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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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.

There were so many subtle tells that Tony had Jon on the edge that Tony had dutifully mapped, most of them making Jon try to draw in closer and none nearly as glaring as that wrench at Tony's hair. Tony's response to that was nearing Pavlovian by now, his next fight might get embarrassing, and between the jolt of pain that made straight for his own dick like a lightning rod and Jon's delectable moan (there was a top three noises now, and the race was too close to tell), Tony almost released him entirely with a desperate sound that felt like it came from his chest. What he didn't have the patience to find out yet, though, was what that tug actually meant; if Jon was just warning him, or wanted him to stop before he finished, or wanted to come on his face--as much as that errant thought made Tony utter another eager groan that made his throat ache, it still didn't feel like the right moment to find out exactly when he could give Jon's thigh a pat of encouragement as he buried his nose against his belly.

Jon may not be making a list to rank Tony's different noises, but he certainly will memorize every single one of them and how each of them make him feel. He would have liked being able to push himself back in deeper, of course, but any desperate twitch of his legs or hips don't bring the desired effect. A freedom their current position doesn't quite allow. What it does allow, however, is for Jon to bend over Tony's head now and wrap his arms around the man's shoulders while panting harsh breaths down his neck. Maybe he would have tried to bite Tony, but since that kind of action isn't withing Jon's reach, only the deep, almost growl-like moan he lets out as he finally comes in Tony's mouth hints at the possibility while sending a soft, barely visible shiver through the reality of the hotel room.

In the envelope of Jon's embrace, wrapped in the warmth of him with every sense filled with him, Tony was sure he could hear every note of that moan and knew there were no words in it. None in any formal language, anyway, though Tony understood it like he was fluent, so when the prickling of static spread out from the base of his skull, making his hair stand on end and making him sure for a disorienting second that he had gone deaf, or maybe blind--a sense he didn't have a word for himself yet, deadened in an instant and rebooting with a cascading shiver down his spine, he thought maybe he had blacked out and come as well, untouched and still trapped painfully in his clothes. His adoration was only nearly that embarrassing, close enough that in the moment of his recovery from this dizzying static he was lapping Jon's skin clean, like he might keep him hard, and only reluctantly drawing back with the promise of kissing more of him and the relief of finally easing him down and unstitching the muscles from his shoulders to his tailbone that had gone stiff in their effort to keep Jon aloft and Tony's anxious tension. Jon was slid slowly down the couch, between the cushions and Tony's chest until Tony could untangle his arms and leave Jon's weight in his lap. He raised his hands immediately to Jon's face, petting back his hair and stroking across his cheeks to finally push his glasses up and onto his head so Tony could kiss his brow and his eyelids, murmuring between petnames and exultations of his beauty, "Not bad, hm?" And maybe Jon wasn't quite recovered yet and still largely at Tony's mercy when he continued, "Are you convinced?" Tony was still laser focused, after all, and did not forget making a deal.

Jon's head remains in that sweet, blissfully fuzzy state while Tony finally puts him down and allow for more closeness again. But maybe that has been Tony's play the entire time. Keeping Jon yearning for these touches but with nothing to focus on but what Tony is doing to him. Tony and his wonderful mouth that can leave him breathless in way too many ways...

The first sound Jon makes is an incoherent mumble as he blinks one eye open to look at Tony, well aware how flushed and messy he must look when his glasses are being pushed out of the way for more of Tony's adorations.

"Hmm." Jon replies, pulling enough of himself back together to regain control of his arms and hands and wrap them lazily around Tony's hips where one pushes under Tony's shirt and slowly massages the skin it finds. "More than convinced." He mutters, trying to catch at least a little kiss. "You are incredible, Tony. But-" The hand on Tony's side wanders to the front where it moves lower to gently rub against Tony's own arousal through the fabric of his pants. Jon finds a teasing smirk in him. "Still too many clothes."

It wasn't entirely Tony's combative impulse that had him humming a completely insincere acknowledgement. He did agree, there were far too many clothes constricting him and sticking to his sweat and keeping him from pressing his every infatuation into Jon's skin, but it was a very simple program that kept locking him into these slightly unsatisfying positions for both of them; IF he stayed exactly where he was, Jon would be touching him, and that was good; ELSE he moved for something that would take an excruciatingly long time, like taking off his pants, Jon would not be touching him, that was bad. For Tony, this was a very logical loop even if he gave a quiet whine for the too careful touch, shifting under Jon to try to spread his knees wider to rock up into Jon's hand. Gladly, he let Jon find his lips, his hands steadying briefly under Jon's jaw to invite him to taste himself on Tony's tongue, where he made another whimper in his throat for the press of Jon's fingers into his muscles. Where he had melted into that massage before, he had become coiled steel under Jon's ministrations, painfully tense and flinching under an attempt to release the pressure.

It's a curious switch to observe, Tony going from being fully in control to being the one yearning to be touched. Though Jon isn't one to deny a request such as this. He enjoys being able to touch Tony to much for such cruelty against both their needs.

He captures Tony's lips in a deep kiss, closing his eyes while moving both his hands between them to finally open up Tony's pants, freeing the man's cock from its restraints for at least a moment before taking a firm grip around his base with one hand and a looser one around the upper part, running slow circles with his thumb over Tony's very tip. Jon breaks the kiss to capture Tony's eyes instead. "What do you like?"

See, the loop was pristine, if there was a way to improve on this situation it would take more patience than Tony had when he already had Jon's hands wrapped around him. Just getting his pants finally undone had him hiccuping an unsteady breath into the kiss, mouth going slack as his focus scattered, and he had to give up his adoring petting to find some balance with his hands braced over Jon's shoulders on the back of the couch. He only managed to briefly glance up in an icy blue flash before he was closing his eyes again to reply in a rasp, "That's not bad," with a distracted flicker of a smirk.

There was a pinch of concern between his brow then, and a new warmth creeping up his neck that could have just been from one too many teases of Jon's thumb that had Tony's hips hitching ineffectually again. What Tony liked was a dangerous question for him, and mostly he wanted to laugh it off and seal it there with another kiss before he admitted any burgeoning addictions to either of them. He really didn't know if he could handle Jon taking the time to psychoanalyze him again when he avoided looking the mirror on his own time. "When I can hear you, my darling, when you feel good," wasn't untrue, and was the safest thread of this needle that Tony had been handed before to avoid anything being withheld to tease him. "I dream about you talking me through the end of the world, just your voice in my ear, and I wake up hard as a rock." Not a new confession, either, given the slick mess Jon's thumb was already gliding through from the sound of Jon's moaning, though it was only when it was out of his mouth that Tony remembered he was avoiding admitting the depraved things Jon inspired him to do to himself, Jon didn't do this often and Tony did his best to respect that, and he had to quickly find more words to bury it. Rapidly, "You can be rough with me, my heart, you can--you won't hurt me, I know that, you know--you pull my hair, you can scratch me, it's okay."

Has Jon expected for his voice to have that effect on Tony? Not necessarily. But hearing Tony say it makes him smile and his heart beat even faster. Fortunately, Jon's face is already as heated as humanly possible as he listens to Tony's answer. Though he does bite his lip while the hand around Tony's tip settles in a contemplative motion up and around Tony's shaft.

"Christ, I need to wake up with you more often." Jon notes around a flustered grin and the movement of his hand becomes more decisive, his grip tighter and his other hand releases Tony's base to allow wider movement, but also to move it further around to give the man's butt an appreciative squeeze. Because that, too, deserves his attention. And to spare Tony from having to say more things, Jon will, again, capture his mouth in a kiss.

Just how much of Tony's ratcheting anxiety was exclusively from Jon's teasing touch became clear as it rapidly unspooled with the steadier massage of his hand. Tony's shoulders released with a slow exhale into Jon's kiss of all of the words caught in his throat, and the couch cushion was relieved of his digging nails so he could bring one hand along Jon's neck again, then let the other slip down his chest. Though the hand on his ass did make him squirm again. This decompression, with the easier to anticipate rhythm of Jon's hand helping him melt, took enough focus that Tony's laugh at Jon's response to his scattershot confession was belated; a sudden chuckle that broke their kiss. That must have been the most generous possible conclusion to anything Tony had to say, and Jon was really reinforcing that stop-keeping-obvious-things-from-him lesson. While Tony's voice was still a husky burr, it wasn't with rapid breathlessness but back to his warm purr without his heart in his throat when he answered slowly, "Easy solution." He echoed Jon's rhythm with a thumb brushed down his neck and the hand moving down his body to hook under his shirt again, so when they all moved back up in a cascading stroke Tony's hand was left pressed against the shiver of Jon's heart as he said, "You should marry me."

Jon just seems to have found a rhythm that Tony appeared to enjoy and Jon enjoyed watching Tony's body unwind with his touch and every stroke of his hand. He loves the noises Tony makes, every purr and chuckle and all the kisses of shared breath and body heat.

Though it all comes to a halt the moment Tony has uttered his solution, leaving Jon looking at him with wide eyes and his hand frozen in place. This would be a monumentally bad moment for Tony to start joking. Jon literally has the other man in his hand. After a moment has passed, Jon's thumb is the first to move again, pressing gingerly along Tony's shaft while his face still expresses his surprise - But also hopefulness. It wasn't exactly a question. Tony has cleverly left that part to Jon, who first presses a small kiss to Tony's lips before gently increasing the pressure of his hand again before moving it all the way down Tony's length and bringing his other hand back up to settle on the side of Tony's face. With Tony's hand still over Jon's heart, he should well be able to feel the hammering anticipation of it when Jon forms the actual words that Tony had laid out for him so well. "Will you marry me?"

It was kind of a joke, maybe, a little bit. It was a fully serious solution to that particular problem, what anyone else in their position (literally or in their partnership) would conclude from the thought, I want to wake up next to them for the rest of my life, except Jon hadn't exactly said that and Tony's playful grin from this exaggeration that has sounded perfectly natural in his head, slowly fell with a mounting dread when Jon froze. They had been here before, after all, almost beat for beat, except that time Tony had only said 'boyfriend' and the memory of how that had ended was cold enough to send a chill through Tony's blood.

The exact sequence of words that had caused this disaster was difficult to remember between Tony's mounting panic and Jon's now scorchingly hot grip still on his dick, and only the complete confidence that it was him talking that had been the root of the problem made Tony hesitate, for once, before trying to talk himself out of this one, breath hitching with the first word that would come tumbling out of him, quickly swallowed down. His hand didn't leave Jon's chest, fingers pressing into the skin tensely like he might hang on, while the other did jump away for Tony to scrub through his hair and dig his nails into the back of his neck. Jon narrowly saved them from Tony making a new problem with his kiss, cutting off another breath and another word, letting Tony stop clawing his punishment into himself to take hold of Jon's wrist and rapidly kiss him back in a series of pecks like he was trying to make up for that frozen eternity. His smile redoubled with Jon's question, and he shook with a helpless, giddy laugh in his relief and adoration before he could form, "You can't--I didn't bring a ring." That was not a proper answer, to what was not at all a proper proposal, making Tony lose a fight to another giggle. When he could manage it steadily, he said, "Ask me again," like that might solve the problem, it just needed a rehearsal, the slant of his smile still against Jon's lips betraying how he just wanted to hear it again.

While Jon waits for Tony to work through his words just as much as Jon has needed to work through Tony's previous comment, he watches the other man and is happy enough to return what small kisses he can return and settle on a soothing pace with his hand.

Fundamentally, it's a simple yes or no question. And yet the idea of it clearly has taken both of them by surprise and hearing Tony's laugh rather than a rambling of excuses makes it easy for Jon to repeat his words. Only this time he leans closer to whisper them intimately into the shared space where their lips are about to touch. "Tony, will you marry me?"

Tony was listening very intently to this very serious proposal, eyes closed and letting his dizzy grin melt enough to show it the gravity it deserved, and only a little bit so he could brush more pliant lips against Jon's while he spoke in a ghost of the kiss that he wanted to fall into, and maybe a little more because it was difficult to hold the smile through the unsteady gasp that Jon's dedicated petting drew out of him. It was impossible to control once the words were out, though, and Tony had to bite back another laugh, a wide grin around his tongue until he could respond with a low hum of approval and murmured, "Yeah, that's very good." All restless energy again, he dropped both arms to snake around Jon's waist and pull him in close, finally recognizing now that it was possible this was not the proper venue, that he didn't have the right leverage to watch Jon's face and kiss him everywhere that he wanted to when he reported, "You'll love this, listen, check it out." Still, the best Tony's patience could manage was to tip them over again, Jon's back on the couch and Tony at least freed to prop himself up with hands on either side of him, so he could smile down at him and ask very clearly, "Jon, will you marry me?" This was evidently an experience that he was very intent on Jon thoroughly enjoying, because he slid down onto his elbows to kiss Jon's face between repeating, "My heart, my love, will you be my husband?"

The sudden shift draws a giddy noise of surprise out of Tony and he reflexively brings up both hands only to end up loosely wrapping his arms around Tony while looking up at him. Up in his face and into his eyes while Tony repeats his own words to him - And more. He can't help the wide smile, but that's not something he wants. This feels nice. He enjoys hearing Tony say these words and the turmoil they send his emotions into.

"Yes." He manages to say and brings one hand to Tony's face to keep him still enough for that one moment he needs to press a kiss of his own to Tony's lips. "Yes, Tony. Yes, I will."

Tony rather wished he had more control over his smile in return, because beaming at Jon made the kiss clumsy, and yet the splintering subroutines of the new anxieties of this new future (what did this mean for them, mechanically, on an alien planet with no legal system for getting married to have any objective function, and how much more thoroughly was Jon now armed, and Tony stripped of his armor, for the constellation of terrible ways this could and was going to end, where the worst was that Jon died so the best had to be that Jon killed him), none of them tightening in his chest could dampen the sheer joy of this promise; that Tony loved him, he loved him, and he was loved in return. Overwhelmed and overclocked, he couldn't quite feel it as much as he could hear the dampness in his own throat when he took his next breath, which he very much did have to control before he embarrassed both of them and made Jon regret his answer, Tony could do that later, when he was alone, like he was supposed to, so he tore himself away in a rapid search for somewhere else to redirect that energy. His hands went to work for him, finally pushing Jon's shirt up to tug over his head in a tangle of his arms and glasses that sent Tony giggling again, until his gaze dropped back down Jon's body. He sighed, "God," like it was the first time he was seeing it, despite how many times his hand had skimmed the same path down the centre of Jon's chest, and it kind of was. This wasn't just Jon, who let Tony distract him from the cruelties of his life, but Jon, who wanted to marry Tony, despite all of the ways other people had cut and burned and tortured their claim on him into his skin. Tony really had to make a ring.

Of course Jon can feel Tony's anxiousness. But the way it presents itself is very different from almost any other day. It's not painfully obvious peeking out from under Tony's layers of masks and armor and carefully pointing out any detail for Tony to worry and fret about. Right now it's far in the back, still trying to get attention, yet being unable to step into the forefront of Tony's emotions and Jon is happy to be the one to have that effect on Tony. It's oddly comforting despite everything he is and should stand for.

The way the shirt comes off may not be the most elegant one and yet Jon's euphoric smile doesn't falter, caught up in the fluttering warmth of his own heart. Tony's comment gets a fondly curious tilt of Jon's head and he reaches a hand up to the side of Tony's face, clearly intending to coax him back in for another kiss. "You can keep calling me Jon, you know?" He notes despite feeling a little flustered all over again in response to the way Tony is taking his appearance in. They have been over his scars enough already, and yet the way Tony keeps basking them with attention and affection, almost as if he can wash away their origins...

While Tony leaned automatically into the warmth of Jon's hand with a scratch of his cheek into Jon's palm, he followed the seduction only reluctantly at first, wanting to resist for some reassuring control, and wanting to keep watching the way Jon's muscles flexed with every shift and breath in his thin chest. The kiss was a potent proposal, though, and a welcome alternative to watching his hand curl around Jon's waist once Tony tipped far enough into its orbit, chuckling at Jon's rare flash of ego and hoping some encouragement would bring it out more. "What an honour," he murmured as he settled back onto his elbow, tucking his hand under Jon's shoulder where he could tease a finger along his neck as he finally found his kiss that wasn't interrupted by insuppressible smiles and he could fall into the warmth of it with a long, slow breath that had him pulling Jon up against his chest and trying to press closer with a cant of his hips. "I don't expect any special treatment, boss," he teased into the breath between them, "It is purely for my own pleasure that I am on my knees and worshipping every day. Twice on Sundays."

"That's a lot of worshipping." Jon notes while gladly wrapping his arm around Tony again to stay as close as possible. He breathes a chuckle against Tony's lips before nuzzling his nose affectionately. "I wouldn't wish to deny you your pleasure, of course." Not merely because it's often tied to his own. Which Jon doesn't mind, naturally. "Also you should know by now that I will gladly give you any special treatment you desire. If I can't spoil my future husband, my options become limited to the mothcats." Who get spoiled regardless, but in very different ways.

The thrill at the mere concept wasn't fading any time soon, 'future husband' enough to bring Tony's grin back and leave him sounding delighted as he corrected, "Not spoiled. In my tax bracket, we call it 'accustomed to a certain lifestyle'." They had to settle for nuzzling a little longer in place of the kisses that Tony moved to spread across Jon's cheek, because he made himself giggle then with the realization that 'future husband' meant Jon was buying into all of those luxuries, too, and not just Tony's baggage. Maybe this wasn't such a bad deal for him. Once Tony had nosed his way under Jon's chin, he risked sucking a hickey against his throat, faint yet but far too high to hide under any collar, then hesitated with a tease of his teeth against the skin as he offered, "You don't have to be weird anymore. You're marrying into eccentric, beloved." The margins between the satisfaction of leaving his mark where anyone could see it, and the guilt of it, were too thin for Tony to calculate against this development, and he erred into his comfort zone with an apologetic kiss to the bruise and retreat to press another to Jon's lips, nudging Jon's elbow as he did to blindly trace his arm like he meant to tangle their hands again. He stopped when he found Jon's wrist, though, arcing up to make enough space between them and bring Jon's gently guiding hand against his collar with a grin as he encouraged Jon's fingers to close around his throat and make those calculations for him.

Jon hums softly and leans his head back just enough to allow Tony the access to his neck he seeks. "Eccentric, huh? I believe I can live with that." He will admit that he already can be pretty eccentric under certain circumstances. But at the same time he also remains aware that many people have considered him to be a difficult person to deal with.

Tony leaving his mark on Jon's neck is a circumstance Jon remains unaware of for the most part, but he can anticipate the end result. Which only makes him smirk a little since he now can wear Tony's claim with pride. Though he gladly accepts the kiss as well and allows Tony to direct his hand where he deems its place to be. That this place would be on Tony's throat is- Somewhat unexpected and causes a raised brow to be directed at Tony in response. The hold his fingers have on Tony's throat isn't a strong one and neither does it tighten. Instead, his hand slides around Tony's neck and to the back of his head where his fingers can tangle into Tony's hair and give it a gentle little tug. A promise that Jon will make sure to leave his own marks and claims for Tony to wear. But in his own time.

And while one of his hands is toying with Tony's hair, Jon has come to tangle their legs together in a way to hold Tony close and maintain an acceptable amount of physical contact.

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