Title: Favorite Colors
Fandom: 24
Characters: Michelle Dessler/Tony Almeida
Word Count: 458
Rating: PG
Summary: Tony thinks about his favorite colors.
Author's Notes: Just a smidgen of fluff for featherjean ! No spoilers.
She'd always told him that white wasn't her color; had sworn up and down that she preferred how bright, vibrant colors looked on her to the unimaginativeness of white. She even once told him that as a little girl she'd announced her intentions to be married in a sunny yellow wedding gown, not a white cupcake monstrosity. The thought alone had made him laugh for days, picturing her as a gorgeous, headstrong, pint-sized version of exactly who she is today – even if her figure is better now – who refused to wear white even on her wedding day.
Personally he liked her in all colors, but his favorite was the pink flush of her skin as his lips tickled her everywhere. He liked the combination of her delicate ivory shoulders against his dark blue sheets. He liked the contrast of the pale skin of her arm to the bronze of his own. Those were his favorites, when she was bare and blushing pink and sharing his space and his breath. And yet, he still wanted to test her resolve about white.
So he called her bluff. He took her to dinner in Santa Monica on their first anniversary. Took her for a stroll around the beach after the tourist rush was over, leaving just the locals, the lights, the water and the sky. And in front of an empty lifeguard stand, he dropped to one knee and asked her to officially become the other half of his soul.
She wouldn't tell him anything about her dress, despite his careful wheedling. Some days she told him it was construction cone orange, just to rile him up. On days when he was being an ass at work, she'd snap at him that the only thing she'd even think about wearing to marry him would be a chartreuse green potato sack. He was fairly certain she'd manage to look hot, even in that, but he kept that opinion to himself. It was a punishment after all. So when she appeared at the edge of the aisle, decked out in a jaw-dropping, gorgeous, white dress with beads and straps everywhere, and a thin veil – white also – obscuring those big, bright brown eyes of hers, his knees nearly buckled. He'd been right. She was completely stunning in anything.
As her father placed her dainty palm in his, warning him softly against breaking his baby girl's heart, he couldn't look anywhere but at her.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, lifting her veil and brushing his lips across hers quickly.
"Cupcake," she retorted easily, beaming at his affection.
"Delicious," he mouthed as the ceremony started, biting his lip as she blushed and looked away.
He might love her in everything, but today, white was definitely his favorite.
Fin.