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WHO: Tony Stark, dangerously open
WHERE: Tony's Calibration Room
WHAT: You're stuck in Tony's head and good luck, buddy, he doesn't want to be there, either.
WHEN: During the Calibration Event (June 3rd - July 10th)
WARNINGS: Some body horror under the cut, but otherwise it depends on you. Digging for Tony's secrets is still going to be a challenge here, so if you work for it I'll assume you want to see that nasty stuff. I'll update as necessary.
Update: Horny, as usual.

There is bright, dazzling light in the eye immediately upon entering this room, another door directly in front of the entrance peppered with bursts of camera flashes and roving spotlights illuminating the fine, gold silk drapes around the open frame, flashing through intricate, stained glass mosaics set into the stone flanking the entryway, and glinting off of the golden struts where a velvet rope had hung but had been knocked carelessly to the floor, an open invitation. Through it is a sweet-smelling party, packed with beautiful people in even more beautiful clothes, laughing among the sumptuous chime of crystal in a warm, welcoming hall. The wall stretching away from either side of it reaches almost to the extreme edges of the room, incrementally decaying from polished brickwork to raw, cracked stone, tumbling down into rubble that litters the way further into this room around the corner from the rich door.

This building the door is set into is just a wall from the other side, built up into a dark cave of that raw stone. Tony is pacing behind it, nowhere in the cave welcoming enough to sit or linger, jagged piles of scrap metal where there wasn't cold stone lining the walls and scattered in piles that would have to be carefully navigated to avoid sharp edges glinting readily to slice into ankles. The lone occupant isn't dressed nearly as charmingly as anyone at that party that would have been such a good time, his once white shirt wrinkled and tattered and rolled up to his elbows, open at the collar and liberally stained black down the front with whatever dripped from his hands, thick and dark like oil and charcoal. In one hand, coated in this viscous liquor, his ever restless fingers worked erratically and mercilessly over a dark knot. The sweet smell of the hall is long gone here, overtaken quickly by acid and whiskey and a bitter, sick smoke.

Set into the back of the wall, there is a computer monitor, spilling a soft blue glow across the stone floor with a constant generation of lines of code in an alien alphabet that Tony throws judgemental glances at as he paces back toward the front of the cave. Most of the light comes from the back of the room, though, the roof of the cave opening to a bright, blue sky, where soft clouds make a slow march across and birds wheel freely, well above the curl of smoke that whisped up out of the cave and dissipated.

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"Both," Sansa says, flashing him a smile. "I learned I liked champagne somewhere, I don't remember. I like the bubbles."

It's a silly thing, she thinks, and she needs a few more silly things in her life. A lot of it has been deadly serious and a bit of fun never goes wrong in her book.

"How big is my heart in this dress? I can't see myself."

It hadn't occurred to Tony that champagne might have been one of the things Sansa didn't have where she came from and found he was slightly disappointed not to be the one to introduce her to the ceremony of it, hand to his heart until he realized, "I don't remember the first time I had it, either." That wasn't entirely a surprise, but it felt like it should have been momentous for some reason then, thinking how it could have been a wonder to someone who hadn't had the pleasure yet. At her question, he very graciously allowed her to step ahead of him to deliver his most scientifically informed answer but not lingering long enough for Sansa to get too angry with him before catching up again with a hand on her back to nudge her toward the table and a wolfish grin, "Perfectly crafted, as always." She was already a very different Sansa than the one he had met struggling through the resort on Risa, but Tony couldn't claim to adore any stage of that transformation any more than another, and wouldn't have a different answer for her a month ago.

He left her to collect the pastry box from among the containers of food, then a bottle that had been chilling in the fridge before gesturing again for Sansa to make herself comfortable. Too many people passed through this kitchen to not be a welcome home to anyone in it, Tony himself had fallen asleep at that table too many times. "I think..." he offered, to explain the glitter and the colourful table settings already there, "this is supposed to be Cap's first birthday with the team. That's Rogers, for me." It was a little strange to have to clarify that, making him frown his baffled discomfort with the idea at Sansa, hoping she understood, before pushing a few plates aside to deposit the box there and flip it open. The cake inside only read 'Happy Birthday!', not terribly helpful.

"It's bound to be at least someone's nameday today. Steve's is good enough as any," Sansa says. The cake looks good, even if it isn't her beloved lemoncakes, and she eyes the glitter before she sits down. It's absolutely beautiful but as soon as she touches it, it sticks to her and won't come off.

"I'm going to be washing the decorations off for a month," she says, picking up a napkin embossed in the stuff. "This reminds me of ice, I think. I don't know that I've seen it before. It...yes. Ice glinting off snow. It's a good thing my hair's up or we'd have problems. I'd have to wash it -"

Sansa frowns a bit and shakes her head with a laugh. "I'm in your dream - your memory. I don't have to have a bath and wash my hair in your dream. I'm not really getting this all over me."

He didn't have the honour of showing Sansa champagne, but Tony did get to see her first reaction to glitter, apparently, which might have been much more charming; baffled and already irritated with it like a veteran. That had to be a human constant, immediately realizing every downside to the stuff, and yet it persisted. He was ready to warn her that it would still be there, somehow, next week no matter how many times she thought she washed her hair, even if she thought it never got there, but she did make a very good point--what did any of this matter? Tony nodded firmly, accepting the hypothesis, and put the bottle aside too to dig his fingers carelessly into the cake then press the blue and white icing into Sansa's nose. He was still laughing around his hand as he licked the rest of the icing for a taste, only to frown with disappointment at it, finding it didn't taste like much at all. He had never gotten to try this cake on the day, so that must not have been part of his memory. At least it looked good.

"You're ruining my face," Sansa says, dipping her finger in the icing herself and smearing it on his face. It's in his beard a bit and Sansa hides her laugh behind her hand. It doesn't taste like anything, possibly, but it is fun to play around in it at least. It's freeing, in a way, to be in a dream and not deal with the reality of diapers and feeding and sleeping whenever James sleeps.

"Did I get to the party too early, then? That's a shame. I might have seen you...differently, I suppose."

She takes a napkin and shakes it free of glitter before wiping it against his mouth and beard to get the most of it off. "It's still everywhere because you keep a beard, you know, but I did my best."

"Ah-hey!" Tony complained, his opinion on the cake decorating clearly changing once he was the target and trying to bat Sansa away. That was his face, didn't she know it was his most valuable asset? He was snickering again by the time she was trying to wipe it away, those maternal instincts clearly too strong to let her have too much fun and make an irreparable mess, and shooing her down the table so he could be the one taking the seat closest to the weapon in the box. Licking the sugar from the corner of his mouth, he muttered skeptically, "Right, it's the beard, nothing to do with you," and didn't bother to return the favour, smearing more than wiping the icing across Sansa's cheek with his thumb.

"Any later and you would have had to enjoy the party without me," he assured her with a conflicted smile as he sucked his thumb clean. "I, sadly, could not attend. I'm about to get on a flight to..." He waved a hand, rolling his eyes, this detail not particularly important because it wasn't a flight that existed anyway. Iron Man had to be at the party, locked behind his mask and sipping champagne through a straw. "I heard it was great, though, very intimate, not one to forget," he said, slowly articulating his consonants as he watched Sansa through his lashes, chin up and not exactly making any suggestions.

"That's a shame. You should have been able to come," Sansa says quietly. There's icing all over her face now and she wipes at it ineffectually. She's not going to get it off without a mirror and she sighs a bit; it's to be expected when playing around like a child, she supposes.

"We could have our own party. We've champagne and we've got cake. I know how to dance so I can lead you - we've every element we need for a party, I'd think. No one's birthday but I don't know what my nameday is here. The calendar's not the same. I just know I was born in the middle of the year and it was a year we had summer. I never knew a winter until I was seventeen and wed for the second time. Of course, at Winterfell, we got snow even in the summer."

"You still have some of it," she says softly, brushing her fingertips against his face. "I didn't get it all."

If it was a shame, it was one of Tony's own making for keeping up his dual-identity for so long instead of trusting his team with any of his secrets, and it wasn't something he wanted to dwell on with Sansa here so he shrugged dismissively and grinned, it was fine, as he purposefully plucked up the champagne bottle for something to do with his hands. He worked the cage off as she explained her birthday, or nameday, eyebrow raised at the strange seasonal information and sure something wasn't being translated correctly, but paused before he could pop the cork. She hadn't touched him like that before, distinctly restrained among all of his teasing and flirting, and it kept his focus trained carefully on the bottle while he could feel the warmth of her fingers on his cheek. Was that part of his dream, too? He breathed a laugh before uncorking the bottle, the pop loud suddenly in the empty room and the champagne fizzing up freely to spill over his hand, then the table as he hurriedly tried to catch some of it in the waiting glasses in front of them.

"Well, Lady Stark, I'm pretty sure I just missed mine when I arrived," he said as he planted the bottle back down on the table and took up his glass to finally meet her eye again, raising the champagne in a toast, "so how about happy birthday to both of us?" It wasn't likely they were going to celebrate the event in Temba any time soon, the social calendar wasn't exactly at the top of anyone's list of concerns.

Sansa lifts the glass of champagne to toast him back and tastes it, enjoying the feel of bubbles against her tongue. She sets her glass down on the table and leans in, pressing her mouth to his softly. It tastes a bit like champagne now and the strange sugary nothingness of the cake and she leaves them there perhaps a half moment longer than she should before pulling away again.

"Happy Birthday, Tony. I hope you have a very nice one even if I don't have any gifts."

It's an arbitrary nameday, perhaps, and they are in a dream but she still is the sort of person to have made a gift for someone she cares about. She makes a note to see what he likes between now and his next nameday so that she's able to do so.

She was really taking to this not-really happening quickly, or she just preferred him like this, it was hard to tell. Tony was definitely much happier here, he could feel that comfort just sitting at this table again, but he knew he would have been horrified to hear that--it never seemed like it was possible to get any worse, and Tony was continually surprised by the depths of his own depravity every day. At least here he could still enjoy a glass of champagne, blissfully naive. He pushed his onto the table as well, freeing his hands to work one restlessly along the silk of his tie and pass the other across the back of Sansa's chair, grinning with his tongue passing over his lip again as though there were any more sugar to taste there. "I couldn't imagine a better one than you in that dress," he insisted. "But-- this is my dream, isn't it?" Tony wasn't used to having any control over his dreams, and the only reason he had to believe this one was any different was the abnormal calm of it, and the assurance he could feel the warmth of Sansa's skin under his arm. It was worth a try. "What's the gift that you've been wishing for the most? You know, the one you hoped you would get every year since you were a kid?"

"Roses."

It comes to her easily, though she imagines he doesn't know what she means by it in the way she does. She wants the dream of her childhood to be true, to have never come to harm, to have grown up happy and married some lord who'd won the joust to crown her.

"Roses from a handsome man. It's all I wanted and never got."

That wasn't nearly the answer that Tony could have anticipated. What a Queen could have been longing for and never gotten was supposed to be ridiculous and extravagant, so his anticipatory grin fell somewhat at the much more accessible reality, brow raising in confusion even after Sansa elaborated. Which part of that equation was Tyrion not delivering for her? Didn't matter-- less extravagant meant more achievable, and Tony's grin redoubled, sharp and roguish; "Well, I've got half of that covered." As for the roses...

Jarvis, ever the professional even in the strange circumstances his profession did not train him to expect, made dutifully sure the Mansion was always welcoming and properly dressed, and that included a large fresh flower budget. Tony bounced up out of his seat, hand up to promise he would just be a minute, to cross the kitchen to the bowl of blooms that had been pushed aside to make room for the food on the counter. It was the middle of summer, so there were a few roses in the arrangement, stems snipped short to float them in the bowl, and Tony scooped them out to carry in his palms with a laugh at the poor display as he made his way back. "Okay, so, it's not the preferred presentation," he allowed as he poured himself back into his seat, and a few of the flowers into the plate in front of Sansa. "I'm doing my best here." With the last one, he gestured for her to hold still as he tucked it into the silken fold of her hair at her crown.

"It's perfect," Sansa whispers. It seems too intimate to say it right out loud when this is something that so keenly reminds her of being the little girl she used to be before King's Landing. She feels like there's a part of her back that's been stolen from her - at least symbolically. It's a dream and anything can happen in dreams, though. Tony's dream seems to be particularly kind to her.

Once the rose is in place, though, she turns her head just slightly so she can brush her lips against his wrist. It's very intimate, the whole thing, and she wonders when the other shoe will drop and he'll crack a joke and she'll be indignant at him. Everything here seems too quiet and soft for that just now.

"You've done perfectly."

The jokes would have to wait, because that was the kiss that set off a spark in Tony's chest, or maybe it was the praise colouring his cheeks, and made him abnormally quiet as he worried his lip instead, the grin from his flower delivery still lingering like he had forgotten about it. She really didn't have to give him any more signals, he was reading loud and clear, but that didn't quell his hesitation, busily curling her hair into place around the flower as though it needed any attention, very aware that every other time they had spoken he always found a way to remind her of the myriad of betrayals from men in Sansa's life.

His patience broke as his hands dropped, and without anything to occupy them, cupped her face instead to draw her into a kiss. His hold remained soft, a gentle ghost of his thumbs over her cheeks, but he wasn't as good at hiding his frenetic energy in the eager press of his lips, making its end feel as abrupt as its beginning as Tony cocked his head, not quite pulling away but catching Sansa's eye. It wasn't nearly satisfying, but soothed the itch of his impatience enough for Tony to breathe, "You'll tell me what you want," for both of them, not signals but clear directions. "You can have it, anything."

"It's your dream," Sansa whispers back to him. The kiss had been wonderful, actually, and she wonders if there's any truth to her theory that Tony only wants her because he can't have her. He can't, not truly, but he can have her in his dream. Dreams are just that - snatches of desires deep in one's heart, curiosities to be fulfilled, paths not taken.

"We could sit somewhere more comfortable than a kitchen table, to start. I don't know my way around your house, though, and I don't want to get turned around in a closet when I'm trying to kiss you. You're going to have to lead me where you want me to go."

Sansa supposes that could have more than one meaning and she's also aware that the projection of herself in Tony's brain right now hasn't just delivered a child, isn't worried about a thousand things at once - and no one has paid attention to her like this. Tyrion loves her truly and deeply. She shouldn't be infatuated with anyone because she's so happy, yes, but she's never had the chance to be infatuated with anyone either. It's harmless to have a dream.

"What do you dream about, Tony Stark? Do I haunt them?"

In a closet must have sounded like some fun to Tony, because he started to laugh then and let his hands drop to find hers, pulling them against his chest in a knot with his wrists braced between her and the chest plate he knew was going to keep him from feeling the press of them. The liminality of this place tugged at the edges of his awareness, making Tony uncertain what would happen if they crossed a threshold, if they would end up in the room he knew was beyond that door and had passed through a million times at the Avengers Mansion, or somewhere else entirely, as something else entirely. It was a future he had no vision of, for once, making him shiver and capture her lips again briefly, but maybe that was best for both of them.

"You're in my head well before I start dreaming, Sansa Stark," he assured her, then used his hold on her hands to tug her up out of her seat and away from the table with him with a grin, leading as directed. Walking confidently backward, completely sure of this space, he brought one of her hands to his shoulder to take her around the waist, pulling them cheek to cheek. "And I could never picture you this divinely. I worry that you're...cautious. Inaccessible," he said, which might have been true, but wasn't an accurate reflection of the way Sansa always welcomed him so easily, like they were familiar before they had met through the strange bond of their name, and left Tony sure that this Sansa wasn't entirely his own creation. "I want--" he stuttered, biting his lip and breathing carefully; that wasn't a problem here, he could drink the champagne, those weren't his shackles yet. More confidently, he growled with a laugh in his throat, "I want to serve a Queen in control." She wasn't quite that dream, either, she made that clear by encouraging him to lead, but Tony knew he wasn't going to be able to admit that outside of this space.

Sansa is surprised to hear that answer. She's felt a strange pull toward him since she met him, even back on Risa when she had been so pregnant she could barely walk. She doesn't feel that way now, in this dream. In the dream, she feels beautiful and ethereal in a grey silk dress with her hair piled atop her head. Still - she doesn't see Tony as the type to want a woman to take control when he's so forward with her normally.

"I could have you serve, if you wanted it. It's been a while since I've been a queen but I suppose I could remember. After all, if you need to pledge fealty, I am happy to accept it."

Sansa presses her lips to his ear and whispers hot. "Do you want to be on your knees for me, Tony Stark? To do my bidding? I've never done this before but I'm sure I could figure it out along the way."

The divulgence was not meant to come with the suggestion that he would be any less forward or impossibly unwieldy; those weren't habits that were going to be so easy to break. It only took a brief hitch of his breath at the warmth of her voice before Tony was laughing again and slipping away from Sansa. "If I was on my knees, you wouldn't be standing for very long," he promised. He had waltzed them back across the room to a set of glass doors at the other end, facing out onto a dark, high-walled back yard, the moon reflecting off the tranquil surface of a pool. As he opened the door and tugged Sansa through it, though, they weren't greeted by the dense, muggy air of a summer night in New York City, but the sharp chill of a concrete basement, cutting Tony's giggles short. He hadn't changed, like he suspected he might, but they seemed to have skipped the outdoor part of this trip entirely, possibly not fitting inside the confines of the dreamscape, to make it to his house and garage a few feet away from where the rest of the team slept in the main Mansion. He went, "Hm," thoughtfully, this was where he would have gone next, and gathered Sansa close again with his gaze lingering over her shoulder as he dropped his head to kiss the pale curve of it. The length of the space was darkened, most of the light pooling from the single lamp curved over the couch to his side that he had fallen asleep in a thousand times, barely glinting off of the polished fenders of the line of cars and the chrome fixtures of his workbench. "How's this?" he eventually checked, nudging her toward the seating area.

The landscape is mutable and shifts into a different shape, changes into something that feels more like home for Tony than it'd be for anyone else. Sansa doesn't recognize half of what's inside the garage; cars are something she's heard people talk about but she's never actually seen one for herself. There's a bit of a gleam, though, and she can see that they're glossy and bright even if it's cool and dark here just now.

She closes her eyes and inhales sharply when he kisses her neck and she's still imagining how it felt when he guides her toward the couch. Perhaps she shouldn't be going along with this but, again, it's clearly a dream and she's allowed to indulge her curiosities and wants in a dream.

"This is perfect," she murmurs. "Come close to me and tell me more about how you'd knock me from my feet, hmm? I confess, I am quite curious."

He might have been distracted, but Tony had finely tuned senses for that gasp and was already chasing it as she drew his focus and he crowded Sansa back against the arm of the couch. With a hand around her back, pressed under her shoulder blades, Tony balanced her upright even as he tipped her back to ghost the tickle of his beard along the line of her collar before he was nuzzling light kisses up her throat. At this height in her heels, Tony barely had to stoop to slip one finger through the slit up the leg of her dress, rubbing his thumb against the silk as he gathered it against his knuckles to hitch up her hip and let his palm spread against her warm skin in his hold. "And ruin the surprise? Please," he started to laugh again as he nosed his way along her jaw to find another sweet spot to press his lips. "You'd let me bowl you over right now," he pointed out, his grin sharp under her ear, and leaned them further over, the couch pressing the back of her knees.

He's not wrong about being bowled over, considering Sansa is overwhelmed by everything going on just now. It's so much sensation all at once and her breath comes quickly as her body tries to decide whether to pay attention to his lips at her throat or his palm spread against her thigh. He's won this one, even if she rarely likes to concede battles, and all she can do is make another soft, wordless sound in agreement.

She does manage to slip one arm around his waist and slip the other up so that her fingers can play at the nape of his neck, sliding upward to card through his hair. She tips her head so he has more access and sighs again, her body trembling.

"I've never...like this. No one did it like this."

Without anything else to connect the thoughts, Tony would have guessed Sansa meant sweeping her off her feet, but that left him unsure what to do with 'I've never...'. They hadn't done much yet at all, unless she meant the tenuous threads of the dream, or the one-sided seduction it allowed her to take part in, or maybe-- "What, should we get married first?" he chuckled. He couldn't hold being a little old-fashioned against her, she was very much from a different time, but he wasn't going to make it easy for her to agree to a break for a quick trip to the courthouse. He took her invitation quickly to taste his way back down her neck, hand pushing up between her shoulders to dip her dangerously back as he skipped over her collarbone to scatter his attention across her chest with another huff of a laugh as his anchoring foot slid on the concrete.

Sansa tries to make an indignant noise at going to get married because that is absolutely not what she meant but it turns into another gasp when Tony's lips slide down her neck and to her chest. What she'd meant was that she'd never been seduced before, not that she'd needed to be married for him to kiss her. They're past all of that now.

"The teasing...the...all of this," Sansa manages. Normally eloquent, she's far from it right now. Normally she's quite capable of expressing herself but she's distracted from that in all the best ways. She shifts a bit, thighs pressing together for relief.

"You know."

It was clear that Tony absolutely did not know as he lifted his head, his expression a delighted puzzle and not sure exactly how to pursue it further without sharpening Sansa's focus too much to lose his hold on this new vague incoherence he was starting to revel in. Instead, he balanced his knee next to her hip on the arm of the couch as a fulcrum to have a loose control as he tipped them over it, hand firm on her back to keep her from falling ahead of him, the other sliding quickly with her dress to grip the top of her hip. She was a married woman, she had managed to make a kid, Tony didn't know what part of this was unfamiliar territory to her except maybe his snickering as he landed in the cushions on his elbow to keep carefully from collapsing into her. This was definitely a worse position than sitting at a kitchen table, but an irresistible one with her head back on the couch to shift up and steal a far less chaste kiss from her lips.

Sansa can't talk anymore because now she's kissing his mouth and it's easier and easier to part her lips under his the longer the dream goes on. Everything feels deliciously warm but in spite of that, she feels as if her hair is standing on end. Everything is strange and wonderful all at once.

Sansa reaches her hand down where his touches her hip and she covers the back of his hand with her own, pressing her fingers against his so that she can twine their hands together. She doesn't stop the kiss, either, until she has to break away to breathe and just as she does, she catches his lower lip with her teeth lightly.

"What do you want?" she asks, her own voice soft and her eyes even softer as she looks at him. Normally, she'd be noticing any number of details because the way she gets advantage is to read a person and their mood but just now she doesn't have any thoughts other than what the next good feeling is going to be. "Everything? You could have everything."

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