Note to self, sunlight causes
pain, Tony thought muzzily.
He blinked, trying to focus his eyes, but it was difficult to do, given
that he was a) hanging halfway off the sofa, b) in the vicious thralls
of a hangover and c) unable to get his arms and legs to cooperate in
righting him.
There seemed to be only one option, and with an anticipatory whimper,
Tony rolled himself off the sofa to the cement floor of the garage.
The thud was somewhat meaty, and followed by a pained groan.
Additional observation:
cement is still unyielding and cold.
Tony rested his cheek on the floor, taking a moment to appreciate the
coolness and gathering his strength for a renewed effort at rising. It
felt good to lie there, but another thought was forming in the back of
his mind, rumbling faintly like a vacuum cleaner being run in the
farthest room of a very big house.
Something . . . not good.
Tony frowned. He didn’t want to think about not good. He
wanted to think about nice things.
Consider: Bio-integrated
circuits--nice; the Colanta merger, nice; Pepper’s newest
shoes, damnniiiiiiice--
Ohshit.
“She’s going to kill me,” Tony whispered
to the
cement. “Not that there’s a lot left to kill,
granted. But
what there is, Potts will make very, very dead. D-e-d, dead.”
“Dead is spelled d-e-a-d, sir. Have you sustained injury
beyond
your alcohol-induced incapacitation?” Jarvis inquired.
Tony winced. “Jarvis, modify voice to ‘concerned
whisper’ please.”
“Ah,” the AI replied in instant accommodation,
tones much softer. “Is this acceptable?”
“Yes,” Tony murmured, eyes closing for a long
moment. It
would have been so easy to just stay there, warming the floor, waiting
for the inevitable, but Tony was aware that there were things to be
faced, and soon. “Where is Miss Potts?”
“Standing thirty-six centimeters behind you and slightly to
the left of your supine form, sir.”
“Shit.”
“I am not capable of that action at this time,”
Jarvis whispered.
“Not you, me. Pepper---” Tony attempted to roll
over, but only succeeded in twitching a bit.
The beginnings of an apology/excuse/denial were roiling in him,
spinning fruitlessly in the stripped cogs of his mind like a hamster on
a wheel; that is to say, going nowhere, very fast.
And making the cement look all the more welcoming, as far as Tony was
concerned. He let one hand wander up and lever him enough to roll over,
which he did, feeling comparable to a beached whale in the surf.
His resulting groan was also appropriately whale-like; low, sustained
and slightly pitiful. “Pepper, I can explain.”
Then Tony saw her.
As a man of science, Tony Stark had been drilled about empirical
evidence. He understood the importance of initial observation, and the
need to check such against other senses.
Nevertheless, if this was a hallucination, it was a damned fiiine one, and he
whimpered.
Pepper stood there, not a foot away from him, in a Playboy bunny
costume. One of the satin bodysuit numbers in fact, in a blush pink,
complete with wrist cuffs, bow tie, ears and long stocking-covered legs
in ab-so-lute-ly killah
black suede stilettos.
“I love you,” he breathed, eyes wide in stunned,
worshipful
lust. Tony wondered if he had enough strength to crawl over and lick
those shoes.
“You always say that when you’re hung
over,” she told
him, the sigh in her voice apparent. “You need to get up, Mr.
Stark.”
At the moment parts of him were doing just that, and Tony
couldn’t exactly disapprove, considering the glorious
stimulus
causing the response. He worked his jaw a little and tried to speak
again, but only managed a low, hungry moan.
Pepper cocked one hip, the move definitely, deliberately sexy as hell.
Tony chuffed a little, and the question that had been rattling in his
brain like the last M&M in a plastic cup made it past his very
dry
lips. “Why are you wearing . . . those clothes?”
“I always
wear clothes, Mr. Stark; there is no ‘nude Friday’
on my work calendar. I’ve brought you some coffee--”
Pepper gracefully executed the low squat known as the Bunny dip; Tony
managed to slump to a sitting position, although he wasn’t
sure
if his spine was getting into the act at all since it was behaving more
like a Slinky. He reached for the demitasse, eyes trying desperately to
focus on the glorious vision of Pepper in pink.
“You’re a bun-ny.”
“I’m a Pisces,” Pepper corrected him,
“and to be honest, a little impatient as well.”
“I bet your turn-offs are drunk billionaires,” Tony
whined,
“and guys who tweak your fluffy tail. You have one, right?
Turn
around, I wanna see.”
“Tony, I’m not in the mood to indulge you and your
post-liqueur chugging fantasies,” Pepper told him, rising
gracefully and showcasing her million-dollar legs. “You have
three meetings and a speech scheduled for today.”
“Yes, okay fine,” he murmured, preparing to slam
down the
espresso, “but I’m still very curious about the
whole . . .
bunny business.”
Tony brought the cup to his mouth and gulped; the black lava took an
express route to his stomach, searing its way down and making him
shudder.
Espresso; pick-me-up of the Gods, as far as he was concerned.
Pepper always made it just right: hotter than Hades and twice as bitter
as a divorced trophy wife. He gave a sigh, steam floating out of his
parted lips. “Ohhh, you own my soul, Potts.”
“Really? I assumed the part I owned was lower down, and
behind
you,” she tartly replied, but her smirk softened the comment.
“Uppy, uppy, Tony. We need to get you clean, dressed and
sober.”
“Seriously, why are you dressed to cater to my baser nature
and
fantasies? Not that I’m objecting—God
no—but
it’s going to make zipping around work today sort of . . .
interesting,” Tony mumbled as he attempted to stand, suddenly
feeling a pang of jealousy at the thought of all those other male eyes
on his
fluffy bunny.
No, this was not acceptable. Pepper could be lusted after discreetly,
yes; Tony understood the quirks of the masculine mindset, but having
open stares and bare-faced leers directed at that pert Potts ass and
those sex-Potts legs . . .
He wobbled at bit, his own more like Jell-O, and Pepper slipped a
supporting arm under his. Tony liked that. A lot.
“Hello,”
he murmured, blinking his unfocused eyes at her.
“You’re
warm.”
“Byproduct of my growing temper,” Pepper warned,
not
smiling. “This is the part of the job I genuinely detest, Mr.
Stark.”
“I’m sorry,” Tony sighed. “But
it’s been
a while. Last night my liver was assuring me it could handle the
load.”
“Which means I’m
the
one handling the load, ultimately,” Pepper responded,
steering
Tony towards the master bathroom. “Shower, dry and dress
yourself
in the next fifteen minutes or I’m going to have Jarvis set
the
temperature to arctic.”
“You only say that ‘cause you’re a
snowbunny,”
Tony countered, amused at his own wit. “Get it?
Snowbunny?”
“What I get,
Mr. Stark,
is that you didn’t read the part of that liqueur’s
label
that mentioned hallucinations. Go. Shower.”
Tony stumbled away, lower lip out in a pout that jutted like an open
drawer. “Well I
thought it was funny. What do you think,
Jarvis?”
“I think Miss Potts is being exceptionally patient with you
while you are incapacitated, sir.”
“Sure, you always take her side,” Tony accused as
he groped
his way into the stall, hands along the tiles. “Well
she’s my
bunny, from her satiny ears to her pointy sexy shoooes.”
The water came on, soaking him and his grimy clothes instantly; Tony
slowly slid down the wall of the shower, a bar of soap in his hands.
“Was that your best shot? Pffft, you have a poor sense of
humor,
Jarvis.”
“Thank you sir; a clear reflection on my creator.”
By the time Tony was out of the shower, the throbbing between his ears
felt as if his brain was slam-dancing against his skull from the
inside. Despite showering with his mouth open, his lips were still dry,
and Tony was sure the frown lines between his eyes were as creased as
an origami accordion.
“Yeah, I can still hold my liquor,” he bleated to
the
squinty mummy in the bathroom mirror. “I’m
good.”
“Tony,” Pepper called, stepping into the bedroom.
He managed a cracked smile at her, blinking happily.
“You’re still a bunny. You know, a hallucination
like this is practically worth
the death of a few thousand brains cells, even mine.”
Pepper gave him a skeptical look, adjusted her ears to a perky angle,
and motioned to the door. “Happy’s waiting for
us.”
“Us? You’re actually going to work dressed like one
of
Hef’s babes?” came the croak. “Ohh,
wait—hallucination. Okay, sure, Miss Potts. Let’s .
. . hop to
it.”
“I’m ignoring that,” she sighed.
“And you’re not
drinking any more of that Crème de Petite Lapin
Rosé.”
“Oh contraire,” Tony shot back as he tottered on
rubbery
legs down the stairs towards the driveway. “If this . . .
“
he waved at hand at Pepper, “is what it does to my perception
of
you, I am for
it, one hundred percent. Or make that proof, actually. Let’s
order a couple of cases.”
He sloshed towards the limo, ready to ask Happy what he thought of
Pepper’s new outfit, but the quip died with a sudden burping
squeak as he stared at his chauffeur standing by the passenger door.
Tony swayed like a dark-eyed daisy in a winter gust, unable to accept
the vision his eyes kept insisting on bringing to his already suffering
brain.
“Mr. Stark,” Happy rumbled mildly, “You
okay?”
“Hhhhhhhuuunnnnnnn,” Tony wheezed, sounding a lot
like a deflating balloon. “Huuuuhhhhhh . . . .”
“Happy,” Pepper corrected.
“It’s not that hard to pronounce, Tony.”
Tony huffed and puffed again, sounding like the big bad wolf.
Nightmare.
Had to be.
Happy Hogan.
Bare, beefy shoulders, tattooed arms, hairy legs . . . .
. . . in a Playboy Bunny suit.
A pink Playboy
Bunny suit.
“Boss?” Happy inquired, cocking his head slightly
and making his fuzzy ears tilt. “You okay?”
“Gaahhhhh,” Tony bleated. The clear vision of
Hogan’s
five o’clock shadow over the perky bow tie around his thick
neck
was frightening enough, but to see the burly tree-trunk legs in
stockings and bulky feet squashed into high heels was nearly too much.
Tony began to shake, sweat breaking out along his temples.
He closed his eyes. “Sick. I’m . . . sick, Potts.
Ill,
unwell, under the weather, ailing, out of it, not up to any meetings or
speeches, noooo, need to get to bed.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Tony,” she murmured.
“Are you sure? Happy and I could take you to the
doctor--”
Tony whimpered as garish nightmare visions of tabloid
insanity—“FLUFFY” FETISH REVEALED!
BUNNIES FOR THE
BILLIONAIRE! and worst of all, STARK RAVING FOR RABBITS? flashed across
his appalled mind, complete with full-color photos of him pale and
shitty, with Pepper and Happy, flanking him like bookends.
Pepper alone
wouldn’t be so bad, Tony thought in a brief
mental footnote, but
Happy . . .
The tinted glass window of the limo rolled down, and a voice called
impatiently to him. “Tony, are you getting in or
what?”
Rhodey.
Tony blinked, and the nausea rose higher, sloshing inside him as
Colonel James Rhodes leaned out the window, his wide, muscular mocha
shoulders a lovely contrast to the pink satin of his Playboy Bunny suit.
Of course.
It made perfect sense that Platypus would be a brown bunny, Tony
blearily realized. Perfect sense that everyone would be
bunnies today----
“Nooooooooo. No-no-no-no,” Tony turned, trying to
run,
trying to climb back up the stairs and away from this melon-colored
madness. He tripped, scrambled frantically to catch his footing and
crab-scuttled up the stairs back into the mansion, moving with
remarkable agility for a man who had been doorbell ditching death an
hour earlier.
Pepper, Happy and Rhodey watched him go, the three of them frozen for a
long moment, their gazes locked on Tony Stark’s retreating
ass.
When the door closed, Rhodey shot a concerned glance at Happy and then
turned his gaze to Pepper.
“Got to hand it to you Miss Potts--you sure know how to stage
a hell of
an intervention.”
She smirked, and the saucy look she shot both men was both mysterious
and endearing. “I could not have done it without your help.
Thank
you, gentlemen, for doing your bit to keep Mr. Stark sober.”
“If it was for anyone else on the
planet—“ Rhodey muttered, but he grinned as he said
it.
Hogan gave a burly shrug. “As long as I don’t have
to walk in these things.”
Pepper laughed. “Go get changed guys, and I’ll see
if I can
get Tony to take a long, quiet nap. And remember, no bunny here knows a
thing, right?”
“Oh not a problem,” Rhodey agreed.
Hogan nodded, making his ears bounce a little. “I think we
can
keep vewy, vewy quiet, Miss Potts, as long as you keep him
away—“
“—from the
hare of the dog,” she finished, laughing, and
headed up the stairs, cottontail tail bouncing.
Sometimes,
Pepper thought, revenge
was deliciously . . . fluffy.
FIN
