KILL YOUR DARLINGS [T.STARK]

ii. oh, what big teeth you have!

K I L L    Y O U R    D A R L I N G S

ii. oh, what big teeth you have!
chapter two.

1991.

THE HATRED SHE FELT FOR OBADIAH STANE WAS PETTY, THOUGH NOT ALL THAT UNCALLED FOR. The man was a wolf in sheep clothing, dull eyes cautiously flitting around him like a prowling predator on the hunt for a prey, his aging features stoic when out of sight yet frighteningly friendly underneath the glances of the public eye. He was the epitome of a power hungry man who demanded respect and screamed dominance with every strategic move he made — she felt like little red riding hood ready to be eaten raw as she dubiously awaited his arrival, wringing her hands in anticipation instead of fear. He didn't frighten her, not in the slightest, but she had learned much of the complexity of his being that leveled even that of Howard Stark. Anxious, was a better description of the desert drought claiming her throat and the spinning of her head that came from the meeting about to take place.

"If it isn't my knight in shining armor!" Novaleigh was torn away from her thoughts as Tony Stark approached her, a lopsided grin playing on his lips that nursed whatever strong liquor his glass held this time around. Her eyes squinted, a lousy attempt at reading the expression on his face — was he serious? She was certain noon hadn't even passed with a fleeting flicker. Bloody hell. "Are you following me now, pretty? I must say I'm flattered —"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Stark." She interrupted with the smallest of chuckles, a soft accent curving around her words, the sound almost like a symphony. He blinked in surprise, how couldn't he have noticed that she had an accent, much less one that made her sound even more attractive? "I'm here for business."

Though stunned, his charming grin remained unyielding, smugness clear in his movements as he sipped on the drink grasped between his shaking fingers. Novaleigh would pay to get a glance at the enigma swirling around within his skull, one she was desperate to decipher with reasons beyond her. What made Tony Stark so special? So intriguing? Was it because the tragedy remedying through his bloodstream reminded her of her own? Or perhaps it was in his eyes that held the same pain hers did, once?

"I didn't think girls like you could be that feisty."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Her reply was instant, almost accusingly sharp-toned, like a punch in the gut. He found himself fond of the way her cheeks became flushed when she was angry.

Tony smirked coyly, swirling the transparent liquor around with flicks of his wrist. He was mesmerizing in the worst way possible, she noted, but still as complex as her favorite paintings and books. He was like art. Breathtakingly conflicting. "Take it as you like, pretty."