Whether he's home late or early is a matter of perspective; he's two days early returning from Toronto, but it's three in the morning. Pepper's home, not scheduled to leave again until next week- how fast that'll change is anybody's guess- so with any luck she's waiting for him in bed. He's too tired to do much about that fact, but it's nice to wake up next to her, have her warm in his arms while he falls asleep.
He's quiet as he can be when he gets to their room, stepping into the closet to strip down to his boxers. He pads out into the bedroom, standing beside the bed for a moment. Pepper is curled up on her side, all the way on her end of the bed even though she's got the whole thing to spread out on; she must be hot, because the sheets are down around her stomach. She shifts, turning a little, and he stops, his brain shorting out for a second, because she's lying there wearing his tank top.
His one. Not anybody else's. Not hers. His.
It's one of the ones that he's cut a hole out of for the reactor, and on Pepper, it makes this excellent window through which to look at her perfect breasts. He suddenly wants to get her about a thousand shirts like that, because it's a very, very good look for her. The shirt, like most things he wears in the workshop, is streaked with grease; he doesn't even think she washed it, and that thought should be gross but is somehow insanely arousing, the thought of her with his scent all over her, right on her skin.
Screw what he said about being tired, because there are more important things to worry about right now. He gets into bed behind her, taking her into his arms; Pepper is surprisingly fond of wake up sex, and Tony does not hesitate to take advantage of this fact. Her panties are plain white cotton, the kind she wears when she's not trying to be sexy- which, of course, means that Tony has developed an intense fetish for them, just like everything she wears. He slides his hand down her stomach, pushing his fingers underneath her waistband, and she stirs, making a soft sound. Tony's hand dips lower; his fingers slip easily inside of her, slick and smooth, and mother of God, has she been in here getting off wearing his clothing? He can just see her with her vibrator, head thrown back while she works her hands, calling out his name and pretending it's-
That thought is nigh on overwhelming. He pulls away from her long enough to pull off his boxers and toss them off the side of the bed; he fits himself up behind her again, moving her hair out of the way so he can lay kisses all over the back of her neck, grinding his already hard cock against her ass. The material of his shirt is rough underneath his hand as he massages her breast, feeling her nipple harden at his touch. She smells just like him, sweat and motor oil, and it's intoxicating. He reaches down to stroke her, unable to keep his hands from roaming all over her body.
"Tony," she breathes, moving towards him.
"Hey," he says, biting her ear. "You been thinking about me?"
"Yeah," she says, stretching against him. "A lot."
"I can tell," he says, sliding his hand underneath her shirt to pinch her nipple. "I love it when you're filthy."
"Get used to it," she says.
"You're such a slut," he says, laughing soft and low. She just hums in agreement, leaning back against him. She bitches when the reactor leaves marks on her back, but it's her own fault, what with the way she's pressing up so tight against him, trying to get him as close as she can. "What do you want?"
"Fuck me," she sighs, rocking her hips back, and he bites his lip to keep from coming, the pressure against his cock and the sound of those words from her lips almost too much.
"Off with these," he says, impatiently yanking her panties down her legs and throwing them blindly away. She doesn't do much to help, but she doesn't do anything at all to stop him. He takes hold of his cock, guiding it inside of her; she feels criminally good, hot and wet around him. He moves slowly inside of her, long, smooth strokes that make her sigh and groan, his hand on her hip to push and pull her. She's lax and pliant, letting him have her just like he wants. There's a time for wild sex, combative or playful or both, but this isn't it, isn't anything but a good solid fuck, quiet but so very, very satisfying.
He's so wound up that he doesn't have much patience; he drags it out as long as he can, every single instant he can muster, but he doesn't have forever, not when it's so very good, which is really awfully unfair. His hips move faster, his cock pushing into her hard and deep, and he comes, gasping against her skin, wrecked for her, lost.
She makes a noise of loss as he pulls out of her, but he's got her on her back in an instant, his mouth on her cunt, eating her greedily. He's not clear on what her opinion is, but he's pretty sure he likes it better this way, for totally selfish reasons. It's wet and messy and she tastes so fucking good, like sex, like him, marked with his come; he is such a possessive motherfucker today, and she's not protesting at all.
"Don't stop," she pleads, her fingers digging into the back of his head. "Please don't stop," she begs, and he doesn't dare. He pushes his fingers inside her, fucking her while he licks and sucks at her clit, and he can feel it when she goes off, the way she clenches down around his fingers, her orgasm coming on in waves. He keeps going, not wanting to see it stop, wanting to wring every last bit from her, until she's exhausted, completely spent.
She goes and goes and goes some more, but eventually it's the end, she's given it up entirely. He moves up her body, making to kiss her; before he can, she catches his hand, licking his fingers clean. "You can't just do that," he says, watching her, not moving.
"Why not?" she says, sucking another finger into her mouth.
"Because it makes me want to fuck you all over again," he says, "and I'm very happy to, but you'll have to give me a minute."
She lets his hand go, kissing him. "So take a minute."
"Good God, woman, what got into you?" he says, lips against hers.
"Missed you," she tells him, putting an arm around his waist.
He pulls her close, their legs tangled together. "I missed you, too, but it didn't turn me into a sex demon."
She yawns. "You're always a sex demon."
"Point," he says. He kisses her forehead. "Go to sleep. Then morning sex."
"Mmm," she says. "I like that plan."
"Knew you would," he says, shutting his eyes. "I make great plans."
She moves, and he can feel the material of his shirt between them. "Mine are better."
"This once, I'm going to give that one to you," he allows.
"Shut up, Tony," she says, kissing him, and Tony lets himself drift blissfully off.
Until morning sex.