revivalproject

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[ The video turns on to reveal your local Archivist, deep scowl on his perpetually tired face, an already very used looking pencil behind his ear and a cigarette between his fingers. Yes, that particular habit is getting worse, but judging by the open sky above him he's at least not taking it inside.

But it's the scowl that mainly addresses the network. ]

Very well. Might as well inform you all that the hospital staff has been reduced to one. I am no trained professional, have no noteworthy abilities that qualify me for the task, but I... I will do what I can should the need arise. I won't always be at the hospital, so you will have to contact me should you need anything- And I ask of everyone to abstain from needlessly reckless endeavors more likely to getting yourself hurt than resulting in any progress. I... I just-

[ He pauses, takes one deep breath and closes his eyes. ]

... I can't split myself in two.

I'm sorry.

[[ ooc: Adult Content Warning for the comments below. ]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Tony isn't the only one with an image he prefers to uphold. But while Tony went with cool, the Archivist rather hides behind a rude and scornful exterior to discourage any who might get too close and spot a weakness to exploit. But it's an image Jon isn't above to let go once he has decided to trust a person or even care for them. And for Tony, Jon has found, he cares a lot. Possibly even to a degree that might end up hurtful at some point.

But that's not something he wants to think about now. Not when Tony's laughter caught on and that kiss, clumsy as it might be, only feels right.

"You are aware that finger paint takes quite a while to apply..." Jon reminds Tony once their lips part, yet a hand at Tony's neck is gently set to discourage him from pulling away too far. The other hand slides down Tony's neck and closes lightly to let a single finger trail down his chest to its very center where it sits for a moment. A moment in which Jon holds Tony's gaze, then presses their lips together for another imperfect kiss adorned with a small chuckle and a light nudge of his finger, aimed to encourage Tony to move backwards and let Jon guide him back to that makeshift bench.

It wasn't clear if that was meant to be a promise or a threat, but Tony was sure it was the sexiest thing Jon had done to him, at least consciously, between the slow timbre of his voice, taunting sense of denial as he closed his fist for the barest contact and the unexpectedly intimate press of his fingertip that seemed to reach into Tony's core and make his breath catch; that was more sensitive than Tony thought it was, without a tough web of scars and feeling delicately hollow, not really a place he had let anyone see let alone touch for a very long time. It left him distracted and squirming in the kiss, then flinching away at the extra pressure and catching Jon's tickling hand to lace their fingers together safely against his shoulder. With his other arm around Jon's waist, it felt enough like he was leading in a dance that he submitted to a few slow steps back, focus more on capturing Jon's lips again and pressing for more contact, not eager to move away now that he had a taste. This was really not what they were supposed to be worrying about, Tony's charge to be careful had been severely drained of power.

There may be a certain sloppiness in those kisses, a lack of coordination between their hands and feet and who is leading whom where. But Jon doesn't care - And that's nice. Not caring, allowing himself those happy little chuckles and not hiding that wide, probably foolish grin as his head shuts off all reason and worry at least for a short while. A while where he isn't the Archivist, where he isn't the avatar of voyeuristic terror, where he isn't a monster.

Instead, he gets to be human again. Flawed and clumsy and emotional in ways he usually doesn't show.

Jon doesn't mind Tony catching his hand this time around, gladly leaving it captured in one of those strong hands he has found himself staring at so often. He doesn't mind the arm around his waist, keeping him close and allowing him to reach his remaining hand up to slide his fingers through Tony's hair while he can't help but smile widely into whichever kiss it is their lips are currently busy with. Jon also doesn't mind that that backwards path he has nudged Tony onto is making very slow progress at best. If and when they get anywhere aren't questions he is asking himself. Not while he has a kiss he can contently hum into or messily attempt to deepen.

Already feeling bruised from the wet slide of their lips and blissed out from the touch through his hair by the time his heels hit the boxes behind him, Tony had to take a deep breath to drag himself away, managing it on the third attempt when he had released Jon's hand to stroke his knuckles up Jon's throat and tip his chin back, making his mouth harder for Tony to chase into another lingering kiss. He slid down to the seat with a sigh instead, passing both hands down Jon's flanks to keep him close between his knees as he did and only catching himself with his nose pressed to Jon's waistband and hands curling into fists on his hips that he hadn't even given Tony permission to touch him, let alone press his face eagerly against his fly. It felt distant and foggy, but Tony was pretty sure the invitation had been for tea, not for Tony to suck him off. He forced himself to sit taller with another creaking stretch of his spine that made his whole body shudder as he passed his hands up Jon's back to keep dragging him close and into the press of Tony's lips to his stomach through his shirt. He only managed, "Um," between kisses, unable to shake off the fog until he had eased himself back against the cool wall, then could finally look up at Jon with a grin as he asked, "Is this how you make tea where you're from? What step in the process is this? I'm not complaining, but I have to know how jealous I should be the next time you offer a cup to someone, is this part of the formal ceremony or a casual thing?"

The loss of Tony's lips comes with a bit of disappointment on Jon's end even though he knew perfectly well it had to happen eventually. And Tony and his hands weren't gone entirely. Just... A little further down, allowing Jon to run his hands over the man's shoulders, arms, neck, through his hair. He shudders slightly in ill-hid anticipation upon realizing just where Tony has ended up before shifting himself a little higher again and finally leans away enough to make it hard for Jon to reach him from where he stands.

He knows he must look a mess. Hair disheveled, glasses askew, eyes wide and mouth partially open as he drags his teeth across a swelling lip and tries to regulate his breath again. The expression cracks open into a light, yet slightly embarrassed chuckle and Jon has to take a moment to bury his face in his hands as his mind decides to catch up with the moment.

"small>Christ..." is the first thing Jon mutters, then lifts his head out of his own hands again to cast nothing but a genuine smile down at the other man "Tony..." Jon takes a moment to step out from between Tony's knees and climbs forward onto the boxes Tony is already sitting on, easily straddling Tony's legs to sit on them and finding both of Tony's hands with his own before taking the final step to also lock their eyes once more. Right, he looks like a mess, but so does Tony. And nothing feels wrong with that. It's a look that suits Tony as far as Jon is concerned.

He has no difficulties summoning that usually rare smile back "If this still had anything to do with tea, you wouldn't find me even considering offering a cup to anyone else." Because casual... There are very few things Jon can find himself doing casually. Though Tony may well have already noticed that anyway.

Jon's debauchery didn't suit him at all, Tony thought, which left him watching Jon's progress with adoration and surprise that the frayed edges could be even more gratifying with that easy smile than the flash of anger in his panicked responses while Tony had slowly worked at picking him undone. The glow of it left him eager to find what else Jon kept locked behind that irritated pinch of his brow, tensing and ready to tip Jon right over to suck filthy marks into his skin and leave his clothes damp and twisted, but was easily stayed again by Jon gathering his fretful hands, leaving him driving his shoulders back into the hard stone with his hips pushed forward, tenuously balanced against his appetite. It made him slow to realize how much safer the anger might have been.

Not looking away this time and holding Jon's gaze in a cautious study, Tony brought their hands up together to kiss each of Jon's knuckles, calculating how seriously Jon meant him to take that statement and how he could most easily deflect it. On its own, it wouldn't be a risk, plenty of people insisted in this same position that they never did anything like this, of course, they weren't that kind of girl or their boyfriend really trusted them, honestly, but it didn't feel nearly the same. Tony didn't have a lot of confidence when he tried, "You're right, it would be all downhill from here, you're really setting yourself up for disappointment after this," knowing his arrogant grin didn't have quite the tooth he intended and keeping it pressed to Jon's fingers.

It would be too easy to turn Tony's words right around, call himself the disappointment Tony is about to face and shatter whatever it is that has been building between them over the past minutes. It wouldn't be hard...

But Jon's mind doesn't go there, fortunately. For all his lacking confidence in these manners, his mind spares him the thought that Tony might not quite share his notion. That he might consider him a game and little else. Something to pick up when he felt like toying with it and discard again.

No. Those thoughts have no place in Jon's head right now. Not when his attention is stuck with watching Tony kiss his knuckles. With taking in the man's face and every of his moves. The only thing he finds to be bothering him is that their joined hands create a physical distance between the rest of them, though he hesitates to pull his away for a little longer before releasing one of Tony's hands to turn his around and set it against Tony's grinning cheek along with a few simple words that carry a lot of gravity "Then I leave it to you to not disappoint me."

Fuck, he didn't have to say it like that. Of course he did, he wasn't going to let Tony off easy and utter something crass about the fuck of his life, Tony knew that going in and should have been more prepared to feel like he should already be apologizing for the myriad of ways Jon was going to find out Tony could disappoint him. How he still didn't trust Jon, to start with, still ready to deflect and assure him of course this was their little secret the second that haunted look appeared on Jon's face as he tried to pull his dignity back together. Tony was deliberately still, trying to ease the ache in his chest with a slow breath, both of those things couldn't be true, at least, just one of them, not a problem, until he knew he couldn't look Jon in the eye anymore and dropped his other hand to tug him close by the front of his shirt, pulling the tails free to expose his back to the eager glide of Tony's palm finally on his skin. The kiss was burning intense but brief, just long enough for Tony to gather Jon's shirt up his back against his wrist and between Jon's shoulder blades where he could keep careful hold as he rolled them to the side like he had been itching to, and laid Jon back against the blankets. It left him positioned to nose what was left of Jon's clothes gathered against his waist out of his way to move the burn of his lips across what he could reach of Jon's ribs, trying not to linger on how easy they were to count as he bowed down to continue his adoration of his soft stomach. The arm that held him moved down with Tony, pushing his back up to curve into Tony's attention and bare every twitch and breath to him.

Of course he had to say it like that. Because Jon wants to trust this infuriating man that keeps riling him up whether or not he is physically present. Of course he is taking a risk for reasons he can't even give.

At least for now he has no regrets. His mind is send spiraling elsewhere when Tony pulls him close at last, numbing his thoughts with a kiss, his doubts his his hands and suddenly the world has tipped to its side.

Oh. That isn't the world. But it might as well be. It takes Jon a moment to catch up, but quickly decides that locations don't matter. Tony's hands are on his skin in places that haven't met other skin in a while and so are the man's lips and if he notices Jon missing two of his ribs, he doesn't point it out. Jon is left to squirm for a few moments, trying to follow what Tony is doing with his eyes and gasping when those lips make contact with his skin while his heart makes a notable effort to leap right out of its confines. He braces one of his hands at the edge of the boxes and the other almost automatically finds its way into Tony's hair, the familiarity of that particular contact a reassuring one.

It earned an appreciative murmur, words indecipherable and lost in the sweet warmth of his belly until Tony was up against the limits of his contortion. He rocked forward into Jon's hand as he turned to tuck his leg under him on the bench, his knee crowding Jon's hip against the wall to push his thigh higher against Tony's side and into his free hand. He had dropped his forehead against Jon's chest, watching down his body as he followed along the inseam of his pants with his thumb to rock the heel of his hand against the crotch, his fingers curled to tug the waistband into his fist. The curve of Jon's body between them left Tony with the barest impression of the jutting top of his hip and the dark trail under his knuckles, but he had to tear his gaze away, pushing himself up on his elbow to try to catch Jon's eye. His expression was a question, but his voice was gentle reassurance for the squirming and tension he could feel clutching near his arm, the words a steady mumble that Tony clearly wasn't thinking about and he slowly lowered into Jon's chest to punctuate with the brush of his lips along the gathered hem of his shirt, "I should have said, before, you are beautiful, sweetheart, I couldn't keep my hands off of you, of course I'll put up with you, look at you, I want to--" He stuttered, catching himself, fingers flexing against Jon anxiously until he blew out a slow breath against Jon's fluttering pulse. He hadn't even said anything, Tony couldn't blame Jon that time, and he tried to smooth over it with an insistent press of the heel of his hand for an answer.

Jon watches each and every of Tony's moves, the hand he has on the edge of the box gripping a little tighter every time Tony's lips send a shiver through his body and he doesn't quite manage to hold back a few small, audible reactions. When the man moves back up and pushes Jon's leg up at the same time, Jon holds his breath for a moment, eyes wide as he tries to follow the movement of Tony's hand as well, but from his angle much rather feels what Tony does.

It's the faintest choking noise he makes in response to feeling Tony's hand on him, his hip rocking up lightly at the touch with a yearning Jon isn't used from himself. It's a rare sort of need to him. One he often forgets about entirely.

He opens his mouth to answer, but has to tilt back his head for a moment and close his eyes to regain that breath he has been holding. The look on Tony's face, the sound of his voice, his words, the delightful stuttering he normally doesn't fall victim to- And his hand. His hand that makes Jon's hip twitch with an anticipation even he hasn't been expecting. All of these... They do things to him he can't even try to describe. His racing pulse is really only the beginning.

His one moment passes and Jon tilts his head back down, a renewed blush framing the equally refreshed giddy smile on his face he tries to hide briefly behind the back of his hand before that same hand reaches further up to pull the glasses from his face, fold them and set them aside on the nearby extra box currently serving as a table.

After blinking twice to readjust his vision and regaining most of his focus, Jon's attention is right back with Tony, along with his hands. Both this time. They find Tony's face and hair and the temptation to pull him closer for another kiss is there, but isn't followed up on, when Jon answers Tony's request with a slow nod and a soft "...please."

Those noises were what Tony thought he was trying to coax out of Jon, but the way he had to freeze, a palpable heat under Tony's hands, made a very tempting display, making Tony bite his lip to stop from pressing him any further to find out already what Jon was trying to hold back before he had his permission. He was grinning back when Jon caught his breath, the adorably prim discard of the glasses and the giddiness infectious enough to make Tony give a breathless laugh that he turned into Jon's palm as he tried to leave him with a kiss. He barely had to form the word before Tony was tugging his fly open, sliding himself down the bench fast enough to drag the blankets askew and starting to giggle again. He was eager, rushing to get Jon right back where he was a moment ago, and get himself where he had wanted to be what felt like decades ago when Jon had pushed them over here, making up for lost time with his hand still curled around Jon's zipper to wrench his pants out of the way of the wet press of Tony's open mouth over the fabric of his underwear. His laugh was a hot breath against Jon, ending in a whimper of pleasure at the drag of the damp cotton he could feel catching on his lip and Jon's skin.

The swiftness with which Tony reacts takes Jon by surprise and he has barely time to follow what is happening. Quick fingers and a hot and eager mouth draw a quick sound of surprise from Jon and his head is back to the edge of the box just as quickly as his hips twitch in response to the warm and moist contact.

Jon lets his head fall back again, his currently unoccupied arm falling over his eyes while he mumbles something unintelligible between a few hitched breaths. At least his tone should make it clear enough that none of his noises are a demand for Tony to stop. Which isn't exactly a thought that crosses Jon's mind anyway, as thoughts in general require a bit more conscious awareness than what he has currently left at his disposal. And even that appears to be about to be slowly taken away from him by Tony, his hands and- Well. Right about now most likely his mouth.

As much as Jon has been focused on Tony's hands before, the man's mouth has certainly earned its very own appeal by now. Along with his smile, especially when offered without that cheeky smirk. And his laugh- The one that sounds natural. The one that feels natural and brightens those blue eyes even more.

Those blue eyes had darted up at Jon's mumble, but it would take a much firmer hand to get Tony to slow down, never mind stop, his smile from the distraction of Jon's warm voice and the taut stretch of his body between his raised arm and the twitch of his hips parlayed easily into the scrape of Tony's teeth as they caught on Jon's waistband to help pull. His hand had slid from under Jon to smooth down his side and drag his clothes down his hip to his thigh, quickly tugging the fabric from Tony's teeth to let him mouth down every revealed inch of his length, barely gathering the underwear out of his way before abandoning them to wrap his fist around Jon and guide him against the eager curl of Tony's tongue. Every move was delicately careful, Jon so unfamiliarly soft and thin under his hands that every touch felt like pulling a wire and too much pressure would leave a disastrous kink, but it had been far too long-- since being struck by the thought about three minutes ago, sure, and since Jon had bruised him with that burning stare of determination that Tony felt like he carried like an exposed wire in his chest as he tried to find his way closer, and he took too much of Jon into his mouth too fast, tongue dragging up as he pushed his head down to meet his knuckles. A shiver ran though him as he tried to catch his breath, hand dropping from Jon's fly finally to clutch restlessly at the blankets between his thighs, but Tony didn't ease off, only pushed his shoulders back like that would help him stop feeling so tight and crowded.

While he knows exactly what is about to happen, Jon still chokes on a gasp upon feeling himself being exposed and his exposed flesh being met with warm and wet lips and a hot tongue that leaves Jon squirming and trying very hard not to look. It's a battle he knows he is bound to lose, what with his hips already shifting under Tony's touch in search for more contact. He comes to live easily under Tony's ministrations, not offering much of a challenge, making it clear that Jon's body is about as quick to respond as the man himself.

Then Tony's head comes down on him faster and more eager than anticipated, the sensation shooting up from his groin and through his body and tearing a cry from Jon's mouth that is equally surprise, pleasure and Tony's name. He jerks his arm away from his face and uses it to push himself up enough to see, gasping and red-faced and- Definitely not quite prepared for the sight of Tony between his legs. It's a sight he knows will follow him into his dreams and certainly one he will take over his nightmares.

And yet he nearly ruined it prematurely. Which wouldn't have been the first time... Jon swallows an apology and lets go of the box to bury his fingers into Tony's hair once again, massaging his scalp in little circles while permitting himself a moment to actually take in the sight.

The touch to his hair was enough to disrupt Tony's laser focus, relaxing the tension in his shoulders as he let himself draw back enough to pant for air around the careless teasing of his tongue along the contours of the head of Jon's cock, and reconsider his position. This one wasn't working. Not about to break his connection now that he had it, Tony shifted his arm first around Jon's leg, between him and the wall, hitching him up and closer with a hand wrapped around his thigh, letting Tony continue to adore his skin with sucking kisses as he rolled onto his hip again, already a relief to his own erection trapped from his crouch on the seat before he was shoving his own clothes out of the way of his restless fist. He wasn't shy at all about the moan he sighed against Jon then, and muttered his own appreciation for the adjustment like he talked through a project on his bench. It let him take Jon into his mouth again, working more deliberately and fingers flexing on Jon's thigh with the rhythm he found, melting easily into the taste and smell and fill of him until Tony was lost.

Jon isn’t sure which does him more damage, the teasing or the moan. Or seeing just how carelessly Tony goes about freeing himself to indulge his own needs. It may just be all of it. But again, Jon’s mind isn’t entirely on track and Tony’s mouth makes sure that whatever temporary focus he has found is easily lost again as Jon drops his head back down once more with a groan, the hand that has supported him for these few moments slipping away and being pressed against the wall next to him. There is little purchase there for him to hold on to, though. Just the flat, cold wall against his heated skin.

His other hand remains buried in Tony’s hair, fingers clenching and tugging and intertwining with those dark strands while Jon closes his eyes again amidst panted breaths and the occasional moan as he submits himself to Tony’s actions.

Every laboured gasp was heat in Tony's belly, the sweet tone of Jon's voice more satisfying after the strangled grousing Tony had teased out of him. If he had a fraction of the patience, Tony would gladly draw this out to listen, until the engine turned over and those moans became peppered with the frustrated squeaking he had been so kindly generous with, but just the fantasy of it made Tony have to pull back with a filthy, slick pop of his mouth to bite his lip with an urgent whimper. He wouldn't be able to last through that without a solid pair of cuffs, he clearly couldn't trust himself. His attention was back on Jon in a breath; he had a wealth of feedback, if he didn't let himself get completely distracted by Jon's voice, to treat him ruthlessly to the wet tease of Tony's tongue and the heat of his mouth-- the twitch of his thigh under Tony's hand, the urgency of his tug at Tony's hair, the way his hand slid down the wall, and every hitch of his breath for Tony to chase relentless to what luscious resonance he surely had when he broke and let Tony lap him clean.

It won’t be too long until the squirming of the man currently at Tony’s mercy intensifies. It’s the mumbling that sets in first. Nonsensical noises remotely related to words and drawn out by Tony’s teasing tongue. The mumbling shifts into quick strings of curses. Muttered at first, but increasing in volume and interwoven yet again with Tony’s name, not necessarily in warning.

Has Tony ever doubted the Archivist to be a verbal one when pushed towards his boundaries, then any of that doubt should be exterminated by this point.

The actual warning Tony gets that he has driven Jon towards his limit is an oddly strangled, high-pitched noise, trapped somewhere between a cry and a word along with a harsh pull at his hair and blunt nails digging into whatever part of Tony’s shoulder Jon manages to reach once his sweaty fingers drop away from the wall.

The shock of pain from Jon's urgent grabbing was electricity through Tony, almost enough to drag him away as the suction of his mouth fell into a gasp and gravelly groan of his own, reveling in it with a push of his shoulder into the scrape of Jon's nails. It wasn't enough to distract him from the hit of salt against his tongue, though, and Tony tugged back, swallowing Jon deep in an imperfect seal of his slick lips. Tony wasn't far behind, Jon's last shudder running down Tony's spine like a kinetic transfer, a hum of a tightly drawn wire, the taste of him, the burn of pain and the build and crest of his voice making Tony press his forehead to Jon's stomach, clutching tight at his thigh as he mumbled futilely with his lips still ghosting over the head of Jon's cock, "Wait, wait..." to not one thing in particular; to the pull of Jon's fingers through his hair, to this tenuous moment where Tony could keep his face pressed into the welcoming warmth of him, eyes closed and sweat running together to mix with the taste of Jon on his tongue, to his own hand that wasn't about to listen for the first time now and Tony spilled into with a shuddering moan that he tried to stifle against Jon's hip.

He gave himself until he could manage a few steady breaths, kissing his way blindly along the guiding jut of Jon's hip until he could bring himself to flutter his eyes open and slide his gaze across the room to the open door. That had been very easy to forget, but was prompt enough now to get Tony to drag himself up, clothes already tugged passably decent and the rag from his pocket in his hand by the time he was sitting back on his heel and tucked close to Jon's thighs again, bracing his elbow on Jon's bent knee to press his knuckles to his swollen lips as his other hand curled around Jon's waistband. He held it there, less eager to pull Jon back together at the sight of him, almost perfectly what Tony was hoping for; softening length slick with Tony's spit on his belly, sweat catching the light with every breath as his chest rose and fell, clothes twisted carelessly and face blissfully glowing. He watched instead with a dark, half-lidded stare, slowly smiling around his hand.

The stars behind his eyes take a moment longer to fade for Jon, but he does blink open his eyes soon enough with a low, contended groan. Looking up he is- Well. Admittedly a little surprised to see Tony, but doesn't say as much. He raises his head enough to look himself over quietly, beginning to assess the situation. Then his head drops back down with an exhale and a simple observation: "I'm a mess."

He swallows and finally pushes himself up for good, using both his arms and a little effort to sit upright. Close enough to Tony to brush the back of his hand against the one Tony is pressing to his own lips, yet not nearly as properly redressed as the other man.

"...right." he murmurs, his breath still not fully settled "Guess I... Guess I should have stored a change of clothes here after all." There is an upward twitch at the corner of his mouth and Jon lets out a small, exhausted chuckle while fully stripping off his now sweaty shirt. There's no way he is putting that back on. And chances are that he will indeed rid himself of those pants as well once he decides to fully get up. But for now he seeks out Tony's eyes with his own. An attempt to figure out what he might be thinking.

Before Jon pushed himself up, Tony started to chuckle and uttered a low hum, "Mm-hmm," eyes glittering as though he had agreed that Jon was radiant and Tony was prepared to lose more sleep over it. It wasn't an image he was going to easily ignore, he could already feel his work suffering for the next week. The only thing that stopped him from pushing Jon back over was a jump of his brows in mild surprise at Jon pulling his shirt off, clearly not as worried about the open door as Tony-- but he probably wouldn't have let Tony do that to him in the first place if he ever had been, he realized.

Jon didn't have to wait long to discern Tony's thoughts; he dropped his hand along the wall to tuck behind Jon as he leaned closer, seeking one of Jon's that held him up as Tony continued his adoration to the skin he hadn't given himself the time to reach yet, soft kisses along Jon's collar and down his sternum with a nudge to try to coax Jon back down and maybe let Tony ravage him again as soon as he caught his breath, look at all of these new tools he had to work with. If Jon didn't think he could be up for it that quickly, Tony was fully prepared to wait, he could probably tolerate that if it meant Jon was agreeing to lingering here as long as it took with Tony still pressed close to him.

It was possible not all of that was clear. Tony curled his hand around Jon's wrist, holding him there with a sigh, less worried about managing to convey any of the rest.

No, that isn't all too difficult to interpret. Jon gives a short, pleasant hum in response to Tony leaning closer again and brings up the hand that isn't being held down to place it in the back of Tony's neck, letting his fingers play with the ends of the other man's hair for a few short moments before following suit with the unspoken suggestion and settling back down. His hand and a short noise of pleased amusement encouraging Tony to come along and maybe not stay so terribly out of reach again.

"I take it I shouldn't be reaching for my glasses just yet." Jon muses in faux thoughtfulness. Though deep down he is happy to find that Tony makes no move to simply leave. Instead, it's Tony who has taken hold of his hand this time around. And how can he possibly deny the work of that mouth? Of course he will have to redirect it at least for a while. Gently remind it that lips also work well on other lips.

Gently still wasn't the way to direct Tony's focus, though he was glad to follow Jon back, stretching the arm behind him to pillow under his shoulder and curl back to comb his hair back from his forehead for Tony to press a kiss, then another to his brow and carefully to his eyelid, no, not time for glasses, and only offer the briefest press to his lips as Tony continued to work his way down. He settled with his head on Jon's shoulder, nuzzled into his neck where he could continue to breathe the strangely ozonous scent of him, maybe bitter more than anything with mostly tea and fear under his skin, and blindly pet his free hand up Jon's side to slowly map the contours of him with deftly calculating fingertips from his collar down his ribs.

It was still a while before Tony had melted enough, incrementally easing his weight onto Jon with every pass of his palm back up his flank, to mutter with a rough voice, "Are you going to tell me about that fight?" Not that he wanted to upset the equilibrium, but his skin was cooling and he wanted to talk and feel the sound of Jon's voice under his ear, and he really hadn't come here to create another problem. Now he had a debt.

Jon isn't complaining about the attention and the little displays of affection or the weight and warmth that comes with Tony's body partially over his own.

It's the question that makes him raise an eyebrow and pause in his lazy idling. Then he slowly wraps his arms around the larger body and pulls him close, seeking more of that contact and warmth and weight to keep himself pinned and - in his perception - secure. He takes another moment to press his face to the top of Tony's head and breathe in his scent with a low, thoughtful hum.

He doesn't necessarily want to think about Altair again. Not now. So he begins with a small sigh, not letting go of Tony as he speaks.

"I... I believe he needs help. And I told him so. Told him that... That he can't keep burying his problems until someone telling him he lacks empathy is cause enough for him to snap and tear down buildings." He pauses, pulling his head around Tony tighter "And... I may have pointed out to him... Harshly... That he has shown a lack of said empathy during our very conversation. Told him he needs to learn to view a danger from his patient's point of view. Understand what's dangerous to them, not him..." More silence and Jon taps some of his fingers against Tony's back.

"....I wasn't very nice."

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