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Silky

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"Those are not your panties, babe."

Pepper drops the midnight blue silk to the floor in shock. She turns, and Tony is leaning back against the wall, giving her an inscrutable look. Pepper wants to stammer something about being sorry, about not knowing, about being surprised, about how much she doesn't care, honestly, because it's not a big deal and she understands.

"Put them on," is what comes out of her mouth instead.

"No," he says, picking them up as he brushes past her and walks into the closet.

"I'm sorry," she actually does stammer. "I just- I didn't- that was-"

"What?" he says, poking his head out. "Those ones are dirty." While Pepper is still getting her brain to function, he comes out wearing just his dress shirt and a pair of panties that are, somewhat predictably, fire truck red, a little bit of black lace around the trim and a bow on the front. They're low-rise, low enough that Tony's cock would easily peek out of the top of them if he were hard.

"Get on the bed," Pepper says, following him when he obeys. Without even taking off her shoes she climbs in after him, spreading his legs as she kisses him hard. She doesn't give him any warning, any time to refuse, any time to make this awkward; she just leans down and drags her tongue along the fabric, outlining the shape of his cock. She puts her mouth over the head and sucks hard, enough that Tony bucks up against her. She puts both hands on his hips and slams him back down against the bed, holding him so he can't get away from her, can't back out, can't do anything but let her have this.

He gets hard in record time; Pepper drags the waistband of the panties down with her teeth so she can swallow him properly, take him in until he hits the back of her throat. She has to keep a tight grip on him, with the way he's trying to drive up into her mouth. She can hear him begging for more, pleading, but it's distant, unimportant, almost annoying.

She dares to uncurl five of her fingers from around his hip, holding him down harder on the other side. It's worth it, because now she can get his balls into her hand, feel the slick material against her palm as she toys with him. It's so good she moans, and Tony shouts, his hand finding the back of her head. She bats it away; this is her show, not his.

Now he's begging to come, to be allowed the privilege. She thinks about telling him he can't, that he has to wait, but he's shuddering, shaking, and it's pointless to pretend he'll be worth much else. "Come," she says, and she takes him down again, far as she can go; he comes, shouting her name loud enough that it seems to ring off the walls.

She sits back on her heels, pulling the panties back up and putting them neatly back into place. Tony eyes her, panting. "So I guess I don't have to get rid of them."

"I don't control how you dress, Tony," she says, trying to sound even and level despite the fact that her cheeks feel like they're on fire.

"So I guess I should buy more of them," he says, sitting up; he grabs her by the waist and pulls her in, kissing her, his hand sneaking up under her skirt. She bites his lip almost involuntarily as he moves her panties aside and pushes his fingers inside of her, sliding in so easy with how wet she is, wet enough that moisture is starting to creep down her thighs. "Jesus Christ," he says, rocking his fingers in and out of her, his thumb on her clit. "A lot more of them."

She lets her head fall back. "Faster," she says, and he doesn't hesitate, holding her to him with one arm as he moves his hand, more and more and it's amazing how hard she comes from just that, just his talented fingers and the thought of him in those goddamn panties, of making him rub off on something while he wears them, of yanking them aside so she can take his cock or fuck his ass.

She ends up mostly on top of him, hand over the reactor through his shirt while he runs his fingers idly through her hair. She feels wet and slick and she's not done with him, not by a long shot, but they're both going to need a minute to recover.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks him.

He holds up a hand, ticking off items on his fingers. "I do wear them out of the house, I don't want to be a woman, I started when I was 16 and lost a bet, it isn't because of a secret trauma, it is because they feel really fucking good."

"I think that covers it," Pepper says.

"I think so," he replies. He looks down. "I hope you didn't stretch these all out of shape. I really like these."

"You stretch mine out all the time," she points out. "They're always fine later."

"Good," he says, kissing the top of her head before he eases himself out from under her. "I need a glass of water. Maybe a candy bar. You? You good?"

She shifts. "A washcloth."

He gives her a look. "It's just going to get messed up again later." She rolls her eyes. "Washcloth. Candy?"

"Are there any more Caramello bars?" she asks.

"Do you think I'd forget?" he says. "Don't answer that question. Do you think Jarvis would forget?"

"Bring me a Caramello bar," she says.

"Coming right up," he says, standing up from the bed and walking away, headed off to the kitchen. She props herself up on her elbows, watching him go. His ass moves underneath the red fabric, and she watches how it clings, hugging every curve, every muscle.

She's gonna tear that up.