This comes from the 64 Damn Prompts on LiveJournal (by rashaka), and is a way for me to overcome my writer's block. I will, most likely, be working through all 64 at some point, because I can't bear to leave such a lovely thing unfinished. I will also include the song that helped me write it/find inspiration/that I thought fit the mood.


Prompt 6: Seize the Day

Music: Iridescent, by Linkin Park


Tony wondered, sometimes, if she was really good enough for her lover.

It wasn't a serious thought, not really, not when she knew that Addie would quite happily have kicked her ass for even entertaining it in the first place, let alone asking it out loud. But, in all honesty, she was a high school dropout with a criminal record, and Addie was one of the most prominent up-and-coming authors in the country. Her agent was even talking about translating her books and marketing in other countries. She was smart, and Tony wasn't. She was cultured, and refined, and wealthy, and educated, and deserved so much more than Tony—the extent of whose up-and-comingness was restricted to "Boss wants that one done yesterday, chica," at the shithole garage where she fixed bikes part-time—could ever give her.

But Tony was selfish, and she didn't want to let her lover go, no matter how Addie would have benefited.

Tony was also too proud to tell Addie that, even though she knew she should have, long ago. Despite that, the words were incredibly difficult, sticking in her throat whenever she went to utter them, even if the moment was perfect.

Lying in bed after the most amazing sex of her life?

She choked.

During a romantic dinner in a nice restaurant, with the mood practically screaming for a confession?

She choked.

Getting groceries together on a sunny afternoon?

She choked.

Curled together on the couch on a lazy weekend morning, content and happy and feeling that whole all-is-right-with-the-world-and-shit vibe?

Oh yeah, choked and burned.

It wasn't all bad, Tony attempted to rationalize. Addie—who said it often, and without problems, herself—had to know that Tony's only other meaningful relationship had been during grade school, when she and Tabitha Holmes had been passionately in love for all of thirty minutes, until recess had ended. Afterwards, there had only been occasional sex-friends, one night stands, and flings, until a bad-tempered, mouthy, and utterly drop-dead-gorgeous university student had pushed her bike into the shop and demanded that it be fixed as fast as possible, as her class started in two hours.

While calling love at first sight was probably a bit generous, Tony could admit that she had never taken to someone so quickly, or wanted them so much—even when her first request for a date earned her a deadly right hook to the face and a trip to the dentist for her loose teeth. In all fairness, "Hey, baby, wanna have a quickie in the back?" probably was not the most romantic proposition Addie had ever received. Nevertheless, Tony had kept on, and while she had no illusions that she did anything but drive the pretty redhead borderline insane with her near stalking, she had eventually worn Addie down.

And here they were, six years later, living together in the same shitty apartment they had shared since Addie had moved out of the dorms, with Tony staring at the small velvet box in her hand, wondering if she would ever get up the nerve to give it to the one person who was everything to her.

She couldn't imagine a life without Addie anymore, hated even the thought of it, but she still didn't know if she could take that final step.

The doorbell rang, startling her enough that she nearly dropped the box. Catching it with a quick fumble and tucking it into her pocket, she headed for the door, grumbling, and jerked it open with a snarled, "What?"

Her cousin stared back at her with flat, emotionless brown eyes, completely ignoring the fact that he looked utterly ridiculous with a huge, strapping, six-foot-six-god-damn-he's-built-and-fucking-tall dark blonde monster towering over him. Tony was momentarily at a loss for words.

"Antonia," Thomas said dully, ignoring her twitch at the hated name—and god damn her old man to fucking hell for doing that to her. "May we come in?"

Tony debated, for a moment, whether she wanted to deal with Thomas's stupid I-am-a-robot-till-I-decide-to-get-annoyed-and-then-go-ninja-policeman-on-your-ass impression, or if it would be better to just keep brooding.

Thomas won, but it was by a narrow margin.

"Yeah, sure," she said, opening the door the rest of the way and stepping back. "Jus' don't…uh, crack your skull on the ceiling."

Mr. Ninja-Policeman shot her a dead-eyed glare informing her that her humor was not appreciated, but the blonde-haired freak-show-cricus-escapee just boomed out a laugh and shoved Thomas inside, then manhandled him onto the couch.

Forget brass, Tony thought admiringly as she closed the door, his have gotta be made out of cast iron. Bet they clank like hell when he walks, too.

"Name's Chris Jacobson," Mr. Balls-of-Cast-Iron said once Tony was sitting, and stuck out his hand. He jerked his head at the silently fuming brunet beside him. "I work with Tommy at the department. Head of the bomb squad. We're fucking."

Tony processed that piece by piece. Chris. Check. What the hell kinda name is that—he the next Captain America in disguise? Works with Thomas and is head of the bomb squad. Check. Guess I was right about the balls—that's gotta take some courage, calling the creepy bastard a nickname like that. His job, too, I guess—

WAIT A MINUTE.

STOP.

BACK UP THE FUCKING BUS.

THEY'RE DOING WHAT?

"What?" she repeated weakly.

Tommy—and no, he was never, ever going to live that down, thank you very much—turned his dead-eye glare to his…

Tony gulped.

His lover.

Shit.

"We are preparing to file for a civil union," he said stiffly, and it sounded like he had rehearsed it in his head a lot before they got here, "and we wished to inquire if you and Addie would stand as witnesses."

"Yeah, sure," Tony repeated, wondering if she really was going to pass out from shock, like those pussy women in the afternoon soaps—not that she ever watched them, of course. Really, fucking was one thing (and as much as she needed some brain bleach after the images that statement generated, it was understandable, since Thomas was human, too. Probably), but a civil union was completely different. That was commitment, and a lifetime, and picking-out-fucking-curtains-together, and she couldn't wrap her mind around it. Seeing that they were still looking at her expectantly, though, Tony nodded and added, "Addie and I would love to. Uh, congrats, I guess."

Thomas and Chris traded looks—and if seeing silent couple-speak from her emotionless bastard of a cousin wasn't the weirdest thing ever, Tony didn't know what was—and then turned back to her. Thomas hesitated for a moment, and then said quietly, "Tony, what is wrong? Have you and Addie…broken up?"

Uh-oh. He was serious. Thomas only dropped the "Antonia" when he was really worried. Tony quickly waved her hands, dispelling the awful image those last words called up. Addie wouldn't break up with her for not saying those words, would she? "Nah, nothing like that. I just…" She hesitated, but seeing the way her cousin sat so comfortably with his huge lover, their fingers laced together almost unconsciously, the worries came pouring out.

"I haven't said anything to her," she blurted. "We've been together for six years, six years, Thomas, and I've never told her that I…that I love her." Barreling through the confession was a tactic she'd never tried before, but it seemed to work well enough, and the fucking relief of getting it off her chest was staggering. "She's gorgeous, and smart, and respectable, an' I'm jus'…" The flow of words stopped, and she stared down at her hands in something close to despair. "I'm just—"

"Sweet, and thoughtful, and sexy as hell, and considerate, and everything I could ever want in a lover, you mean?"

Tony froze, heart pounding in something close to horror, or terror, or wonder, or maybe all three. The soft, smoky tenor was amused, and when she turned, Addie's amber eyes were full of love and light and laughter. The redhead was leaning against the doorframe, keys dangling from one hand. Tony had probably been too preoccupied with her meltdown to hear her come in. And…somehow, she was happier than she could have ever imagined that Addie finally knew.

"Thomas, call us when you have the details," Addie said, and there was something dark in her eyes and husky in her voice that sent shivers up and down Tony's spine. "For now, can you excuse us?"

Thomas, ever tactful—actually, no, not really, but he was pretty observant, as long as his personal feelings weren't involved—rose, and tugged Chris up with him. He nodded to the redhead. "Certainly. Good night, Addie, Tony."

The door closed softly behind them, and Addie locked it with a careful click. Then, without warning, she was on Tony, desperate and hot and so sweet that it burned Tony's mouth. Tony grabbed her hips, dragged their pelvises together and ground up into her as hard as she could, delighting in the mewling moan that spilled from Addie's mouth. Then hot skin was on hot skin, and Tony bit savagely at Addie's neck as her fingers wormed their way inside her lover, feeling the faintest remaining stretch and wetness from that morning's quickie in the shower.

Addie shuddered against her, then knocked her exploring fingers away and shoved her deeper into the corner of the couch, sliding her knees on either side of Tony's hips as her almost-too-warm hand positioned Tony and she ground.

Addie keened, shuddering at the fierce, burning pressure, even as Tony sank her fingers into tanned hips hard enough to bruise, trying to keep from just fucking her lover into oblivion as Addie adjusted. Then the soft whisper of, "Move, Tony. I want you in control. I want you to take me," was breathed into her ear and her control snapped. She jerked her hips up, loving the way Addie cried out, topaz-and-honey eyes going wide, and her body bucked in pleasure with every grind.

It wasn't romantic, though Tony —despite appearances and assumptions—was more of a slow-and-sweet lover. It was fast, and hard, and dirty, and more satisfying than anything Tony could remember in a long time. And, when Addie arched backwards in a graceful bend, crying out Tony's name as she came, Tony closed her eyes and came, too, because she had never seen anything more beautiful in all of her twenty-five years of life.

Afterward, she found that those three small words came easily, and she whispered them over and over again as she pulled the small velvet box from her pocket and held it up to Addie like an offering to some great god, only breaking the litany to ask, "Forever?"

And, as Addie smiled at her, and kissed her, and let her slip the ring onto her finger, Tony found that it didn't matter that they couldn't get married the way a man and woman could, or that all she had to give Addie was herself, a second-rate mechanic without much education or much of a future. Addie was hers, and she was Addie's, and she was just about ready to shout it from the rooftops, she was so fucking happy.


Later that night, when Thomas called, Tony grinned up at the ceiling and pulled her sleeping lover more tightly against her side in their piece-of-crap bed, and asked, "What would you say to a joint ceremony, cousin?"

.