revivalproject | Trimming

Entry tags:

Trimming

WHO: Everyone! It's a mingle, get into it, bring your own winter traditions
WHERE: The diner
WHAT: A little winter celebration
WHEN: The solstice/end of the year
WARNINGS: Mark it if you get weird. I assume we're all a little busy, so if you want to use this to handwave some cordial introductions or a quick lore dump from Tony, just let me know.

There wasn't any official invitation or forewarning. In fact, Tony hadn't exactly planned to spend his day like this. Arriving at the diner, though, it would be difficult to ignore the acrid smell of burning, or the waft of coffee trying vainly to cover it. The scorched scent could have come from the brazier crackling outside of the diner door, spreading a ring of warmth that left a patch of the walkway cleared of snow, though the effect of that fire was more cozy, inviting anyone in the square near the fountain closer, with a sweet, woody smoke and an extra sharp, green scent from the lurid red and weirdly purple, piney boughs hung around the doorway. The burnt smell was stronger inside, anyway, clearly from a mishap in the kitchen, with another stack of those prickly branches on the diner counter not doing a convincing job of covering a black mark scorched into the surface. The rest of the room might have been distracting enough, though; red, white and pink glitter was dusted throughout the space, spreading from where it had been intended to be contained in clusters of flowers on tables, and colourful glass was hung from the ceiling in icicles or gathered into balls that all winked in the flicker of warm light. Where there weren't lumpy, grey-ish candles, hurriedly disguised with more glitter or brass bowls, there were small, woody shells like chestnuts dotted around the room, filled to teetering brim with a viscous sap that gave off a yellowish glow and left the whole diner shimmering.

Nestled in doorframes and above the counter where a spread of food that might be alluring to the particularly brave, were more lovingly crafted decorations: clusters of small, gold leaves in bouquets tied with red ribbons that chimed softly like bells if someone stood underneath them. The food on display did not give a great hint of what the disaster might have been. Rather, it was difficult to discern which dish would be the main culprit. There was a large bowl of a creamy, yellow liquid, with suspicious lumps and blackened flecks floating in it, with a stack of mismatched cups next to it for serving. The coffee pot next to it was probably safer. The foods that weren't cooked, per se, but sliced and piled onto plates were likely innocent, too, though it was entirely possible that some of those fruits should have been cooked to be edible. A tray of what kind of looked like pancakes looked trustworthy enough, assuming the worst of them didn't make it to the serving stage. In general, the decorations were clearly handled more competently.

The days had been dark and cold, and the diner was warm, bright, and ready to leave everyone full of dubiously edible cheer. If you stayed long enough, maybe Tony would even offer you one of those strange bundles he was fastidiously working on at a table, where an occasional crack sent a puff of smoke swirling up among the gently tinkling glass ornaments.

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"You want me to spank you?" Jon asks, the wonder about this revelation clear in his voice and on his face. He would have assumed being a super hero in his own world would have led to Tony being hurt enough to not harbor a fondness for it. But maybe this is more a question about how certain kinks might be beneficial to a career of super heroism. After all, that suit Tony spends so much time working on very much is designed to prevent him from suffering too much of any potential injury, so Jon shakes his head thoughtfully even as his hand never stops that little massage. "No, this isn't about causing you any pain." But Tony likes the attention. And the excitement. He has proven more than once that he's a little thrill seeker.

"You like to play with dangerous things." Jon concludes, huffing out a small, warm chuckle. "Especially when you know that, fundamentally, they won't hurt you." He pauses a moment, then tilts his head a little. "And I suppose you prefer me using my powers on others rather than yourself." Not a stance Jon is unfamiliar with. Others have very openly enjoyed watching him do just that. But voyeuristic pleasures aside, there is also always the matter of boundaries. And Jon is well aware of where Tony stands in regards of magic. "Alright."

That was not the part that Tony expected was going to lead to any questioning. While Jon took his typical scholarly approach, Tony avoided investigating too deeply what led him to seeking out punishment. That was what he assumed it was, anyway; it was pain he deserved, and everyone from girlfriends to factory-fresh supervillains recognized it on sight. He thought that would be the end, Jon's question and Tony's hummed, "Mm-hmm," into his hair, smile evident in his voice even then and his rigid anxiety melting under Jon's massage that was echoed in a more erratic flex of Tony's less patient hands. Jon's conclusion took him by surprise.

He lifted his head enough to tip to the side dubiously, eyes narrowed, ready to argue that it had to be at least a little bit about pain or somebody wasn't hitting hard enough, but was effectively stalled by Jon's alternative reasoning. "Sure..." he ventured, not sounding entirely convinced yet, eyeing Jon thoughtfully as he considered the discoveries thus far. Jon was shockingly gentle with him, even in all of the moments Tony braced himself ready for the slap or the shove that anyone else would have given him, and even Jon in his anger would snarl and complain and wouldn't use his hands. At his worst, when he did use his powers, he left Tony feeling hollow and vulnerable, and Tony's instinct both time was still to stay as close to him as possible. Tony wasn't sure what that meant, though Jon seemed to have some idea and while Tony gave a small shake of his head he pointed out lightly, "You're very inspiring to watch."

He really didn't know what 'alright' meant now, and had to repeat, "Alright?," starting a slow nod to finally be part of this research team rather than reading Jon's conclusions afterward. "Alright, you've got a firewall now, you've figured out what I'm doing and if I try pushing that button you can ignore me."

"Thank you." Jon offers genuinely in response to Tony's comment, then adds: "So are you. Let's try not to inspire too many bad behaviors if we can help it."

Tony's assumption gets a small shake of Jon's head in return and a little kiss along with a nice, massaging stroke of his hand from Tony's neck all the way over his shoulder. "I don't plan on ignoring you. On the contrary. I'd rather not hurt you, of course. Or put you in any actual, avoidable danger. I much prefer seeing you happy and healthy. Nothing speaks against some excitement here and then, however." Jon takes his hand from Tony's shoulder in order to gesture with it briefly, not entirely sure how to define harmless excitement at that very moment. Or where exactly to find it. They can figure that out, right? But hurting one another just certainly isn't it.

His hand drops back on Tony's shoulder. "Or against finding time to get both of us to relax. Which, I am aware, can be difficult. But... I feel we might enjoy it. Together."

Inspiring a little bit of bad behaviour in each other didn't sound terrible to Tony, whose grin in return was sharp and he met the kiss with a playful nip to suggest they keep their options open. It still wasn't clear to Tony what conclusion Jon has exactly come to, except that he had clearly done some calculation and Tony could watch him with a teasing, wry smile of adoration as he talked around it and muttered as he spoke, "You're not going to hurt me," and, "Very happy, you're right here. Might even be a little excited, if you move around too much."

He did suck his teeth with wide-eyed concern at the suggestion that either of them could relax, blowing out the breath in a laugh as Jon seemed to agree. The circumstances aside, neither of them had the natural talent. "You keep that up, I might actually go to sleep," he did have to admit, because between the candles, the actual furniture to sit on and the warm, secure room, and Jon's work at his shoulder, they might have figured out the relaxing thing already.

Falling asleep admittedly isn't the worst thing that could happen as far as Jon is concerned. He may not be feeling particularly sleepy at the moment, but he wouldn't mind simply watching Tony sleep.

"Hmm." Jon muses out loud, clearly content with the degree of understanding they seem to have reached. "So you're saying we currently have the choice between excitement and a nap." He shifts a little, almost as if getting more comfortable, but at the same time moves his hand from Tony's shoulder over to his chest and from there down his side where his fingers yet again add a little more pressure just before reaching the edge of Tony's shirt. "How very interesting."

Jon didn't actually have to say anything to make his hinting clear enough to Tony, and the fact that he still did and managed to talk entirely around it again brought Tony's wry smile back. Sometimes he wasn't so easy to read, when he wasn't also speaking Tony's tactile language, but it might have been a mercy that he didn't have a filthier vocabulary. That would be too powerful. Tony would have to handle that risky business for both of them. With only a brief jolt of deeply programmed anxiety as Jon's hand skimmed over his chest, he extracted one of his own hands from under Jon's clothes to tip his chin up into a brush of their lips as Tony proposed, "We could find out how many times I have to kiss your beautiful cock before you make me choke on it." The dainty touch didn't devolve with this wicked turn, only the sharp curve of Tony's grin as he let his fingers trail down Jon's throat and continued casually like he wasn't fully aware Jon had some awkward sputtering to do, "I think you're stubborn, I think, maybe..." He winked one eye shut like he really had to make a complex calculation here, large numbers to handle to properly encompass Jon's tenacity. "Three. Three times."

There may be a time when Tony doesn't flinch every time Jon's hand gets close to his heart anymore. Once Tony has accepted that his heart means a lot to Jon and that Jon will do everything in his power to keep it safe. Until then it remains one of those boundaries Jon will refrain from pushing too much against.

Not that there is much time at the moment to contemplate any of this. Especially not with Tony's little suggestion, which very reliably drives some fresh heat to Jon's face and leaves him fumbling with Tony's shirt between his fingers just as well as his words. What doesn't help is, that Jon doesn't even have to try terribly hard to paint that mental image, remembering very well what a sight Tony can be - And those very testing looks the man can cast up while keeping his mouth occupied.

Jon manages to add a huff into his sputtering before finally gathering some words together. "O-only three? That's not terribly much." He at least tries to argue.

Despite Jon's reassurance that he did know the difference, he did react in a way that Tony might describe as humiliated and it slowed Tony's push forward as Jon found his voice, sweeping the hand up his back to hold solidly under his arm instead of teasing up his spine. The blush, the anxious tug at his shirt, the testy breath were all still gratifying to Tony, signs that he'd had some effect, and he tried to balance the guilt now in that mechanism by kissing Jon's warm face through his stumbling, hand on his chin again to guide him into meeting Tony's lips and put an end to any further sputtering. It was meant to be just as brief and gentle, but now that they weren't on a clock behind the bathroom door or stealing as many touches as he could manage before someone else walked into the diner, Tony melted against Jon with an appreciative murmur, and had him almost tipped back onto the couch before he remembered he meant to welcome, "I'm open to a counteroffer."

In fact it's a lot less humiliation that Jon feels in this case, but rather challenged. Not that he minds the kisses or being held closer or any of these touches Tony has for him. Touches that equally help him relax some of his tense muscles as they cause others to tense slightly in response.

He manages to slightly raise one hand while the one that has grasped Tony's shirt slides further around Tony's torso where he can spread his fingers over Tony's lower back. "I mean- Realistically? At least seven. Maybe. Depending on the kisses. You have a certain talent..."

"Realistically," Tony echoed immediately, because it was very important that they take this seriously, with as much scholarly concern as he could manage with his lashes fluttering shut and hot hitch of his breath to the touch to his back that he did not have nearly the correct leverage to wiggle back into. What gravitas he did manage between the affection he continued to pepper along Jon's jaw was gone entirely in the chuckle that followed so he could acknowledge, "Seven, that's a big swing, we're going to have to explore the theory." If Tony was actually going to make it work, he was going to have to drive Jon crazy well before anyone started counting, so with Jon's hold around him to keep balanced, Tony quickly tipped him the rest of the way over into the cushions, shifting up onto his knees where he could survey his options. What did drive Jon crazy? It might have been their fake-belated-anniversary, but Tony still considered Jon like he was a puzzle not solved yet, eyes narrowed and slowly worrying his lip, the hand that had cushioned Jon's head skimming its way down his chest.

To his credit, Jon doesn't squeak when he is tipped over. Which may also be because at that moment he is still caught up chuckling at Tony's words in what may be an attempt to distract from his heated face. Though the laughter subsides once Jon catches sight of Tony above him and the almost contemplative way the man regards him. As if planning his next move. Which, in all likelihood, he is.

"There better not be any spreadsheets later." He manages to point out in an attempt to hit a stern tone despite his own lingering grin. And that's about as much of a remark Jon finds in himself once he catches sight of Tony's hand well on its way to be very distracting. But maybe his own hands can have a similar effect as Jon curls the fingers on Tony's back just enough to claw lightly into his shirt and the skin beneath.

With a giddy giggle in return at the concept of his well organized findings, Tony replied, "And I just don't record my important research? This could be a monumental discovery." He felt his way down Jon's thigh to pull his knee up over his hip as he bowed closer, where he could shamelessly rock against Jon in encouragement as Tony invited him into a deeper kiss so he might get an immediate impression of how effective his tactics actually were. They were pretty effective for himself, anyway, drawing out an eager sigh and another roll of his hips even before shiver from the tease of Jon's nails had made it's way up his spine. Maybe that was it--they weren't quite themselves, and Jon didn't want to hurt Tony, but while their wild scratching, biting and snarling at each other had been laced with fear and built on a primal addiction, it was also with a wide-eyed anticipation that they kept clashing together in those alien woods and Tony still had the marks of Jon's nails etched into his skin. He reluctantly drew out of the kiss, quickly nosing under Jon's chin to press his lips to his throat like he needed that more than the breath he didn't finish taking, the hand still moving down Jon's stomach tangling into his shirt in a fist to tug his collar down. Tony's kisses down Jon's neck were a gentle contrast to the scrape of his teeth over the jut of Jon's collarbone, hard enough to worry the skin for Tony to soothe with a swipe of his tongue.

Tony's kiss catches Jon's mouth in time to cut off a gasp Jon makes in response to the initial contact of their hips. Jon happily returns the kiss while it lasts even though it does little to truly mask the moan building in his throat when he uses the leg Tony has pulled around his hip as leverage to pull himself closer and meet the movement of Tony's hips with his own, eager for the contact and not bothering to try keeping it from the man he loved.

Jon releases the moan and tilts his head back to allow Tony what access he desires, the grip of his own hand tightening with a shudder and a soft, ecstatic chuckle. "A monumental discovery, huh?" He breathes and lets his hand slip under Tony's shirt to at last find some contact between actual skin, again spreading his fingers wide over Tony's back while his other hand while his other hand reaches for the back of Tony's neck.

It's true. They haven't been quite themselves. And yet, even while following those instincts, the yearning has prevailed when teeth and claws and heat collided under heated, need-driven snarls. A need that is still very much present in the way Jon tries to pull himself closer and his voice cuts off into a needy, shuddering noise at the jolt running up his spine when he feels Tony's teeth followed by his wet, warm tongue. "I doubt tha-A-hahh!"

Okay. Maybe it won't even be three kisses.

Tony's math was always correct. His teeth against Jon's skin then was the sharp edge of his grin, and he gave an innocent, encouraging hum for Jon to go on, finish what he was saying, like Tony was definitely listening and wasn't intent on replicating his results. His hands had met in the middle, pushing up Jon's shirt as they swept up his sides to hold him reassuringly, grounding under his arms through the second most enchanting noise he had made that day, bested only by his surprised laugh. This one did leave Tony undeniably hard, though, and torn between grinding some relief into Jon's body and pressing back up into the spread of his hands.

Tony's next bite was harder, mitigating the risk with a soothing massage of his thumbs across Jon's chest, hard enough to pinch the skin at the soft juncture of his neck and shoulder between Tony's teeth with a tug. He followed this one with a sucking kiss to replace the reddened skin with a bruise, mirroring the pink scar left on his own shoulder. To make sure Jon understood what it meant, Tony nosed his way back up Jon's neck in a trail of wet kisses to purr against his ear, "Mine." Had that changed, since he left, and his body had changed and he had given his love to someone else? Maybe that was the riskier move.

There was no way for Jon to properly finish putting that initial thought back into remotely coherent words. Not with Tony's hands and lips and teeth on him like that. And certainly not with how obvious his arousal was against his own despite the unfortunate presence of pants and a lack of friction they both may desire at this point and Jon can't quite deliver in his position.

He sucks his breath in sharply at the bite, which draws Jon's attention away from trying to figure out how to get both of them out of their clothes preferably without losing any currently present physical contact. The following kisses and the deeply purred claim ignite a fire in Jon's gut that quickly spreads to his groin and while he holds his breath for a moment, his expression easily melts into a smile and he wraps his arm tighter around Tony's neck, pulling him closer to kiss him in acceptance. "Yours."

He stays like that for another moment, breath hot and teeth dragging across his lower lip. Then he reaches for what may yet be the most obvious solution to his lingering problem: Demand it being fixed - By breathing the request against Tony's ear and neck. "Tony. Clothes. Get them out of the way. Let me be yours."

They both were holding their breath for that beat, Tony not sure what to make of that tension and fearing the worst, wanting to whine, wanting to shrink away and apologize, and wanting to bite down harder to make it true again, and was so relieved when Jon hugged him tighter that he finally stopped moving for one rare, still second. It broke with the surprised bubble of a laugh, of course Jon had something to complain about, and at first it might have seemed like Jon had made a mistake again as Tony's responding, "Sure thing, boss," couldn't sound anything but sarcastic. He did reluctantly peel himself away enough to tug blindly at Jon's fly, though, claiming another lingering kiss as he did, and with some pulling and shoving he did, arguably, get Jon's clothes out of the way. Jon shouldn't have expected any further voluntary patience than that, and he was going to have to put in some effort to gain any more control because Tony was curling his arms under Jon's thighs were his pants were shoved down and still tangled around his legs, skimming more kisses down his body as Tony gathered him up from behind his hips and lifted him clear off of the couch. The balance was precarious, and Tony had to quickly shift Jon's back against the cool wall behind the couch, but it left his weight hooked over Tony's shoulders, who curled his arms around Jon's thighs and flashed him his disarming grin from between them. His raised eyebrows were a clear challenge for Jon to find his control in this position, can I do anything else for you?, and he reported helpfully, "One...," before pressing his first kiss to the base of Jon's cock.

After that one terribly tense moment it's a relief to hear Tony's laugh and receive a verbal response that is very much Tony. But so if Tony's interpretation of Jon's request and adding his own priorities. Priorities that obviously include to leave Jon very much at his mercy with the wall at his back and leaving him to hold onto the back of the couch with one hand while Tony literally shoulders the majority of his weight. Unfortunately this little shift cost them pretty much all contact they had, but at the same time Jon can't deny that seeing Tony like this does it's very own thing to him. It's the illusion of control while being well aware that any control at this point lies with Tony. A little detail Tony, also, seems to be very aware of.

And yet Jon can't deny that he likes the anticipation of not knowing how or when Tony will chose to make his move. Once he does, it's almost infuriating just how little contact is made between Tony's lips and Jon's yearning cock, making his hips twitch forward despite this nearly impossible position. "Tony..." Jon breathes the name in a mixture of needy lust and pleading impatience while his legs over Tony's shoulders do their best to not let Tony pull away too far again.

Jon slid incrementally down the wall as Tony settled more securely into his position on his heels, murmuring his own pleasure into Jon's belly as he let the beautiful burr of Jon's voice make his toes curl in lieu of the stroke of his hands down his back or the tight press of their bodies together. He turned to leave a teasing nip in the tender flesh of Jon's inner thigh, just a scratch of his teeth this time as he encouraged, "Yes, my love?," either for another embrace of Jon's voice or for Jon to find his leverage. "Tell me what you need."

With his hands occupied keeping Jon balanced and holding his clothes out of his own way, Tony obviously had no choice but to work with his mouth. By his count, his next kiss only came after he had tasted his way along the underside of Jon's length, sliding a slicked lip along the skin, panting hot, hungry breaths against him until he was pressed between his stomach and the pucker of Tony's lips. From there, Tony could tip his head back, raising his gaze to watch Jon's face as the head of his cock slid against Tony's pout. Three.

And while Tony takes his sweet time, Jon can only watch. Which isn't necessarily something Jon minds doing, but he also, of course, experiences everything he sees and the visuals only add to the sensation and cause his blood to rush even more, his breath to catch and his needy flesh to throb in anticipation.

Jon hears Tony's voice, registers his words, but for the longest few moments can't find any words. Instead, he bites his lip at the second kiss and exhales sharply at the third. "Shit." He breathes out and his eyes find Tony's before he adds, his voice tangled in breathy tension. "I need you to take me in your mouth. Now."

Speechless was pretty good--not really the effect Tony was going for, but a telling one nonetheless, and all the better when it was followed by that incredibly succinct demand that made Tony huff a laugh, devilish smirk returning like he might find his own way of interpreting the instructions again despite his gracious offer. He did expect Jon to be more stubborn when faced with the challenge, and thought himself more than capable of teasing Jon for as long as it took, but that was before the taste of him was like liquor on Tony's tongue, and his eager now scorched its way down Tony's spine. It was less like he was doing as he was told when he was doing exactly what he wanted. Jon didn't have to endure much longer before Tony's focus was fluttering, his hand curled around Jon's thigh gripping tight as he took Jon between his lips, not hesitating this time as he slid steadily deeper with only that tension in his hand betraying his focus that eased the moment Jon nudged his throat and Tony released a slow, satisfied breath. The flutter of Jon's pulse against his tongue was indistinguishable from the pounding of his own heart.

Jon sharply inhales once he feels himself enveloped by the soft heat of Tony's mouth. The sight makes his face burn all over again and Jon swallows once before taking one hand away from where it has been holding on to the back of the couch until now to reach for Tony's head and push his fingers into Tony's hair. It's not a hold quite yet, just a little bit of extra contact while Jon searches to reacquire his voice.

"Fine." He eventually manages to say. "You were right. But-" Jon pauses to lick his lips, then nod. "Can't say I am mad I lost." A small chuckle follows his words, but the sound shifts into a shivering noise of pleasure at the feeling of Tony's tongue brushing against him.

Jon's laugh was answered with a hiccup that seized in Tony's throat and almost sent him coughing before he managed to control the tug of his smile, taking the moment blinking tears from his eyes to tease Jon's head with more slow kisses. He paused long enough to purr in an already roughly charged voice, "That always sounds so good, run that one by me again," leaving him to control another laugh before he was sliding Jon along his tongue once more. Tony might argue that Jon kept on letting him win, but that suggested that Tony's crafting might have ever led to any other outcome. He did know how to indulge himself. Continuously coming to regret the positions that his impulses insisted sounded fantastic, that part still took some work. This time, managing Jon's weight and his breathing at the same time might not have been so bad, if not for the slick of sweat that gathered quickly under the press of Jon's thighs, making Tony sure he would slip off if not for a careful grip that got more tense with every shiver from a droplet slipping between his shoulders. It only drove him to swallow Jon deeper, to press him back against the wall and pull his hips closer, and when Tony had to ease back to catch his breath it came out in unsteady gasps that he panted against Jon's thighs where he teased the skin with the scrape of his teeth.

Fundamentally, Jon wouldn't have minded winning. If only to prove something, which has been his initial thought. But that hadn't exactly considered the part where he basically would only be torturing himself by denying him the pleasure of Tony's mouth even longer.

Fine. Jon will just have to admit that he is weak to this man. Though he also wishes he would be able to reach Tony better. To be able to touch him, kiss him, return some of the pleasure rather than just receiving it. For now he can stroke his hand through Tony's hair and down his neck between little gasps and deeper moans and a little breathless chuckle. "Do you just want to hear me tell you you were right, or do you also take praise in general?" He manages to inquire, offering a smirk and a little scrape of his fingernails up Tony's neck. "Just looking at you right now..." He cuts himself off with a bite of his own lip and a hiss when Tony teases his skin with his teeth, closing his eyes as the sensation curses through him. Oh, he has plenty of praise to offer. Plenty of adoration he hasn't properly phrased yet.

That was the problem with entrusting the filthy vocabulary to Tony, then letting him thoroughly occupy his mouth. At least, Tony assumed the angle that Jon had on him wasn't inspiring any praise for how generous or incredibly humble Tony was as he shuddered with a wicked satisfaction at every moan that his tongue teased out of Jon, and he tipped his head with his shoulders raising to try to greedily press more into Jon's hand without conceding an inch of velvety skin between his lips. When he shifted back enough to see Jon's sweet, flushed face, he breathed a laugh at the idea of Jon saying anything too electrically degrading then had to try to get his attention to put the right words into his head anyway. The tight seal of Tony's lips glided up Jon's cock to make the most obscene noise and draw Jon's focus as Tony let him fall from his mouth. He kept his gaze raised until he was sure Jon met that impish glint in his hungry, dark eye, saw his sweat bright skin and the swollen bruise of his lips as he pressed them against Jon's length again, and the pink flash of his impatient tongue to taste the pearl beading at the head of Jon's cock before it could fall. He only got as far as raising his eyebrows expectantly before he was bested by his own gambit, swallowing Jon quickly again to chase the intoxicating taste of him.

The idea of properly phrasing anything gets dismissed at least temporarily when Tony looks up at Jon in a that particular way that leaves breath as well as words stuck in Jon's throat in awe and adoration. Tony shouldn't be looking this hot while at the same time being this messed up and sweaty.

Though he wishes he could tell Tony. Wishes he could describe his lack of words and the jolt of electricity that Tony's eyes send through Jon's body right into his twitching flesh. Instead of having words, he shudders out a moan and grasps Tony's hair tightly in his hand. He knows he's close and the twitching of his leg in Tony's grasp easily gives him away.

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