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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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Tony's next laugh was a sigh against Sansa's knee as he taunted, innocently light, "What about?" to see if just making her consider answering made her squirm again. She must have thought him capable of all manner of debauchery by now, Tony could feel it in the tension up his spine as he held himself back to the arm of the couch, carefully watching for any signal to urge him on or the first sign of regret. He took that one as an invitation to stop teasing around her slick entrance and push the first finger into the eager heat of her, breathing another sigh down her leg as he gripped his restless hand around her thigh to press his lips to her knee where he could reach. That didn't nearly satisfy his energy as she clutched around another digit, so he had to start talking again, "If I could get to sleep with you in my head, I'm sure the dreams would be incomparable. I always get to thinking, I could be with you to see your face instead, and I haven't been let down yet."

"Not...not let down by my face?" Sansa asks, trying to follow. In her defense, it's difficult because he's so very distracting and she's impossibly turned on right now. Perhaps it is all in his head or hers or some combination of both but it feels like it's real and she doesn't have many words left in her.

"You talk too much," she chides gently. "Use your mouth for other things." Gods know that she's going to, eventually, when she can return the favor. For now, she's happy to close her eyes and drift on just the sensation of his fingers pressing within her and the stream of chatter even if she'd just scolded him for it.

There wasn't a single part of that that didn't make Tony giggle, so he was still snickering as he took her very gracious advice and pushed himself up and away from the back of the couch eagerly. "Do I? That sounds like a personal problem. Never heard that one before," he was muttering as he pushed her knee back to slide back down the arm of the couch between her pale thighs, inching her forward with his knees tucked under her hips to lift off of the cushions. "I mean, you say the word, but you wouldn't believe how much I'm paid for fifteen minutes of flattery back home, you've got a steep discount," he laughed, leaning forward to give her that moment to adjust before his hold still under her leg slid down the back of her thigh, dipping his shoulder under her knee as he pulled up from under her hip. "I'll only tell you how beautiful you are when you ask," he agreed primly, letting his beard rasp over the delicate skin inside her thigh, watching and feeling in his hold on her for any cautious twitch from it.

"By the Old Gods and the New, I'm happy to talk later," Sansa says, utterly exasperated by the time he finally gets his mouth close to her. The scratch of his beard actually feels wonderful and she reaches a hand down to thread in his hair, gently guiding him to where she wants him to be. He wants a queen in control? He can have one.

Her skin is flushed and hot but there's not much she can do about it while she's still in the dress so she pushes it aside for a while and focuses on feeling good. She feels as if talking would negate her earlier point so instead she lets out little wordless sounds, higher pitched when he finds particularly nice places for his lips and fingers. She shifts restlessly, too - he isn't the only one with extra energy just now.

Tony's shoulders were still shaking with his laugh at that frustrated declaration even as he gladly bowed to Sansa' instruction, making his breath come in quick, gleeful gusts against her around the unfocused lap of his inquisitive tongue. It didn't last long, gone in the purr for the guiding hand, but the laugh still coloured the tone of the shameless murmurs and sighs he offered between every kiss and suck of her skin. If she had asked him to pick a dream, the answer probably wouldn't have come easy to his impatiently curious mind, but now that he could taste her with an arm wrapped around her there was no doubt what the only choice was. It made him clench his hands eagerly with every twitch of an ardent shiver that drew his stomach taut, the hold he draped around her waist drawing Sansa eagerly closer before spreading his restless fingers under the silk of her dress to hold against her stomach under her ribs where he could feel every breath and beat of her heart. Relentlessly, he chased them faster, following every gasp to feel the kiss of her thighs squeezed around him and the flutter under his tongue.

Perhaps it's because it's a dream but everything seems to happen faster than Sansa expects it to. She had expected it to take a while because she is shy with her body but apparently not so much this time. She flexes her toes and her spine arches a bit as she bites off a long moan.

Her body clamps down on Tony's fingers for a few, blissful moments and when she relaxes, she feels the soft haze of orgasm still drifting over her. She just manages to ruffle his hair a bit as she tries to catch her breath.

"You can talk again if you want," she whispers, too happy to not give him what he wants.

Tony wasn't eager to let her go just like that, slowly drawing both hands over the ridges of her hips and ghosting delicate kisses from thigh to thigh with absent touches of his tongue for any oversensitive twitches he could coax out of her before she got enough breath back to shoo him off. The ruffle to his hair was enough to get him to giggle again, though, and he took advantage of her pliant ease instead to readjust, pushing back against the arm of the couch and slouching his weight to the side against the back of it, one arm draped along the cushions again to drop his head to his shoulder, the other hand still petting from her thigh up her stomach with minute, probing touches of his fingertips like he was tracing her tendons. "Oh, thank you for this grace, my lady," he smirked. "I would be drowning in the silence without you. Let me tell you then, you are miles more satisfying than that cake, I'm glad we didn't waste any more time on it. Cap can have it."

"I regret my decision to let you talk," Sansa says, but there's no bite in it. She feels too good to go after him the way she normally does and, frankly, she's comfortable right here.

"I have to wonder why we came here and not your bedroom. I've only ever done it in a bed. I always thought up against a wall might be nice, though. I don't know if people can manage that way but you'd feel nice and caged in. Protected." Sansa waits a beat.

"I'm talking too much aren't I?"

They were here because this was where Tony would have gone next in the memory, but he did look around the room thoughtfully because it was a fair point; he didn't often let other people in this space if he could help it, here or at the Tower. If anyone wasn't immediately dismissed and barred, it was either Rhodey or Pepper, or an Avenger experiencing a crisis, exclusively. Tony didn't really need to give her an answer, though, because Sansa had more pressing concerns, earning a sidelong look that only narrowed wickedly in the pause, curious how she would back away from it.

"Not at all," he corrected. "In fact, you're going to love this, I've got four of them." He gestured, very vaguely, wrist still against the couch, to the convenient room around them in case Sansa hadn't noticed.

"Most rooms do," Sansa says, grinning just a bit. I'm afraid this lovely dress is going to tear, though. Do you hsve something that I can change into where we won't have the risk?"

Sansa really, really wants to keep this dress.

"It wouldn't take long to change, I promise. I just need to be a little more flexible, I think."

That...didn't make as much sense to Tony. His narrow scrutiny became one of confusion, smile twisting as he tried to follow the purpose of this request before he found he just had to ask. "You're aware," he started, hand out flat, establishing the baseline that he thought they were both working with, as he leaned forward, shifting to brace himself on his hands where he could look down at Sansa, "that the dress isn't real, right? Doesn't matter if it tears. I'll buy you a new one. Also..." Taking his weight on one hand, he tickled his fingers along her shoulder to push a silky strap aside, following it down her chest, "What kind of costume are you proposing? I wasn't under the impression that we were at the point that we were putting more clothes on, I'm, honestly, feeling a little self-conscious about that performance now."

"Oh! Gods no, you were wonderful," Sansa assures him. "I just don't...naked. Usually. I wear a nightgown."

It sounds stupid when she starts talking about it though and the pink that was in her cheeks to begin with just gets worse and worse. Sansa swallows a bit and tries to figure out how to get her way out of this without being more stupid or unintentionally ruining a good moment.

"I wasn't doing the thing where I give you a barb after you tease me. I genuinely wear nightgowns. And, well..." Sansa softens her voice. "I forgot it was a dream. It was that good."

The praise as the laugh elicited from the phrase 'I don't naked' was enough to slow Tony's teasing, leaving a kiss abandoned at the draped collar of the dress for Tony to shift up again instead and offer a grin for Sansa's blush. "Let's see what we can do," he allowed, rolling off of the couch. There might have been a nightgown somewhere in the house to offer her, but Tony couldn't really guarantee where they would end up if they passed through a door again, and he was already about to explode. Instead, he grabbed up his jacket from the floor before offering Sansa a hand to pull her to her feet as well and drape it over her shoulders with a smile. "Ruin that as much as you like," he purred, hands slipping down her shoulders under the sleeves to drag the straps of the dress down her arms.

Sansa rolls her shoulders and lets the jacket fall back to the floor. She doesn't know if her scars show here in this dream and she wants him to see her and know her body. Perhaps the light is low enough that he won't see everything or perhaps he simply won't care. The worst of them are on her back anyway and the ones on her torso aren't as bad.

"No. I want you to see," Sansa says firmly. "I never get to have my...well, you know. My breasts."

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