel the heat of them as his fingers delved deep inside of her and stroked her and...

The moan that came out was embarrassingly loud and obscene. "Elsa? Is everything alright?" Steve asked her. His hands moved slower now, fingers digging in gently.

God, he was driving her insane. They'd been together for months now, and they'd both agreed to take it slow. But she was tired of taking it slow. She'd been fantasizing about him since almost the very first and her dreams had only been getting dirtier. She'd even woken a time or two to find her hand wedged between the cotton of her panties and her own skin. She'd had enough, damn it. It was time for some action. The kind of action that left her deflowered and unable to walk properly for a week.

She turned to face him, her face no doubt cast in lines of determination. Steve only stared at her in slight confusion, as if he didn't sense what was going on between them. Her hands took hold of his shirt and tugged him forward. Her actions obviously surprised him because he came to her easily. And then she had her lips on his and her arms were winding around his shoulders so that she could press herself fully against him. It took him a second to catch up, then he was holding her tight while he kissed her back. When she let her tongue dance against his, he gave a faint groan and deepened the kiss.

They pulled away when she was gasping for air. He was breathing heavily. And they were close enough that she knew he was hard, that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Her hands dropped from the soft material of his t-shirt so that she could work the fly of this jeans. He caught hold of them and drew them away, then gave her a look that said he wasn't quite sure what was going on. "Elsa? What..."

She didn't let him finish. She tugged her hands from his hold and went back to his fly. "I'm a woman with needs, damn it! And I need you naked, Steve. Right now. In fact, I need more than naked."

His hands caught hers again. This time when he stared at her, there was masculine knowledge in his eyes that said he understood exactly what it was she needed. And that he wanted to give it to her. That look went well with the faint blush that pinked his cheeks and the tops of his ears. She only had a moment to see it because his mouth was on hers again as he urged her backward toward the island. She let him, let her hands run down the thick muscles on his arms and up again.

They stopped when she ran into the edge of the island. His hands skimmed down her legs until they could go no farther. He let his fingers curl into the material of her skirt so that it bunched up in his hold, then he drew the garment up and over her hips. His hold tightened on her waist, the material of her skirt caught under them, and he picked her up. She found herself sitting on the edge of the island's cool granite top. His hands spread her thighs so that he could stand between her legs. He leaned forward to kiss her, pressed the hard length of his cock against her as he did so. Elsa shuddered against him and her hands once more attacked his fly in the hopes of getting his jeans down.

Once more, Steve's hands caught hers. This time, though, they ended up guiding her down so that she laid flat on the surface of the island. His fingers made quick work of the buttons on her blouse, let the garment fall open around her to frame her body. He leaned over her, let his mouth touch hers. But it pulled away before she could make an effort to deepen the kiss. He kissed a path down her cheek and throat, over the delicate curve of her shoulder. His hands went before his mouth, slid into her bra and pulled her breasts free without unhooking it. The garment framed her breasts and he lifted up just far enough that he could stare down at them. Just for a few moments.

Seconds later, he was once more kissing his way down her body, mouth trailing a path of fiery kisses over the softness of her belly. His hands had to shift the skirt around just a little bit, but the wait was well worth it. He took time to lavish attention on her belly button, tongue darting into the indentation to swirl around before he took her flesh between his teeth and clamped down on it gently. The action drew a hissing breath from her. Her back arched up, body tensing with the faint touch of pain that shifted through it. He let go, soothed the spot with his tongue, then began to once again kiss his way down her body.

He trailed kisses across the top of her right thigh, all the way down to her knee. Then he shifted his attention to the left leg, began kissing at the knee and worked up until his mouth stopped at the lace that edged her panties. There was a moment where he did nothing, prompting Elsa to lift her head so she could see what he was doing. Steve's eyes rolled up to meet hers, the blue of them dark and intense with his own need. She watched as he very pointedly raked his teeth against her skin and the elastic waist of her panties. The edge rolled just a bit before snapping back into place, a minor irritation when she felt his nose trail against the material.

His tongue slid out to press against her crotch, just over the spot where her clit throbbed with the need to be touched. She gasped softly, arched her back and lifted her hips so that she could press herself closer to him. He inhaled, long and loud. Elsa thought she was going to come just from that alone.

She felt his teeth scrape her flesh again, felt them catch the elastic waist of her panties and tug. Her hips rose and made it easier for him to pull the offending garment off. His hair brushed against her, against her legs and the very center of her, made her shudder with want and need. He managed to get her panties to her knees with his teeth, then brought his hands into play to finish pulling them down the rest of her way. As he did so, his palms and fingers skimmed the curves of her calves. After they dropped her panties to the floor, they carefully teased at the bottoms of her feet.

Sensation poured in from every nerve ending. The chill of the granite beneath her, the heat of his palms and fingers against her flesh, the silken brush of his hair, the tender yet hungry kisses he trailed over her. Elsa moaned, a plaintive sound of wanton need that should have embarrassed her. Should have, but didn't. Instead, she gave voice to every last ounce of desire coursing through her veins. She moaned and groaned and begged him to fuck her. She said it in those words and he never once gave her a look that suggested he didn't care for her statement. He just kept lavishing attention on her body, paying homage to her with his mouth and hands.

It seemed to take an age for him to reach the apex of her thighs. When he did, he let his hands trail down her legs until he came to her knees. His fingers curled around them and he lifted them up to hook them over his shoulders. Elsa locked her feet together behind his back, waited expectantly as he stared up at her face. The moment stretched between them, their eyes held and locked as he made silent promises with her eyes. The intensity of them burned her to her soul. Then his lips were pressing against her nether lips and the mere touch of them sent pleasure zinging along every single nerve. She gasped out a breath and her hands found his head, fingers curling tightly into the silken strands of his hair.

He worked his tongue into her, rough and sloppy, let it press as deep as it could go inside of her before drawing back to lap at her clit. Lightning lanced through her. Her hands spasmed, nails scraping his scalp, as she panted and gasped. Her hips writhed of their own accord, moving in an ancient, primal rhythm that they knew well. Steve's hands crept up over her belly until he could curl them around her breasts again. They squeezed, neither too hard nor too soft, the slight shafts of pain spiking through her to increase her pleasure.

He was rough and unskilled, but there was enough enthusiasm in his actions to make up for those things. Then again, she was no judge of what was and wasn't skillful in the sex department. And she didn't care. All she knew was that it felt good to have his tongue lap at her clit or press inside of her. It felt good to have his teeth grate against tender flesh and spike equal portions of pleasure and pain through her. It felt good to have his mouth sucking at her.

The tension grew and grew, until she felt like she'd shatter in the face of a gentle breeze. She occasionally looked up to find him staring at her over the expanse of her body. His eyes were darker each time, dark enough to make her shudder with a mix of pleasure and fear. She knew logically that he wouldn't hurt her. But she had never done this before and she knew that she was going to be sore later. How sore, though, was the problem she couldn't quite solve.

And then it didn't matter anymore. His fingers found her nipples and pulled them. His tongue rasped over her clit. The tension shattered in a shower of golden sparks and tore a cry from her throat that echoed around the kitchen as she rode out her orgasm. Steve never stopped working at her, kept her riding that crest of satisfaction until she couldn't see straight and her body felt like it was going to fly apart.

"Steve," she gasped, her hands tugging at his hair until he lifted his head and looked at her. "No more. Please, God. No more. I can't take anymore of that. I want more. I want you to make love to me."

She didn't think it was possible, but his eyes got even darker. He straightened, his hands reaching for her, intent on picking her up. She shook her head and sat up, her hands going to the fly of his jeans yet again. This time, he didn't stop her. He let her fingers work the button from the hole, let them tug the zipper down. She let them dip into the gap. They found his cock, stroked at it even as she worked at shoving his jeans and briefs down over his hips and ass so that she could free his erection.

There was something wanton and decadent with making love on the island in her kitchen. It reminded her of the dreams she'd had several months ago, when Steve had been licking ice cream off of her body. This was similar and, while it was enjoyable, part of her kind of wished there was ice cream involved. Some part of her kept expecting Steve to pull away and insist they should do this in her bed. But he didn't. He brought a hand up to stroke lightly up and down the length of her nether lips. It made her hands clumsy but she didn't care.

She wondered briefly if she should have picked up a box of condoms from the drug store on her last trip. It was a little late for that now seeing as Steve was closing the distance between them. And it wasn't as if she'd slept around. She was still a virgin. Steve was, too, as far as she knew. Though the way he'd gone down on her could suggest that he'd had some practice. Those thoughts were pushed aside the moment his fingers pressed into her.

She moaned softly, hissed a little at the discomfort of the intrusion. She'd never used her fingers anywhere but her clit and, even if she had, his fingers were twice as thick as her own. He inched them in slowly. just barely the tips of them. They stroked gently until the discomfort faded and she relaxed. "Lay back, Elsa," he whispered softly.

She did as he asked, putting her back down on the granite countertop. His hand pulled back, only to twist around so that his fingers could spread her open. The blunt head of his cock nudged against her flesh before sliding between her nether lips. It was more intense than his fingers and she bit her lip to keep from hissing. She didn't want him to stop. It didn't matter how much it hurt. She wanted this and she wanted it now.

His hips pushed him forward slow and steady, pressing in a scant centimeter at a time. The discomfort came back, grew as he stretched her out and filled her up. She couldn't stop the soft sound she made when he broke past her hymen. It prompted him to reach up and stroke a tender hand down her face. Made him halt his movements. Elsa wrapped her legs around his waist and tugged him forward, made him slip the rest of the way in. The burn intensified, raced through her, gradually turned into pleasure.

He finally filled her completely, bent over her to press a kiss to her lips. She wrapped her arms around him, let him drive his tongue into her mouth and plunder its interior. When he pulled back, his hands trailed over her breasts, down to her waist. He wrapped them around her and drew her closer to him, pressed more of his erection inside of her.

Steve stared at her with so many different emotions pouring out of his eyes that she couldn't name them all. Her body flexed and rippled around his, her muscles gradually adjusting to his intrusion. The dull ache slowly shifted and became a burning need. She shifted her hips, just the slightest bit, and moaned long and loud at the friction the action brought to life. The action saw his own hips moving involuntarily, saw his eyes closing and his teeth clenching. His fingers spasmed and tightened their hold on her waist.

Long minutes passed before he opened his eyes and looked down at her. When he did, the expression in his them was so intense that it made her shiver. His hips drew back slowly, that sweet friction burning between them again. She sighed softly, tightened her legs around his hips.

Steve offered her a smile that was masculine and primative. "Hang on tight, Elsa."

It was the only warning she got before he drove forward and sent blinding pleasure rushing through her body.

~*~