Tony Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
in_extremis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
revivalproject2022-12-16 11:54 pm
in_extremis) wrote in revivalproject2022-12-16 11:54 pm
Entry tags:
Harbour
WHO: Jon and Tony
WHERE: The library and the beach!
WHAT: An arbitrary anniversary
WHEN: When it is too cold to be at the beach
WARNINGS: They're not even fighting about anything...yet.
The wind off of the water made the sparse snowfall swirl, leaving the ice hanging in the air and making a mournful howl through the nearby caves with each slow exhale. The waves were dark, barely foaming as they tumbled toward the shore and went slicing back across the blue sand. It crunched underfoot like ice while Tony worked, undeterred even when snow gathered down his back as he dug or he had to hunt under fallen growth for anything near dry that would catch fire. The tent went up first, an umbrella type for a wide, tall door that was propped open to face out toward the water, set back close to the forest where the wind was cut somewhat and packed with sand around the sides to try to insulate it. The firepit went in front of it, dug into the ground where it would be protected, and Tony could set a grate over it once he had some embers burning that could be easily stoked back to enthusiasm. What candles he had left, he dotted around the whole arrangement for when the sky wasn't so bright and clear. Trying to dress the whole thing up with bushels and garlands of the few, small flowers that still sprouted in the cold didn't make it look all that much more impressive by the time Tony was done, and was crouched in front of it by the sizzling fire, back to the water and assessing whether or not he had just wasted an incredible amount of time. He could have been spending it on something nicer, worthy of a fake anniversary. At home, he could have asked Sting to at least drop by for one song. With a sigh, he swung up onto his feet and made sure the tent was secure so everything inside of it stayed dry, and headed back toward the city.
It was hours later that he heard Jon fussing around with the kettle, perched out in the hall yet while his office was still half built. It took Tony another minute to drag himself away from his schematic and come sauntering from the workshop, where he smiled at Jon's busy back and practically collided with him to press a kiss to his jaw, hands light on his shoulders to search their way down his sides. Tony lingered there a moment, distantly watching the kettle over his shoulder, before abruptly accusing, "You're due for a haircut." Which was not untrue, they could probably both do with some polishing, but Jon's trim wasn't going to make Tony's careful beach setting any more perfect. That was a little beyond a haircut's paygrade. He melted with some frustration, and offered in a mutter, "D'you wanna do that, or come see--there's this thing--We'd have to fly." They didn't have to fly, but it would probably make the disappointment a lot less palpable if they didn't have to walk several hours in the snow just to experience it. "It can wait," he concluded, brushing a pointed hand through Jon's too long hair. Maybe by the time they were done with that, Jon would forget he said anything.
WHERE: The library and the beach!
WHAT: An arbitrary anniversary
WHEN: When it is too cold to be at the beach
WARNINGS: They're not even fighting about anything...yet.
The wind off of the water made the sparse snowfall swirl, leaving the ice hanging in the air and making a mournful howl through the nearby caves with each slow exhale. The waves were dark, barely foaming as they tumbled toward the shore and went slicing back across the blue sand. It crunched underfoot like ice while Tony worked, undeterred even when snow gathered down his back as he dug or he had to hunt under fallen growth for anything near dry that would catch fire. The tent went up first, an umbrella type for a wide, tall door that was propped open to face out toward the water, set back close to the forest where the wind was cut somewhat and packed with sand around the sides to try to insulate it. The firepit went in front of it, dug into the ground where it would be protected, and Tony could set a grate over it once he had some embers burning that could be easily stoked back to enthusiasm. What candles he had left, he dotted around the whole arrangement for when the sky wasn't so bright and clear. Trying to dress the whole thing up with bushels and garlands of the few, small flowers that still sprouted in the cold didn't make it look all that much more impressive by the time Tony was done, and was crouched in front of it by the sizzling fire, back to the water and assessing whether or not he had just wasted an incredible amount of time. He could have been spending it on something nicer, worthy of a fake anniversary. At home, he could have asked Sting to at least drop by for one song. With a sigh, he swung up onto his feet and made sure the tent was secure so everything inside of it stayed dry, and headed back toward the city.
It was hours later that he heard Jon fussing around with the kettle, perched out in the hall yet while his office was still half built. It took Tony another minute to drag himself away from his schematic and come sauntering from the workshop, where he smiled at Jon's busy back and practically collided with him to press a kiss to his jaw, hands light on his shoulders to search their way down his sides. Tony lingered there a moment, distantly watching the kettle over his shoulder, before abruptly accusing, "You're due for a haircut." Which was not untrue, they could probably both do with some polishing, but Jon's trim wasn't going to make Tony's careful beach setting any more perfect. That was a little beyond a haircut's paygrade. He melted with some frustration, and offered in a mutter, "D'you wanna do that, or come see--there's this thing--We'd have to fly." They didn't have to fly, but it would probably make the disappointment a lot less palpable if they didn't have to walk several hours in the snow just to experience it. "It can wait," he concluded, brushing a pointed hand through Jon's too long hair. Maybe by the time they were done with that, Jon would forget he said anything.