Slightly Obsessed

"You loved every second."

"Guilty." He reached across the table, fingers tracing idle patterns on your wrist. "But I think I've got something that'll top even that."

You leaned forward, intrigued. "I'm listening."

"There's this bar. Sophisticated, classy, the kind of place where beautiful strangers meet over expensive whiskey." His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. "What if we... didn't know each other?"

Your pulse quickened. "Go on."

"You go in first. Find a spot. Look devastating - which, let's be honest, isn't exactly a challenge." His thumb pressed against your pulse point, feeling it jump. "I come in twenty minutes later. We're just two people in a bar. No history. No inside jokes. Just... chemistry."

"And then?" Your voice had dropped to that husky register that always drove him crazy.

"Then I seduce my wife like she's the most fascinating stranger I've ever met." He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Because she is. Every single day."

Your heart melted even as heat pooled low in your belly. "You're really good at this."

"I know." The cocky grin was pure Tony Stark. "So what do you say? Tomorrow night. The Aviary. Eight o'clock."

You pretended to consider it, though you both knew your answer. "One condition."

"Name it."

"We stay in character. No breaking. No matter what."

His eyes darkened with promise. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you just agreed to."

"I think I have some idea." You stood, smoothing your dress. "But Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Try to keep up." You walked away from the table, throwing him a look over your shoulder that promised everything.

His laugh followed you out. "Challenge accepted."

________________________________________________________________

The Aviary was exactly as Tony had described - all dark wood, amber lighting, and the kind of sophisticated atmosphere that made you feel like you'd stepped into a film noir. You'd chosen your outfit carefully: a black dress that hugged every curve, heels that made your legs look endless, and confidence that came from knowing exactly what the night would bring.

You settled into a leather booth with a clear view of the entrance, ordering a dirty martini from the attentive bartender. The first sip was perfect - cold, sharp, with just enough bite.

At exactly eight-twenty, the door opened.

Tony walked in like he owned the place - which, knowing him, he probably did. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, no tie, the top two buttons of his shirt undone in that casually devastating way he'd perfected. His eyes swept the room with practiced ease, the arc reactor's subtle glow visible beneath the fabric.

When his gaze landed on you, he paused. Just for a heartbeat. Just long enough for you to see the flash of heat before he schooled his expression into polite interest.

He headed to the bar, ordered something undoubtedly expensive, and made no move in your direction. The game had begun.

You crossed your legs slowly, and watched him watch you in the mirror behind the bar. His lips curved almost imperceptibly.

Two could play at this game.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling through it with apparent disinterest while very aware of his eyes on you. Five minutes passed. Then ten. The tension stretched between you like a live wire.

Finally, he stood. Picked up his glass. And walked over with the kind of confidence that should be illegal.

"This seat taken?"

You looked up, letting your gaze travel slowly from his shoes to his face, taking your time. "That depends."

"On?"

"Whether you're going to be interesting."

His smile was devastating. "I've been called many things. Interesting is definitely on the list." He slid into the booth across from you without waiting for permission. "Tony."

You took another sip of your martini, considering him. "That's quite an entrance."

"I like to make an impression." He set his glass down - whiskey, neat, of course. "And you are?"

You told him your name, watching his eyes darken as he repeated it, tasting it like fine wine.

"Beautiful name," he said. "Almost as beautiful as the woman wearing it."

"Does that line usually work for you?"

"I don't know. Is it working?"

You laughed despite yourself. "Points for honesty."

"I find it's underrated." He leaned back, studying you with unabashed interest. "So what brings a woman like you to a place like this? And before you answer, please know I'm aware of how cliché that question is."

"Self-awareness. I like that." You mirrored his posture, relaxed but engaged. "Maybe I'm meeting someone."

"Are you?"

"Not anymore." You let that hang in the air between you. "He didn't show."

"Then he's an idiot." Tony's voice dropped lower. "Or fictional. Please tell me he's fictional because if a real man stood you up, I'm going to have to track him down and have words."

"Protective. That's sweet."

"I'm really not." His smile turned wicked. "But I am opportunistic. His loss is very much my gain."

"Confident."

"Accurate," he corrected. "There's a difference."

You signaled the bartender for another drink. "So what's your story, Tony? Besides making dramatic entrances and rescuing abandoned women in bars?"

"Who says I'm rescuing you?" He tilted his head. "Maybe you're rescuing me."

"From what?"

"Boredom. Mediocrity. Another night of the same old thing." His eyes never left yours. "And something tells me you're anything but ordinary."

"You don't know anything about me."

"Not yet." The promise in those two words sent heat racing down your spine. "But I'd like to. Call it... scientific curiosity."

"Are you a scientist?"

"Among other things. Engineer, inventor, philanthropist, devastatingly charming conversationalist." He ticked them off on his fingers. "The list goes on."

"Modest too."

"Modesty is for people who have something to be modest about." He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I prefer honesty. For instance, I could pretend I came over here to make small talk about the weather or ask what you do for a living. But the truth is, I saw you sitting here looking like every fantasy I didn't know I had, and I thought, 'Stark, if you don't talk to her, you're going to regret it for the rest of your life.'"

Your breath caught. Even knowing it was a game, the intensity in his eyes made your pulse race. "That's quite a line."

"It's not a line if it's true." He reached across the table, fingers hovering near yours. "May I?"

You nodded, and he traced the back of your hand with feather-light touches that somehow felt more intimate than a kiss.

"So here's what I'm thinking," he continued, his voice dropping to that low, rough register that always undid you. "We could sit here and play the usual games. Ask about jobs and hobbies and where we went to college. Or..." He turned your hand over, thumb pressing against your palm. "We could skip the boring parts and get to the interesting stuff."

"And what would that be?"

"Tell me something real. Something you don't usually share with strangers in bars."

You considered him, this man you knew better than anyone, playing stranger with such conviction it made your heart race. "I like taking risks."

"Yeah?"

"Calculated ones. The kind where you know exactly what you're gambling and decide it's worth it anyway."

His smile was slow and dangerous. "Funny. I'm something of a gambler myself."

"Is that what this is? A gamble?"

"The best kind." His fingers laced with yours. "High stakes. High reward."

"And what exactly are you hoping to win?"

"The rest of your evening." He said it simply, directly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Maybe more, if I play my cards right."

You should have been prepared for this - you'd agreed to it, planned it, wanted it. But the heat in his gaze still made your stomach flip. "That's presumptuous."

"Is it?" He leaned closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne, that familiar scent that meant home and safety and passion. "Because from where I'm sitting, you haven't pulled your hand away. You're leaning in, not back. And unless I'm very much mistaken. Which I'm not - you're enjoying this as much as I am."

"Maybe I'm just being polite."

His laugh was low and rich. "Sweetheart, there's nothing polite about the way you're looking at me right now."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like you're deciding whether to kiss me or kill me." He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles that sent electricity shooting up your arm. "For the record, I'm hoping for the former."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough." His thumb traced circles on your wrist. "I know you're intelligent - the way you banter tells me that. I know you're confident. You're sitting here alone in a bar like you own it. I know you're adventurous - you're still here, talking to me, when you could have shut this down ten minutes ago." He paused. "And I know that when I touch you like this, your pulse races."

Damn him for being right.

"Your turn," you said, trying to regain some control. "Tell me something real."

"I'm very good at reading people." His eyes glinted with mischief. "And right now, I'm reading that you want me to kiss you but you're not going to make it easy."

"Confident and perceptive. Dangerous combination."

"You have no idea." He released your hand, sitting back. "But I'm a patient man when the prize is worth it."

"Is that what I am? A prize?"

"You're a revelation." The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. "And I have a feeling this is going to be a night I'll remember for a very long time."

The bartender appeared with fresh drinks - another martini for you, whiskey for him. Tony raised his glass.

"To chance encounters."

You clinked your glass against his. "To taking risks."

"To beautiful strangers who make you believe in fate." His eyes held yours as you both drank.

The conversation flowed like the alcohol - smooth, intoxicating, with an underlying burn. You talked about everything and nothing, trading stories that were carefully edited to maintain the illusion. He told you about his work in "technology" with a vague wave of his hand. You mentioned your own career in equally nonspecific terms.

But beneath the surface details, the real conversation was happening in looks and touches, in the way he leaned closer with each passing minute, in how your foot found his under the table.

"Dance with me," he said suddenly.

"There's no music."

"There's always music." He stood, offering his hand. "You just have to listen."

You let him pull you up, lead you to a small clear space near the windows overlooking the city. He was right - there was music, soft jazz filtering through hidden speakers. His hand settled on your waist, pulling you close, and you rested your hand on his shoulder.

"This is very smooth," you murmured as you swayed together.

"I have my moments." His breath was warm against your ear. "Though I have to admit, you're making it easy."

"How so?"

"You fit perfectly right here." His hand pressed against the small of your back. "Like you were made for it."

You were. You had been. But he wasn't supposed to know that.

"You're quite the romantic for a stranger in a bar."

"Maybe you bring it out in me." He spun you gently, pulling you back against his chest. "Or maybe I just recognize something extraordinary when I see it."

"And what do you see?"

He turned you to face him, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. "Someone who's going to change my life."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning only the two of you understood. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

"That's a lot of pressure for a first meeting."

"Then we better make it count." His thumb brushed your lower lip. "I'm going to kiss you now. If you don't want me to, tell me to stop."

You didn't tell him to stop.

His lips met yours with a gentleness that belied the heat in his eyes, a soft exploration that quickly deepened into something more urgent. You gasped against his mouth and he took advantage, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance you'd perfected over years but felt new in this moment, in this game.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard.

"Come home with me," he said, his voice rough with want.

"I don't usually…"

"I know." He pressed his forehead to yours. "Neither do I. But there's nothing usual about this. About you." His hands framed your face. "I have a feeling if I let you walk out of here, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what if."

You pretended to consider it, even though every cell in your body was screaming yes. "What exactly are you offering?"

"Everything." His smile was pure sin. "Wine, conversation, the best view in the city." He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "And if you're very lucky, I'll make you forget your own name."

"That's quite a promise."

"I always deliver." He pulled back, eyes searching yours. "So what do you say? Take a chance on a stranger?"

You traced the arc reactor through his shirt, feeling his sharp intake of breath. "Show me this view."

His smile could have lit up the city. "Best decision you'll ever make."

________________________________________________________________

The elevator ride to Tony's penthouse was an exercise in restraint. You stood on opposite sides of the car, the tension so thick you could taste it. His eyes never left you, tracking every breath, every shift of your weight.

"You're staring," you said.

"Can you blame me?" He unbuttoned his collar. "I'm trying to figure out if you're real."

"I could say the same about you. Do you bring all your bar pickups here?"

"You're the first." He said it so seriously you almost believed he'd forgotten the game. "And if I have anything to say about it, the last."

The elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse, and you stepped out into a space that was pure Tony - sleek, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the glittering Manhattan skyline.

"You weren't kidding about the view."

"I never kid about views." He moved to the bar, pulling out a bottle of wine that probably cost more than most people's cars. "Red okay?"

"Perfect."

You walked to the windows, looking out at the city spread below like a carpet of stars. Behind you, you heard the soft pop of the cork, the gentle glug of wine being poured.

"Here." He appeared at your shoulder, offering a glass. "To new beginnings."

You touched your glass to his, the crystal singing. The wine was exquisite, rich and complex, warming you from the inside.

"So," you said, turning to face him. "You brought me to your place. Now what?"

"Now..." He set his glass down on a nearby table, then took yours and did the same. "Now I do what I've been wanting to do since I saw you in that bar."

He kissed you again, but this time there was no gentleness, no hesitation. This was pure want, raw need, his hands sliding into your hair as he backed you against the window. The glass was cool against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips.

"Don't you dare."

His laugh was dark and delicious. "That's my girl."

Wait - no. You weren't his girl. You were a stranger. The slip made your pulse race even faster.

If he noticed, he didn't show it. His mouth moved to your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that made you gasp. His hands roamed your body like he was memorizing it, like he hadn't touched you a thousand times before.

"Bedroom," you managed to gasp out.

"Demanding. I like it." But he didn't move, too busy marking a path down your throat. "Though I'm thinking right here might work just fine."

"Tony…"

"Say my name again." His teeth grazed your collarbone. "I like how it sounds in your mouth."

"Tony." You pulled his head up, forcing him to meet your eyes. "Bedroom. Now."

The smile he gave you was pure wickedness. "Yes, ma'am."

He took your hand, leading you through the penthouse to a bedroom that was all dark colors and luxury. The bed was enormous, covered in what looked like silk sheets. More windows showcased the city, making you feel like you were floating above it all.

"Last chance to change your mind," he said, even as his hands found the zipper of your dress.

"Not a chance."

"Thank God." He slid the zipper down slowly, his knuckles brushing your spine. "Because I've been thinking about getting you out of this dress since the moment I saw you."

The dress pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but black lace and heels. His sharp intake of breath was gratifying.

"Jesus Christ." His hands skimmed your sides, reverent and hungry all at once. "You're perfect."

"Your turn." You reached for his shirt, making quick work of the buttons. The arc reactor glowed between you, a reminder of who he really was, but you pushed the thought away. Tonight, he was just Tony. A stranger. A fantasy.

His shirt joined your dress on the floor. You traced the lines of his chest, the definition of his abs, feeling his muscles jump under your touch.

"Like what you see?" The cocky grin was back.

"You'll do."

He laughed, pulling you against him. "I'll do? Sweetheart, by the time I'm done with you, I'll be the standard by which you measure every other man."

"Big talk."

"Big delivery." He walked you backward toward the bed. "Let me prove it."

________________________________________________________________

The back of your knees hit the mattress and you fell backward, bouncing slightly on the silk sheets. Tony stood over you, his eyes dark with desire as they roamed over your body.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Look at you."

"You going to just stand there and stare, or are you going to do something about it?"

"Oh, I'm going to do something about it." He knelt on the bed, crawling over you like a predator. "I'm going to do a lot of things about it."

His mouth found yours again, hot and demanding, as his hands made quick work of your bra. When his palms cupped your breasts, you arched into his touch with a moan.

"Sensitive," he murmured against your lips. "Good to know."

His mouth moved lower, trailing kisses down your neck, your collarbone, until he reached your breast. When his tongue flicked over your nipple, you gasped, your hands flying to his hair.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice rough. "Let me hear you."

He lavished attention on your breasts, alternating between gentle kisses and sharp nips that made you writhe beneath him. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling slightly, and he groaned against your skin.

"Do that again," he demanded.

You pulled harder, and his hips jerked against yours, letting you feel exactly how much he wanted you.

"Fuck, that's good." He bit down on the curve of your breast, soothing it with his tongue. "You're going to be the death of me."

"Less talking," you gasped. "More action."

"Impatient." But his hands were already moving lower, sliding your panties down your legs. "I like that in a woman."

He settled between your thighs, his breath hot against your most sensitive skin. "Tell me what you want."

"You know what I want."

"Say it." His fingers traced teasing patterns on your inner thighs. "I want to hear you say it."

"I want your mouth on me." The words came out breathless, desperate. "Please."

"Since you asked so nicely." And then his tongue was on you, and coherent thought became impossible.

He worked you with the skill of someone who knew exactly what he was doing, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention that had you climbing toward the edge embarrassingly fast. Your hands fisted in his hair, holding him against you as your hips rolled shamelessly.

"That's it, baby," he murmured against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your system. "Take what you need."

When he added his fingers, curling them just right, you shattered with a cry that probably echoed through the entire penthouse. He worked you through it, gentling his touch as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs.

"Beautiful," he said, crawling back up your body. His lips were wet with you, and when he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue. "Absolutely beautiful."

You reached between your bodies, palming him through his pants. He was hard as steel, and when you squeezed, he hissed through his teeth.

"Your turn," you said, pushing at his shoulders.

He went willingly, lying back as you straddled his hips. You made quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing him from the confines of his pants. He was perfect—thick and hard and already leaking at the tip.

"Someone's eager," you teased, wrapping your hand around him.

"You have no idea." His head fell back as you stroked him, his hips thrusting into your grip. "Fuck, your hand feels good."

"Just my hand?" You positioned yourself over him, dragging his tip through your wetness. "What about this?"

"Don't tease," he groaned. "I'm dying here."

"Beg."

His eyes snapped open, dark and dangerous. "What?"

"You heard me." You circled your hips, letting him feel how wet you were without giving him what he wanted. "Beg."

"You're evil."

"And you love it." You sank down just an inch, then lifted back up. "So beg."

"Please." The word was torn from him. "Please, I need to be inside you. Need to feel you. Please."

"Good boy." You sank down in one smooth motion, taking him fully.

The groan that ripped from his throat was inhuman. His hands clamped on your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still as he adjusted to the sensation.

"Holy fuck," he panted. "You feel incredible."

"You're not so bad yourself." You rolled your hips experimentally, and his fingers tightened. "In fact, I'd say you're pretty perfect."

"Flattery will get you everywhere." He thrust up, making you gasp. "But I'm done being patient."

He flipped you suddenly, pressing you into the mattress as he drove into you with a force that stole your breath. You wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust.

"Yes," you moaned. "Just like that."

"Tell me how it feels." His voice was rough in your ear. "Tell me what I'm doing to you."

"So good," you gasped. "You feel so good inside me. So deep."

"Damn right." He changed his angle, hitting that spot that made you see stars. "This what you need? This what you wanted when you agreed to come home with me?"

"Yes! God, yes!"

"That's my girl." There it was again, that slip. "Taking me so well. Like you were made for me."

Your nails raked down his back, hard enough to leave marks, and he groaned, his hips stuttering.

"Fuck, do that again."

You obliged, dragging your nails down his back as he pounded into you. The combination of pleasure and pain seemed to drive him wild, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.

"Touch yourself," he commanded. "I want to feel you come around me."

You slipped your hand between your bodies, finding your clit. The added stimulation had you climbing fast, your inner walls starting to flutter around him.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice strained. "Come for me. Let me feel it."

"Tony!" Your back arched as the orgasm hit you like a freight train, pleasure radiating out from your core in waves.

"Fuck, yes!" He thrust through your orgasm, prolonging it, before his own release overtook him. He buried himself deep, groaning your name as he came.

For a long moment, you both just breathed, tangled together in the silk sheets. His weight was heavy on you, comforting, familiar despite the game you were playing.

Finally, he rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were draped across his chest. His hand traced lazy patterns on your back.

"So," he said, his voice rough and satisfied. "Was I right?"

"About what?"

"About making you forget your own name."

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Cocky bastard."

You propped yourself up on his chest, looking down at him. His hair was a mess, his lips swollen from kissing, and there were definitely going to be scratches on his back tomorrow. He looked thoroughly debauched and absolutely perfect.

"Round two?" you suggested.

His eyes darkened. "You're going to kill me."

"What a way to go."

He flipped you onto your back, settling between your thighs again. "You're right about that."

This time was slower, more exploratory. He took his time mapping your body, finding every spot that made you gasp or moan. You returned the favor, relearning him as if for the first time, marveling at how even after all these years, he could still make your heart race.

When he finally slid back inside you, it was with a gentleness that made your throat tight. He moved with long, slow strokes, his eyes locked on yours.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face. "So fucking beautiful."

You pulled him down for a kiss, pouring everything you felt into it. The game was still on, technically, but in this moment, it felt more real than anything.

He made love to you slowly, thoroughly, until you were both trembling and desperate. When you came this time, it was with his name on your lips and tears in your eyes. He followed moments later, his face buried in your neck.

Afterward, you lay tangled together, sweaty and satisfied and completely wrung out.

"I think you broke me," you mumbled against his chest.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing." His hand stroked your hair. "In the best possible way."

You were quiet for a moment, just breathing together, before you felt him start to shake. You looked up to find him trying to hold back laughter.

"What?" you asked, starting to smile yourself.

"We're really good at this," he said, the laughter breaking free. "Like, concerningly good."

And just like that, the game was over. You dissolved into giggles, burying your face in his chest as he laughed with you.

________________________________________________________________

"Oh my God," you gasped between laughs. "Did you actually tell me I was 'made for you'? Twice?"

"You scratched my back like a wildcat and told me to beg!" He was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. "Who are you?"

"Your wife, apparently!" You lifted your head, grinning at him. "Who knew we were both such good actors?"

"Speak for yourself. I almost broke character when you did that thing with your hips." He pulled you closer, still chuckling. "Thought I was going to lose it right there."

"Which time?"

"All of them." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "But seriously, that was..."

"Amazing?" you supplied.

"I was going to say 'the hottest thing we've ever done,' but amazing works too." His hand traced patterns on your back. "You were incredible. I almost believed you were actually a stranger."

"Almost?"

"Well, no stranger has ever known exactly how to touch me like that." He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Or looked at me the way you do."

Your heart melted. "Tony..."

"I know, I know. I'm getting sappy." But he didn't stop, his eyes soft as they met yours. "But come on. How many guys get to seduce their wife and have it feel like the first time all over again?"

"How many wives get to be seduced by Tony Stark?" you countered.

"Just one." He rolled you onto your back, hovering over you. "And she's the only one I want. Today, tomorrow, fifty years from now when we're doing this with walkers and hearing aids."

"Romantic."

"I try." He kissed you softly, sweetly, nothing like the desperate passion from earlier. "I love you. So much. You know that, right?"

"I know." You cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "I love you too. Even when you're being a cocky bastard."

"Especially when I'm being a cocky bastard," he corrected with a grin.

"Especially then," you agreed.

He rolled onto his back, pulling you against his side. You settled there, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart and the hum of the arc reactor.

"We should do this again," he said after a moment.

"What, the roleplay?"

"All of it. The anticipation, the game, the pretending we don't know every inch of each other." His fingers traced idle patterns on your shoulder. "Though I gotta say, knowing every inch of you is pretty great too."

"We could try different scenarios," you mused. "Different characters."

"Oh, now you're talking." You could hear the grin in his voice. "I'm thinking... corporate rivals who hate each other."

"Enemies to lovers. Classic."

"Or I could be a art thief and you're the detective trying to catch me."

"And I seduce the information out of you?"

"I mean, you can try." He squeezed your shoulder. "But I'm pretty good at keeping secrets."

"Tony, you once told a reporter about our sex life because you were tipsy and thought it would be funny."

"In my defense, it was funny. And she asked."

You laughed, swatting his chest. "You're impossible."

"And yet you married me."

"Moment of weakness."

"Seven-year moment of weakness," he corrected. "Eight if you count the year we dated first."

"Best weakness I ever had." You pressed a kiss to his chest, right over the arc reactor. "Seriously though, tonight was perfect. You were perfect."

"We were perfect," he corrected. "It takes two to tango, sweetheart. And you... fuck, you were so hot. The way you played it, the confidence, the teasing." He groaned. "I'm going to be thinking about this for weeks."

"Just weeks?"

"Okay, months. Years. Forever." He tilted your chin up, his eyes serious despite the playful tone. "You make me feel like the luckiest man alive. Every single day. But tonight? Tonight you reminded me why I fell in love with you in the first place."

Your throat tightened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He kissed you gently. "You're brilliant and beautiful and brave enough to keep up with me. You challenge me, surprise me, make me want to be better. And you're willing to play elaborate roleplay games to keep our marriage exciting, which, let's be honest, is above and beyond."

"It's not exactly a hardship," you said, smiling through the tears that were threatening. "Getting to fall in love with you all over again? I'd do that every day if I could."

"Don't make me cry," he warned, but his voice was rough. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Too late. I can see it in your eyes."

"Damn it." He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. "You undo me, you know that? Completely and totally undo me."

You held him tight, feeling the truth of his words in the way his arms wrapped around you, in the kiss he pressed to the top of your head.

"I'm so happy," you whispered. "With you, with us, with this life we've built."

"Me too." His voice was muffled against your hair. "Even with all the crazy, the danger, the world-ending threats - I wouldn't change a thing. Because it all led me to you."

You stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, before Tony shifted slightly.

"Okay, emotional moment over. My arm's falling asleep."

You laughed, moving so he could adjust. "There's the Tony I know and love."

"Hey, I can be deep and practical." He flexed his arm, then pulled you back against him. "But seriously, we should probably clean up. And hydrate. I read somewhere that's important after... vigorous activity."

"Did you just refer to sex as 'vigorous activity'?"

"I'm trying to be classy."

"Tony, you literally told me you were going to make me forget my own name."

"And did I deliver or did I deliver?"

You couldn't argue with that. "You delivered."

"Damn right I did." He sat up, pulling you with him. "Come on. Shower, water, maybe a snack, and then round three."

"Round three?"

"You think I'm done with you?" His eyes darkened. "Sweetheart, we're just getting started."

________________________________________________________________

The shower was large enough for two with multiple shower heads and enough marble to build a small palace. He adjusted the temperature until it was perfect, then pulled you under the spray with him.

"This is nice," you sighed as the hot water sluiced over your sore muscles.

"Nice?" He grabbed a bottle of expensive shower gel. "I'm insulted. This is a state-of-the-art shower system with -"

"Tony."

"Right. Nice. Nice is good." He poured gel into his hands, working it into a lather. "Turn around."

You did, and his hands began working the soap over your shoulders, your back, massaging as he went. You groaned in pleasure.

"Feel good?"

"So good. You're hired."

"Pretty sure I'm already on the payroll." His thumbs dug into a knot in your shoulder. "But I'll accept payment in other forms."

"I'm sure you will."

He worked his way down your back, his touch shifting from sensual to genuinely therapeutic. When he reached the small of your back, you practically melted.

"You're really good at this," you mumbled.

"I'm good at everything." But his voice was soft, affectionate. "Especially taking care of my wife."

When he was done, you returned the favor, washing his back carefully around the arc reactor. Your fingers traced the scars there, the evidence of everything he'd been through.

"I love you," you said quietly.

"I know." He turned, pulling you against him under the spray. "I love you too."

You stood there for a while, just holding each other as the water ran over you both. It was intimate in a different way than the sex had been - quieter, deeper, more real.

Finally, Tony reached past you to turn off the water. "Come on. Before we turn into prunes."

He wrapped you in a towel so fluffy it felt like a cloud, then grabbed one for himself. Back in the bedroom, he produced two bottles of water from somewhere and made you drink the entire thing.

"Hydration is important," he said seriously.

"You're such a dad sometimes."

"I prefer 'responsible adult.'"

"You literally have a robot that makes you smoothies."

"A very responsible robot." He finished his own water, then pulled back the covers. "Bed. Now."

You climbed in, sighing as you sank into the soft mattress. Tony slid in behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

"Comfortable?" he murmured against your neck.

"Mmm. Perfect."

His hand splayed across your stomach, thumb stroking gently. "Not too sore?"

"A little. In the best way."

"Good." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything. Painkillers, ice, a massage..."

"I'm fine, Tony. Better than fine." You laced your fingers with his. "Tonight was perfect. You're perfect."

"We've established I'm far from perfect." But you could hear the smile in his voice. "But I'm perfect for you."

"Yes, you are."

You lay there in comfortable silence, the city lights filtering through the windows, casting patterns on the ceiling. Tony's breathing was starting to even out, and you thought he might be falling asleep when he spoke again.

"Hey."

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

You turned your head to look at him. "For what?"

"For this. For being willing to play along with my crazy ideas. For keeping things exciting. For loving me even when I'm being an idiot." His eyes were soft in the dim light. "For being my wife."

Your heart squeezed. "Tony..."

"I mean it." His hand came up to cup your face. "I know I'm not always easy to live with. The late nights in the workshop, the superhero stuff, the occasional near-death experience. But you stick with me anyway. You make me laugh, you challenge me, you make me want to be better. And you're still willing to dress up and pretend to be a stranger in a bar just to make me happy."

"It made me happy too," you said softly. "Getting to see you like that, to feel that spark all over again. It reminded me why I fell in love with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You turned in his arms so you were facing him. "You're brilliant and funny and brave and so, so good, even when you don't think you are. You make me feel safe and cherished and desired. And you're willing to play elaborate roleplay games to keep our marriage exciting, which, let's be honest, is above and beyond."

He laughed, recognizing his own words. "Touché."

"I love you, Tony Stark. Today, tomorrow, fifty years from now when we're doing this with walkers and hearing aids."

"Now who's being romantic?"

"I learned from the best." You kissed him softly. "Now go to sleep. You're going to need your energy for round three."

"Is that a promise?"

"It's a guarantee."

He grinned, pulling you closer. "Best. Wife. Ever."

"Don't you forget it."

His laugh rumbled through his chest as he settled you against him, your head tucked under his chin. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, the arc reactor humming its familiar lullaby.

"Love you," he mumbled, already half asleep.

"Love you too."

As you drifted off, wrapped in your husband's arms, you couldn't help but smile. Seven years of marriage, and he could still make your heart race. Still surprise you. Still make you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

And if tonight had proven anything, it was that you'd never get tired of falling in love with Tony Stark.