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stargraven[FICLET] Make Your Own Luck
Team Kill fill for the 2022 SteveTony Games (![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
stevetonygames )
Work Type: Fic (184 words)
Universe: Ambiguous
Bingo Square: Gambling
Challenge: Babel On
Super quick end-of-games ficlet. I do not speak French. I had to use google translate to remind myself what the title of the song actually says. Doesn't matter. A pickup line's a pickup line in any language! Pardon my French, anyway! :P
Um, let's see. the shooter, in craps, is the person throwing the dice. So the internet also tells me.
Ok, enough notes. Posting. Go.
It was high rollers all the way in the casino that night. Vegas in full swing, baby. Showgirls with their plumes, drinks flowing, chips stacking, cards flipping, dice and the roulette wheel rolling ever on and on.
Tony Stark was here to make a killing.
And as the fucking gorgeous blond sidled up to him at the craps table, he'd knew found his luck. And if he played his, well, cards, of course, right, his ticket to getting lucky.
He looked up to catch the man's eye, only to find his own caught. Oh, he did love a good idiomatic inaccuracy: luck was no lady. He breathed on the dice, and said, "I'll blow again when it's your turn to shoot."
Let 'em roll, rake in the chips, rake his gaze up and down that white-suited body, and... winner take all.
Didn't pay to be too serious, so he grinned, he goddamn sparkled, and pronounced in perfect French, "Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"
It was a question only on a technicality. Luck was no lady, and his bet was a sure thing.
Team Kill fill for the 2022 SteveTony Games (
stevetonygames )Work Type: Fic (184 words)
Universe: Ambiguous
Bingo Square: Gambling
Challenge: Babel On
Super quick end-of-games ficlet. I do not speak French. I had to use google translate to remind myself what the title of the song actually says. Doesn't matter. A pickup line's a pickup line in any language! Pardon my French, anyway! :P
Um, let's see. the shooter, in craps, is the person throwing the dice. So the internet also tells me.
Ok, enough notes. Posting. Go.
It was high rollers all the way in the casino that night. Vegas in full swing, baby. Showgirls with their plumes, drinks flowing, chips stacking, cards flipping, dice and the roulette wheel rolling ever on and on.
Tony Stark was here to make a killing.
And as the fucking gorgeous blond sidled up to him at the craps table, he'd knew found his luck. And if he played his, well, cards, of course, right, his ticket to getting lucky.
He looked up to catch the man's eye, only to find his own caught. Oh, he did love a good idiomatic inaccuracy: luck was no lady. He breathed on the dice, and said, "I'll blow again when it's your turn to shoot."
Let 'em roll, rake in the chips, rake his gaze up and down that white-suited body, and... winner take all.
Didn't pay to be too serious, so he grinned, he goddamn sparkled, and pronounced in perfect French, "Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"
It was a question only on a technicality. Luck was no lady, and his bet was a sure thing.
