Another Avengers idea! This one about our very own beloved IRON MAN. Again, I can't promise that this will be continued, but I'm just throwing it out because I want reviews. Lol. If anybody likes the idea I wouldn't mind tossing it over either. :P

Sarah wakes up early in the morning and stretches—except she can't, because she's being pinned down by something both warm and solid in the way only well-formed muscles can be. She blinks, too comfortable to fuss, and yawns inaudibly.

The taste in her mouth is rather disgusting. She licks experimentally at her front teeth and confirms the involvement of alcohol last night. Not that there had been many alternatives to why she'd woken up in bed with a stranger.

She hoped they didn't do anything—it would suck if the one time she let loose had also resulted in her loss of virginity. And—okay, she still had clothes on—it would probably break her Morning Zen enough to produce screaming.

She needed to pee.

With some strategic maneuvering, Sarah managed to slip out of muscle-man's hold and off the bed. She staggered a little and whistled under her breath as she took in her surroundings. Whoever she had followed back last night was very, very rich.

At least she gets points for taste. For both muscles and money.

"Ms. Jones?"

She jumped a little at the crisp English voice that rang out of nowhere. A short little spin around (thank goodness she didn't have a hangover) indicated no body to assign to the voice.

"Ms. Jones, the bathroom is on your left."

This time, she placed the voice coming from the ceiling. That…seemed a little familiar. She wasn't sure where she'd have heard about a voice from the ceiling, but there were plenty of very reasonable explanations for one (technology, baby) and so she shrugged and wobbled to her left.

The bathroom was as extravagant as the bedroom. This guy was loaded. And she hadn't even slept with him for it!

She pampered herself with a short soak in the pool-sized bathtub, feeling the tension bleed away from her shoulders. Mmmm. If this was what being rich was like, she now had a goal to strive for. Wow.

When she emerged from the bathroom feeling like a million dollars, said million-dollar-man was still drooling onto the satin sheets. Well, she was feeling pretty generous—the wonders of a great bath—and so she decided not to just cut and run.

No, she'd make him a hangover breakfast, and then cut and run.

"Ms. Jones? Do you not intend to leave before Sir wakes up?"

Oh, English Voice could apparently see as well as speak. And probably hear as well. This would have been a lot harder to take if she had actually been naked last night. As it was, the worst picture they had was probably of her panties, which she could forgive given what had obviously been on the tables last night.

Although it was kind of creepy and paranoid of muscle-man to have guards watching, listening and whatever else over security lines in his bedroom. But meh, she reckoned millionaires or billionaires had their fair share of problems too.

"Nah. Or well, yeah, but I'm feeling nice and thankful so I'm making him breakfast. We didn't have sex and I got to use his awesome tub so yeah. Thank you note."

There was a brief silence filled with tangible suspicion before English replied, "The kitchen is 500 meters away from the bedroom door with a turn to the right."

"Thanks," Sarah beamed at the ceiling cameras.

The directions lead to the most beautiful kitchen she had ever laid eyes on. It was pristine. Gleaming redwood counter and state of the art…well, everything. She felt a little dwarfed by it, but not enough to dissuade her from opening the (gorgeous) fridge.

Oh. Wow.

Food heaven. She was sure she had floated away in bliss. Food heaven.

When she opened the cupboards and found the frying pans, she nearly wept.

There was…this was…

Forget no-sex. She'd happily film a porn video for all the guards if she could have access to this.

xXXx

It was after she'd covered every inch of the counter with food that she finally wound down. English hadn't objected, so she figured it wasn't a problem. She'd stolen bites in between cooking, so she wasn't hungry, but there was one thing left to do before she went back to her normal, boring life.

Try the coffee machine.

It was a huge, clunky, monster of a thing in the middle of the classy kitchen. Muscle-man was obviously a caffeine junkie. Sarah was in agreement enough that she didn't even protest the way it clashed garishly with the rest of the décor.

She took a sip of her Flat White. (Best way to judge a coffee machine—the basics)

And then promptly dumped the rest of it into the sink.

Okay, she took it back. The stupid thing was a waste of coffee beans. Ugh, Christ. The travesty.

"Erm, little suggestion," she pointed mildly, "this thing is a waste of money. And beans. And ugly too."

When there was no immediate reply, she turned her thoughts to muscle-man drinking the, the sludge every morning and felt a deep, deep surge of pity. And appall. Clearly, money didn't mean good taste all the time. Even as much money as kitchen-heaven-man.

Which meant that she was going to make him this one good coffee in his life and forever ruin his atrocious palate.

She was in the midst of grinding the really-expensive-beans with a hand-held grinder when English spoke up, "Do you have a suggestion for an alternative?"

"Shit," she jumped, spilling expensive ground coffee over the counter, "Don't scare me like that!"

"I apologize, Ms. Jones, but any warning would have had a similar effect."

She mentally took 'security guard' and switched it with 'butler', which actually lowered the creep factor by a lot. Unfortunately, while Sarah had a discerning tongue for coffee, she didn't have much on coffee machines. "I don't really know what your er…he likes, but I'm just gonna make this the way I usually do," she gestured at the coffee-in-process vaguely, "and you can memorize it if he likes it? I don't really know exactly why you should make coffee this way or that, but I know how to make it so…yeah."

"That is an acceptable compromise," English stated, before a watchful silence descended over the kitchen. Sarah had the strange image of an elegant, straight-backed old man sitting in front of a myriad of screens and adjusting cameras 4 and 10 so that they zoomed in on her little demonstration. She snorted and chuckled under her breath as she measured out ground coffee into two cups.

"I do not see any humor?"

Giggling, she shared the image with English Butler, who turned out to be cool enough to admit that his actions were pretty comical, and then it was an easy transition to casual conversation. Most of it was him asking why she added this or that to the coffee and why she did it this way and how it was better with her answering as best she could but mostly that it just improved the taste somehow, but hey, no more suspicious silence.

"You are very different from sir's usual choice in partners," English finally said when Sarah was sipping her coffee in quiet contentment. She'd gotten the name of the beans as well as permission to steal some (which was so awesome) and was currently drifting in caffeine-induced bliss.

"Well," she stated with a sigh of rapture, "given that I'm just a poor college student and he probably hangs out with A-list models all the time, I can see why."

"It is an improvement," English assured her confidently, "You are by far the most considerate houseguest. And not the least physically attractive."

She blushed but took the compliment gladly. She wasn't going to doubt the super-butler of a gazillionaire playboy.

"Alright," she sighed, this time a little disappointedly, "Time to go home. Thanks for the company, English Voice."

Oops. That slipped out.

"JARVIS," he replied in amusement, "And it has been my pleasure, Ms. Jones."

"Jarvis," she repeated determinedly as her cheeks heated up.

When she took the private lift down to where the car Jarvis insisted she take waited, she felt her knees threaten to buckle when she spotted the Stark Industries logo.

Oh hell.

xXXx

Tony yawned and blinked blearily at the ceiling. It was an ungodly hour for an ungodly genius to be up at, but he blamed the hangover. Last night had been one of his few admittedly worse binges. He'd taken the woman (or maybe women?) home instead of a hotel, and he'd brought her (or them) into his own bedroom instead of one of the guests'. That was two strikes.

Not that it was his first time.

When he looked down and found boxers, he added another five strikes for no sex. Which was also not a first, but definitely much rarer. Well, too bad she'd missed out on getting a piece of his very sexy body, not to mention his pure skill.

He cracked his jaw and stretched, "Jarv? She still here?"

"Ms. Jones has left, sir."

Okay, there was a distinct lack of frosty disapproval this time. Huh. Who had he brought back last night?

"Any sexy pics?"

"Ms. Jones' modesty remained fully intact throughout her stay," Jarvis replied primly. Which meant that his AI liked her enough not to have kept blackmail photos. Huh. Well that ruled out a whole list of people.

"Fine, Debbie Downer. Any normal pics?"

Tony grinned and scratched his chin as he eyed the leggy, dark-haired woman he had brought over for the drunken platonic sleepover. Not bad, he definitely retained good taste even when drunk, even though he usually went for lighter colors. For contrast. Red was so very good on him.

And okaaay, maybe a little more girl than woman. "Huh. 19 years old?" He murmured as he read her background information. Ooh. Engineering Student. Kinky. He suddenly wanted to find her again to rectify the obvious mistake of passing up the opportunity for science! sex. Mmmm.

"If sir would move to the kitchen?"

Tony blinked. Okay, that was a little deviation from morning routine. He usually lounged in bed a little more before taking a shower and then coffee. Well, he supposed shower wasn't really needed since there was nothing to clean up. And, well, coffee.

He blinked again when he entered the kitchen. It was like someone had blown up a cornucopia all over the counter. And the table. And the side table. His stomach grumbled as he surveyed the feast. And—ooooh pancakes! And a jar of Manuka honey set beside it.

Why the Manuka? That was the cheapest. He was pretty sure he had a jar of Sidr honey somewhere…just because, you know, he could.

Anyway, pancakes. He needed…Pointy things. Tines…fork. Right. He rummaged around the closest drawer and found a steak knife and spaghetti fork. Which had more tines and was twisty-er than needed, but it'd do.

Pancakes.

With an eager poke and slice that probably scratched the gold-plated Wedgewood, Tony squashed the quartered stack of three pancakes into his mouth. And moaned.

"Oh. My. Gawdddd," he garbled, silencing himself with more pancake and distending his cheeks like a chipmunk. He licked honey off the blade and cut himself another quarter to prove that he could fit three-fourths of three pancakes in his mouth. 2.25.

When he had demolished the first plate of pancakes, he licked it clean (hey, not like anybody could see) and proceeded to the next in a slightly more sedate manner. "This, this. Oh my god, Jarv," he babbled as he attempted to inhale a whole pancake.

(Emphasis on the slightly.)

"I assume it is to your liking," Jarvis stated blandly. There was a definite hint of amusement. If Tony hadn't been too busy annihilating yet another stack of pancakes, he would be having codes with him for getting uppity.

After the third plate, his caffeine deprivation made itself known. He approached the coffee machine only to stop short at the sign taped onto it. "TOTAL RIP-OFF" it announced in bright red letters.

It was also unplugged.

He scowled, good mood vanishing. Nobody messed with his coffee.

"Sir, if you would please look to your right."

A full coffee pot and still-steaming mug was set beside the machine. There was a desperate lunge and scuffle with uncooperating feet before he managed to grab it. The sugar and creamer were ignored as he chugged the liquid ambrosia.

He sighed in relief. And poured a second cup. And then gave a double take as he sipped it. Well…this was…different.

"Jarv—"

"Ms. Jones was kind enough to share her recipe."

Well. Okay. Definitely points to her. So many. She might just be his second favorite woman after Pepper. Okay, third, including his mother.

A 19-year-old engineering student who could cook and make awesome coffee?

And he hadn't even had sex with her.

Redo. Definitely.

xXXx

Sarah thought that the whole Tony Stark episode was a one-time thing (that she would forever cherish. Because kitchen) and that she would be returning to her normal life after it. After all, she wasn't the first woman Tony frigging Stark had picked up, although she probably was one of the few he hadn't slept with.

Why had he been at the annual college party again? She was pretty sure he was not an alumnus.

"Why, hellooo there, pretty lady," a husky male voice spoke in her ear.

With a shrill scream, she twisted around and headbutted her assaulter. Then she found the pepper spray key chain on her phone.

An equally shrill scream sounded as she pressed down on the nozzle.

"JESUS FUCK!"

She stared down at the rolling figure of Tony Stark. The spray had gotten past his trademark sunglasses.

Ohmygosh I just headbutted and pepper sprayed Tony Stark.

She scrambled to find her bottle of water from her bag.

xXXx

"Don't rub!" the insane girl ordered as she slapped his hands away. He wanted to bark back that it fucking hurt, but he was too busy dealing with the AGONIZING PAIN in his watering eyes.

And then she was peeling his eyelids open to pour some kind of liquid into them.

He flailed again (who knew what else she was trying to do to him?!) before she punched him in the chest and barked, "STOP THAT." In his ear. And—okay. The pain was lessening.

"Are you insane?" He demanded when he could finally blink without flinching.

His reply was dry and completely unrepentant, "I think the one who sexually harassed me shouldn't be talking."

He spluttered, "Harass. What. You went back with me."

"I was drunk."

Now that was offensive, "You would so follow me back sober!" He protested.

"That's true," she agreed amiably (HAH), "You have a magnificent kitchen."

He gaped, "Kitchen. You want to follow me home for my kitchen."

"Kitchen," she repeated, injecting as much solemnity and awe into it as possible.

"I…you…" Tony found himself in the very rare situation of being at a loss for words.

And then he burst out laughing.

"You're funny," he said in amazement.

"Yippee-ki-yay," she deadpanned, "I'm a real, non-plastic girl. I have dimensions."

He guffawed again.

"I didn't break you, did I?" she prodded him with an affected worried tone. He grinned back in delight before giving her (teary) bedroom eyes.

"So will you come back home with me to have hot sex in my magnificent kitchen?"

She stared.

And then, "Do you call back all the girls you don't get to sleep with?"

"Only the ones who can cook well," he replied easily, "and make good coffee."

She preened smugly, "My coffee is very good."

"It is," he agreed, "I made a coffee maker that makes it to replace the old one."

She grinned back, "That's awesome. Tony Stark designed a coffee maker programmed with my recipe."

"I stole your pancake recipe too," he admitted as well, "And the lasagna. And the Pizza. And the meatball spaghetti. Do you only cook Italian?"

She snorted, "So you built a mechanical cook too? And no, but it's my forte."

"Nooowp," he replied, popping the 'p', "I made someone follow Jarv's instructions." If sending them to Pepper and asking her to make them counted. She'd sent back a scathing reply but tried them out later on. Even she had agreed that they were both simple and delicious.

"Oh!" She brightened, "How's Jarvis? He was very kind to me."

He pouted, "My AI gets more loving than me?"

She blinked.

"A…I…?"

He blinked.

"Oh yeah, that's not public knowledge."

"You built an AI," she deadpanned.

"Four actually," he shrugged, "And a few not really fully-realized ones."

"It'll be your fault if they enslave us," she intoned gravely.

He sniggered again, "Jarv likes you, don't worry."

"Whatever," She stood up and dusted her skirt briskly.

He followed suit, "So! Come with me?"

"Said the spider to the fly," she retorted, but smiled, "No, Mr. Stark. Contrary to first impression, I don't actually do one-night stands."

He widened his eyes, "B-but…Engineer sex."

She dissolved into giggles, "Oh transistor, semiconductor, BJT, If-else, Switch case, Boyle's Law, Avogrado's number…"

"EXACTLY," he exclaimed, waggling his eye brows in delight. She folded in half and cackled.

"St-stop! I can't breathe!"

"I know CPR, baby…"

"STOP!"

xXXx

Tony was a little disappointed. Sarah had agreed to come back home with him, but sex was still off the (dining) table. She still preferred his kitchen to him.

He pouted as he watched her bustle around and molest all the kitchenware. She'd made a stack of pancakes for him a moment ago, but was now gushing over his pressure-cooking, non-stick pans.

"How is that sexier than meeee?" He whined, both to Jarvis and Sarah as she fingered the handle of a soup pot lovingly.

"I'm assuming that Ms. Jones prizes utility to aesthetics."

"I can make something to eat with this."

He winked, "Oh I can give you something to eat alright."

She gave him an incredulous look before turning to the ceiling, "Jarvis? How does he ever pick anyone up?"

"I assume that most women are willing to overlook certain flaws when presented with substantial wealth."

"Hey!" He protested, "They're not flaws. I am flawless, like a diamond."

"Only if I can wrap you round my finger," Sarah sang, doing a little jig with a pan in each hand.

Tony winked as he ogled her equally jiggling breasts, "You can wrap your fingers around something else…"

"I have a frying pan and I'm not afraid to use it," she warned, shaking one at him.

He backed off a little because she did indeed, and he was still a little surprised that she had managed to lift the two biggest single-handedly. If he didn't remember the headbutt that had nearly broken his nose a while ago, he'd have said something about putting that strength to good use.

"You two are so mean to me…" he sighed, eyeing the way her jeans hugged her ass as she stooped down to examine more pots.

Sarah didn't bother replying, while Jarvis simply started playing an obnoxious jingle over the system.

xXXx

"Why don't you come and work for me?" Tony Stark garbled at her through a mouthful of squid ink angel hair pasta.

"As a cook, I presume?" Sarah deadpanned, twirling her fork through her own dish. She had to admit that it was probably the best plate of pasta she had made to date. Must be all the first-rate ingredients.

Tony Stark gave her an ink-stained grin in reply.

"Go hire a professional," She snarked, "Someone who's actually interested in doing that for a living."

"But none of them come with the view!" He whined—she couldn't believe what a whiner Tony Stark was turning out to be. And a pervert. Maybe the latter wasn't such a surprise. But then again, she'd been expecting some class. Obviously, the tabloids got that one right.

She raised an eyebrow, "I'm pretty sure you have enough money to look for a superb chef with a nice rack."

"I do," he admitted, "But why look when I've already found one?"

"No, Tony," Sarah droned for the eleventh time as she dipped French bread into her homemade mushroom soup.

He grimaced, "You sound just like Pepper."

"Thank you," she stated primly, happy to be compared to the woman who had managed to end the long (and scandalous) search for Tony Stark's Personal Assistant.

"At least come over to make me coffee?" He batted (batted) his eyes at her, "The machine still doesn't get it exactly the way you make it."

"Only if you help me study," she stuck out her tongue childishly. After all, who would pass up the chance to learn engineering from Tony fucking Stark himself?

He wrinkled his nose, "Undergraduate engineering. Ew." At her unimpressed look, he protested, "I'm the CEO of a Fortune 500 company! I'm too busy!"

"You're also a genius who invented his own AI butler with an English accent to do everything else for him."

"JARV does a lot," he agreed, "But I invented him!"

"Sounds like what my parents always say: I gave birth to you! Obey me!"

Instead of sputtering in protest, the genius nodded enthusiastically, "Exactly!"

"Tutor me, or no pasta," she folded her arms under her chest nonchalantly. Hey, if it worked…

Tony Stark leered but then pouted, "I finally find a sexy engineer-cook and she doesn't even want me for my money."

"I'm a strong believer of the 'teach a man to fish' theory."

"You could always hook up with me instead…"

"…And what? File a harassment case after? Settle it out of court?"

He shrugged, "Pepper'd take care of it…"

"Dude, that is totally douche."

"Hey, she likes it!"

"Whatever," Sarah dismissed the topic, "So will you or will you not tutor me?"

There was a brief moment where Tony's face contorted into expressions of intense agony before collapsed into intense sulking instead, "Finee…"

The engineering student-cook did a triumphant fist pump that had her generous bosom bouncing. No need to be obnoxious in victory, after all…

Huehuehue. This is probably my most 'adult' fic to date. It's actually very surprising because innuendo is almost my second language. Not to say that I haven't written some M-rated or even MA-rated stuff, but...yeah, not going to go there. I have no clue how to write that and all my attempts...I can't even describe without gagging. No, my mouth isn't full. (SNORT)

So...2nd Avengers fic but still not a fully-formed idea. Hmm...Should I really be leaving all these one-chaptered things around? Oh well.

Memory25

P.S Did some brushing up. :3