revivalproject

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."

The hesitation in Jon's voice as he worked through how to phrase his own wrongdoing was lost on Tony. He may have known someone who suggested Altair lacked empathy, then proceeded to completely forget about the conversation while apparently Altair used it to fuel some remodeling work. The tighter hold while Jon continued was just a happy accident that kept Tony from popping up an immediately incriminating himself by pushing for more details. It might not have been Tony at all; Jon had accused Altair of this, too, maybe other people were picking up on the trait and Tony just happened to land on it in one.

"You never are," he agreed instead, flat with no hint of humour until Tony more deliberately lifted his head to prop up on his hand, arm tangled around Jon's, to offer the smile in his eye. "So, let me lay this out, this is the sequence of events: you told him you don't want to work in the hospital anymore, and, to make sure, decide to burn your bridges on the way out by calling him an asshole, brutal enough to make him leave, and now you're stuck here." It was very much possible that Jon did hurt people, but not really in the way that he was so worried about. "Did you consider a letter of resignation?"

Tony's initial response earns him a glare and a huff in acknowledgement of the look he offers before Jon lets his head drop back again "I didn't expect it to go this badly. I... I hadn't even planned to say all of that. It just... Happened."

He lets his nails trail idly over Tony's back, feeling rather grateful for the still oddly calming presence of his body "Maybe a letter would have been the better choice."

That wasn't a surprise, Jon happened to say some cutting shit all of the time, so Tony gave a slow nod as he bit his lip against a laugh. It didn't speak well of Altair's resolve still, letting Jon's charming personality scare him out of an important job, but Tony could see someone who had any kind of pride to protect taking it much harder than Tony did. The one-two of two people calling Altair an asshole couldn't have helped.

He gave Jon a break, his calculating fingers working their way up to his shoulder to test the tension they found there and along the side of his neck while Tony watched for any more in his face. It wasn't meant to be the cause of more tension, it was just a thought that occurred to him that, Tony reasoned, really made Jon's concerns about causing pain unreasonable unless he honestly thought his bedside manner could use the work, when Tony asked, "Is that what you did to Tommy?" The kid was good at riling anybody up and was incredibly easy to read; someone with a deadly strike like Jon could devastate him.

"..." The silence this question brings forth is a palpable one. Tommy. Tommy is a difficult case. Jon still wants to think he sought the boy out in hopes of helping him, but the more he thinks about it the more he wonders if he hasn't been attempting to hunt after all.

He stares up at the ceiling as he answers "I... tracked down his fear, followed him, trapped him in his own home... And forced him to tell me his darkest secret - And the names of those he fears the most to learn about it." He turns his head away after those words, feeling a certain shame welling up in him again. He hasn't told anyone just what exactly Tommy has told him - And he doesn't plan to. But back then...

He had felt powerful.

The pregnant pause was enough to make Tony regret asking. His wandering hand didn't quite still, but dropped loose over Jon's chest, fingers curling endlessly through the short hair there while Tony studied his face, not completely sure how to read it even with a tilt of his head to try to follow Jon's gaze as he turned away. This position dulled his senses, he knew that from the amount of trouble it had gotten him into in the past, but this wasn't nearly the most heinous of crimes he had heard confessed on his pillows. Besides, the fact that it wasn't ever the last crime didn't put Tony's judgement entirely in doubt, he was still very sure that particular anxious flutter of a heart against his had to mean remorse.

He lifted his head to comb his fingers through Jon's hair again, shifting himself up to first assure him with a light kiss to his jaw then under his ear before Tony settled his chin back into his hand. "He's just a kid, Jon," he muttered then. It might not have been heinous, but it was horrifically invasive, especially for someone Tommy's age-- Tony wasn't sure if he was angry, necessarily. Frustrated, maybe. Scared, definitely. He couldn't tell what had made Tommy Jon's target in this case, but there wasn't a good option that he could see.

"He is..." Jon agrees quietly, tensing his hands into fists to subdue the light trembling beginning to overtake them and he turns his head back to face Tony again "But at the time... It felt right? All I did was ask and watch him tell me those names despite not wanting to. He was mortified..."

And Jon had soaked it all up greedily back then. It had just felt so justified back then. But thinking back be feels sickened by his own actions.

"I keep wondering... How much of my humanity I even have left." He pauses, then glances away with a tiny frown and a tinier twitch at the corner of his mouth "...right now I feel incredibly human." Confessing all this while allowing himself to be vulnerable. While being with someone he cares for.

It was anger, Tony realized, from that brief insight. It was cold and sick in his stomach, not hot and urgent, tangled in a protective instinct for the Young Avengers that wrestled with a shame of not having earned it, especially not after the way Tommy had reacted to him on Risa. It was a twinge of his own humiliation for the words that seeped out of him because Jon had asked so naturally, the skin-crawling intrusion of it even without the horror of revealing his darkest secret. And it was the knowledge that he didn't have an easy avenue to reach out to Tommy, already resentful of him, without telling Tommy that he knew about this shame, another exposure. He swallowed thickly and carefully unwound himself from Jon to push himself up, needing the room and the air, rolling to his feet aimlessly with only the counter where Jon had gone to prepare the tea focusing his intent. He could figure out how to boil water, probably.

"Step nine," he offered eventually, "Make amends." Tony had been over here assuring Jon he was more than the addiction, of course he was human, not nearly long enough ago to forget because of a blowjob and a confession, so he couldn't really direct that anger at Jon. He knew what Jon needed to eat, and he knew how Jon drawn him back in apology for using the same tricks on him, but it had to be fucking Tommy and Jon trapped him...Tony folded his arms on the counter, bowing over them with his shoulders pushed tensely up as he heaved a sigh.

With Tony withdrawing like this, Jon found himself painfully aware of the chill of this room. Maybe it has even become colder. He sits up with a silent sigh and pulls his legs towards him, sitting cross-legged and pulling the blankets up and around him. It’s not the same feeling, of course. But with Tony lamenting...

He has been aware that his actions were bound to mark him out as the monster he is. His friends haven’t been able to forgive him, why should these strangers? He can practically hear Helen’s words ’It would be better if you just embraced it, Archivist.’ And maybe she is right... struggling to remain human so far hasn’t been working out too well for him.

Tony’s suggestion draws Jon’s attention up from where he has been staring at one of the blankets and he finds himself biting his lip “I- I don’t know... How. Or if I e-even can. Never had his trust before. He didn’t even like me. Why- Why would he forgive me...”

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