revivalproject | neck of the woods

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neck of the woods

WHO: Tony and his new Graq friends. Open to other absolute morons.
WHERE: Graq homeworld
WHAT: Jungle adventures! Some animal wrangling, some spelunking, more mistakes, and a date.
WHEN: Shortly after getting all of the Graq home.
WARNINGS: I cannot promise all of these alien animals are going to be treated with dignity. Edit: I don't know what either of us expected, of course it is horny. Uh, not with the animals, the animals are fine.

a. The caverns [OTA! I have no plan for this, BYO Adventure]
One of the Graq had explained on the trip over how the satellites around their planet orbited in perfect alignment to create a solar eclipse every cycle, sheering through the light reliably every morning like the moon was late to set and met the sun coming up on the horizon. They didn't explain it quite that way, of course; at first, Tony though the Graq didn't know that a solar cycle happened on any other planets and was trying to explain what night was to him, which became frustrating enough for the alien to spit a hole into the ship floor between them. So, Tony's effortless charm didn't work in Graq language. While the Graq lacked the descriptive words to convey their message to Tony, when he finally saw the phenomenon occur he paused and went, "Oh," out loud, though his erstwhile planetary guide had long since tired of him. The great shadow of the moon passed over the planet, and with it the raucous chattering of the forest around him slowed and quieted to a very queer stillness, the nocturnal animals not yet awake and the diurnal ones holding their collective breath at this early evening. It made the sound that came from inside the cave just a few feet away from where Tony stood seem loud, and close.

b. The hills [For Cayde, but you are welcome to join]
There wasn't a perfect translation into any languages that Tony knew he might share with Cayde for the giant fowl on the planet, so when the Graq tried to describe them when asked what they were eating, what Tony said to Cayde was, "Big feather," with a shrug and raised lip. They lived on steep hills, one of the Graq very intently tried to explain despite Tony definitely not asking, because they built their nests into holes they dug into them, and because of this their eggs were incredibly hard to crack without Graq spit, so do not bother. Tony did not need this warning and, again, did not ask, but now he knew and was well prepared to announce, "Big feather egg," when they came upon what looked like shards of a hollowed rock at the foot of a craggy hill. Now he was starting to sound like one of them, he was integrating to the local culture in ways he did not appreciate. The nests, as described, dotted all the way up the hill, looking like steps built into the sheerest face of it, leaving the impression of a pyramid built into this less dense part of the jungle.

'Big feather' sounded like it was going to get Tony closer to the pillow he had hoped to find for Jon than the noodles he had hoped to get for Cayde, and upon spotting one of those birds, Tony was ready to accept that this planet was not going to produce either of these gifts for him. These people didn't yet seem to have their own bread, let alone noodle, and when the Graq had said 'big' they meant enormous. More of a sword than a feather. Not pillowy down, anyway. It went stalking across the steep hill expertly, long legs fully extended and navigating the angle with sharp claws digging in to the rock to balance its fat, bobbling body, head twitching and blinking stupidly like a chicken, only approximately the size of a dinosaur.

"I don't say this often," Tony started, and it already sounded like a lie, haughty with his chin raised as he tracked the unreasonable bird, "but I am confident I am the most beautiful thing on this planet." He definitely did say that more often than he deserved to, but in this case he had sound logic. Graq were ugly, these birds were ugly, based on this sample this whole planet's evolution tended toward squashy and wrong-sized. "Present company an ongoing consideration," he was willing to allow.

c. The water [For Jon, but you are still welcome]
This was an ideal environment for plenty of very ugly bugs and grubs. Frogs, generously. Insects, in general, were not hugely upsetting for Tony, with the distinct exception of anything cockroach-like, but he did prefer a more sterile, modern, less bug-centric experience, if it were up to him, and he was realizing that he had made the wrong choice. He could have been on a spaceship right now, in space, on a ship. With the exception of the unique mineral compound of the malleable stones, there wasn't much to Tony's taste on this primitive planet.

The locals, obviously, being local and made for this environment, loved it, and appreciated being returned safely despite the awkward introductions. With a few of their rescuers on the planet with them, the Graq decided it was an ideal time to celebrate the reunion of their families, and these strange, hairless bipeds that had made that happen for them. "They want us to join them at sunset," he had translated to the camp of He-Rows, "by the waterfall, they say is over there. Follow the river, can't miss it, it's water, it's not confusing. I don't think they're going to eat us, but don't quote me on that."

Bugs on any planet, it was a universal truth, got worse the closer it was to dusk. Tony crouched by the river as the sun went down, trying to remain curious about what this planet had to offer as he felt the waxy leaf of a vibrant lilypad in a cluster that didn't seem bothered by the meandering water, only to be smacked in the face by what he would assume to be a moth on Earth, and what he didn't want to think too hard about here. "This is a nightmare," he grumbled, wiping at his cheek to make sure it hadn't left anything behind, then glanced up at the distant sound of drumming music from the direction of what must have been this waterfall site. Fashionably late, as ever.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For the most part Jon replies with some flustered muttering, barely even attempting to formulate a reasonable complaint. It's only half as effective if he can't glare at the person he complains to. Also this is Tony. And by now Jon can tell that he is but teasing. Especially in obvious cases like this one. But getting teased... Well. There still is an element of embarrassment in it. Elements Tony appears to enjoy picking on. He's also remarkably good at it.

And despite everything, Jon can't ignore the reassurance offered by those two arms wrapping around him. Jon could dwell in that assurance for an undetermined amount of time. But then Tony moves his hands, which brings a slightly curious shift to Jon's posture. "You're impossible." He finally manages, though with hardly any conviction in his voice and words. He's only saying it for the sake of having put together some actual words.

Those weak words also won't do him much as Tony's hand make him flinch with a short, involuntary noise Jon tries rather hard to bite off by pressing his face down against whichever part of Tony his face meets first. Tickling him in the dark? Feels unfair.

It was Tony's turn to hum, "Mmhmm...?," that he turned against Jon's hair again as he tried to bury his traitorous voice, more inquisitive than Jon's had been and Tony's smirk still unmistakable in his murmuring, obviously honoured by the accusation, making the noise mean only one possible question, what are you going to do about it?. It did get him to pause his assault, spreading his hands over Jon's back again to give Jon the chance to consider, but it wasn't much of a chance. Tony was already talking again, back to the serious connoisseur, "That one I'd call more of a squeak, not quite as satisfying in its depth and gone far too soon. Not the richest of the collection, but does whet one's appetite."

Tony's question is met with a little grumble and he does, indeed, consider what he can possibly do about Tony's silly commentary. Before he has come to a decision, however, Tony keeps going and Jon all but huffs against the man's shoulder.

There's no way he's going to protest those hands on his back, and there may be a way to get Tony to shut up at least briefly. Jon moves his hand to get a hold on Tony's shoulder and pull himself up with a stubborn little exhale of "Never liked performance reviews..." As he speaks, his hand shifts to find the side of Tony's face again, his thumb brushing against the edge of Tony's smirk briefly before Jon presses his lips on Tony's ever restless ones in an attention demanding kiss.

Tony's fingers flexed and stuttered on Jon's back, and he went very still beneath him, like he expected Jon to kill him well before he kissed him. While Tony hadn't exactly come to terms with the idea that Jon wasn't interested in Tony's physical attention, he was definitely going through the stages of grief and had convinced himself that every kiss they shared before was stolen and yet another way Tony hadn't been treating him properly. He was going to have to move before Jon changed his mind, and gave a short gasp against Jon's lips that had him making a, frankly, embarrassing and needy sound in his throat that he would have tormented Jon for. Maybe Jon had killed him, and this was the merciful sensation Tony's dying brain clung to. Pressing eagerly into the kiss was like releasing a breath Tony didn't realize he had been holding in agonizing yearning since Jon had retreated from his workshop, and Tony drew a hand back up his spine to curl his fingers once again at the nape of Jon's neck with another sharp breath and hopeful part of his lips.

The noise Tony makes has Jon raise a curious brow - An expression lost to the darkness. He still takes the knowledge that this is a sound he has made Tony make. And it's that knowledge that brings a small grin to his own lips, occupied as they are, and he readily accepts the invitation to deepen the kiss further, not quite able to hold back that little, fond chuckle. His hand wanders up further as well, fingers burrowing in Tony's dark hair. It's his other hand that slips down from Tony's shoulder and his side, pausing about halfway. The feeling of that golden suit isn't nearly the same as touching human flesh and Jon interrupts the kiss with a low, remotely irritated huff but not pulling away much. Just enough to frown into the darkness and tap his fingers against Tony's side. For half a moment he considers how to properly phrase his request, then decides he doesn't really care as long as Tony understands what he mans when he breathes the words against the other man's lips. "Do me a favor and- Take that off. Please."

Too much, Tony interpreted that huff, time to back off, but with Jon lingering so close and his hand travelling down Tony's side, Tony could curl his under Jon's jaw to scratch through the burr of his beard, then sweep his thumb over Jon's cheek as he chased Jon's lips and pressed another kiss to his frown, then the corner of his mouth, okay, he could stop. By the time Jon had worked out his request, Tony was mumbling over him, "You don't have to--oh." The politeness really wasn't necessary, the suit under Jon's hand melting away immediately like wax under a hot flame. This was not the time for Tony to test his limits, not when he shifted and urged Jon closer to press every revealed inch of skin to skin like a puzzle, and it was dark enough, he probably couldn't see the scar, Tony rationalized rapidly, as long as he didn't touch it; Tony was really losing it. He only hesitated then, the undersuit clinging to him in silky patches and rivulets following the line of his muscles that shivered in unsure transition, the ports on his skin feeling vulnerably open, and he worked a restless hand through Jon's hair as he tried to work out if this was some kind of game he was supposed to be playing, because Jon must have known Tony didn't have nearly the same capacity for patience as he did. If it was a game, Sunset would have been darkly satisfied to hear it anyway, maybe that was Jon's ploy, so Tony admitted, "Sweetheart, boss, Jon, I can't, listen, you've been naked and all over me for a decade now, by my calculations, I think I've been doing okay, but I've got about ten more seconds in me before I'm going to have to go."

No, the politeness is necessary. As is the little ’Thank you.’ Jon mutters against Tony’s lips once he feels his hand touching warm skin and his fingers resume their downwards travel for a few more inches before moving back up again.

He is more than willing to resume the kiss as well, yet hesitates when Tony speaks, pulling his head back enough to wet his own lips. Huh. “I was rather hoping for you to stay here. With me. Especially now that... The playing field is... You know. Even.” And he punctuates his words by finally picking that interrupted kiss back up.

Between that reassurance and the skim of Jon's fingers over his ribs making Tony flinch, his giddy grin was back, the last of the nanoweb disappearing under his skin and taking his cautious tension with it. He rather wanted to stay, too, it didn't take any convincing, which Tony hoped was obvious enough in the way he pulled his arm around Jon's shoulders again and tangled their legs together to hitch him closer, because he wasn't quite ready to let Jon break away from him and leave him wanting again. This proved unsustainable as Tony tried to use the hold to flip them over, so Jon didn't have to hold himself up and Tony could kiss more of him, wrestling against the resistance to this idea that the hammock seemed to have until he had them tipped over, haphazardly on his shoulder with Jon cushioned on his arm and knee curled over Jon's hip, and was snorting a laugh instead. The thread of anxiety that wound through him when he thought Jon wasn't interested in any part of this might have been gone, but another tugged at his smile then, making Tony try to find his comfort in another soft kiss before he could finally say, "I thought you didn't want any of this, you didn't really do it, so..." It wasn't quite a question, but Tony used his free hand to push back against the blanket behind Jon, trying to give him the space for Tony to meet his eye in the dark. If he was just going to regret it again, and leave again, Tony could really use a softer landing this time with at least a little bit of warning. The Graq had proven they knew how to party, the likelihood that there was something fermented over by that fire for Tony to pour his self-loathing into was very high.

The switch of their positions gets a small sound of surprise from Jon, but that one isn’t nearly en par with his earlier scream or in the range of his more protesting noises. In fact, he quite approves of the change. It allows him to move his hands more freely, which he is quick to make use of by wrapping them
Around Tony, holding him close while looking up into the darkness where he can make out the other man’s vague shape.

Tony’s words are answered with a soundless raised brow and a small, thoughtful exhale before Jon reaches for some words. This could be an entire can of words if discussed at a different time, but right now? He will rather keep himself short. “Rarely.” Jon agrees, but then adds: “Which doesn’t mean I am... Actively avoiding. It’s simply not an attraction I... Feel often?” Did he phrase that okay? The set of fingers on Tony’s back at least are traveling up the now revealed skin thoughtfully and Tony may feel Jon shrug slightly before he adds a little chuckle. “I hope that makes sense...”

"Nope," Tony admitted with a laugh, glad to hear Jon's in the dark as well despite the unfamiliar, unsure tone; not that he didn't follow what Jon was saying, he did understand what Jon meant. It was just as alien to Tony as Jon not really needing to breathe, or eat, or sleep. Alright, maybe Tony wouldn't die like he would if he stopped eating, but the hunger pangs weren't far off, and he nosed along Jon's jaw to nip with that hunger at his throat as he explained with his fangy grin, "I feel it constantly." Also an abridged version of a more complicated situation; they probably, definitely should talk about it, eventually. Sometime after Tony figured out how he felt about Jon's touch wandering up his bare back, making him shiver as it brushed against a deep itch that never seemed to go away after so long hiding it under the chestplate, but coming dangerously closer to the lightning web of scars--overwhelmed, Tony decided, he felt overwhelmed about it, making him shift again to stretch out on his side with his back pressed against the curve of the blanket, and take Jon's exploring hand by the wrist to bring it between them where he could kiss Jon's fingers instead.

Scars. They both have their fair share of those, but Jon has never been one to judge by appearance. At the same time he will respect others feeling uncomfortable with theirs. He has his moments of feeling uncomfortable about his own after all. Especially when reminded of the events that have left him with said scars.

"....constantly." Jon echoes with a mutter, the blush audible in his voice, though he is still glad for the darkness. And to his credit he doesn't flinch away or pull his hand back when Tony casts his affection over it. Instead, he moves his other hand to travel down Tony's side almost thoughtfully before coming to rest on his hip. One of his fingers trails idly in place for a moment. "What if we tire you out? Hypothetically." Of course. Even those particular urges can't last indefinitely, right?

This was not an affliction that Tony had considered curing, even when Jon was at his most distant and Tony was painfully pining for something he couldn't have; adoring him and wanting to touch him were part of the same package, Tony thought, and extracting one was not worth losing the other, but hearing Jon be the one to suggest testing those limits made Tony chuckle again in surprise. That was supposed to be Tony's job. "Is that a scientific proposal?," he asked, pressing Jon's hand to the blanket so he could sidle closer, until he could trace the line of Jon's nose with the tip of his own. "My learned hypothesis is that there isn't a thing you could do to make me tired of tasting every part of you," he offered, as a professional colleague, obviously, walking his fingers down Jon's ribs and across his stomach where Tony would have been pressing kisses instead an hour ago if he wasn't pretty sure trying to shift them into that position as quickly as he usually worked would tip them both onto the ground. He had to settle for mirroring the touch in whispering brushes of his lips to Jon's, and he continued, "But I am more than happy to participate in any experiments you're considering, the data will be incredibly enlightening."

Somehow talking about this as if they were about to conduct some scientific research hits a part in Jon he hasn’t even been aware of having and it results in a sputtering exhale from the Archivist before he bites his lip, suddenly hyper aware of those fingers playfully tapping along his skin. At least Tony can’t see the embarrassment in his face. Though he may be aware of Jon’s fingers digging a little harder into his hip.

“Fuck...” Is literally all Jon manages to mutter before quickly pushing his head up and his lips against Tony’s imploringly to keep himself from saying more embarrassing stuff.

That reaction was hard to read like this, and even harder to pinpoint what exactly had done it, but the full effect had Tony smiling into the kiss with a breathy laugh, hot down to his curling toes from the press of Jon's fingers and sound of his voice. Gladly keeping Jon's mouth occupied with an inviting tease of his tongue, he experimentally chased that sound again by bowing more space between them to continue the tapping tease of his fingertips down the line of Jon's stomach, then back up over his side, turning from wandering promises to a calculated mapping as Tony searched for a sensitive flinch. Those were easy for Tony to find when he wasn't even trying, though, and the heady slide of Jon's lips on his own was quickly dismantling Tony's focus, making him glide his hand the rest of the way up Jon's back to hug close around his shoulder, and melt dreamily into the blanket with a purr of pleasure.

Jon has to fight the reflex to grab that teasing and tickling hand a few times when Tony's finger press a spot that either make him flinch involuntarily or plain gasp into the kiss. He sure appreciates the distraction those lips offer. Even the more embarrassing sounds he could make are swallowed at least in part.

Or at least most of them. It's not quite as successful at masking the little jump Jon makes that has him wrap one of his legs around one of Tony's and keep it trapped like that. Keeping another bit of Tony close while Tony pulls him close and appears to try fusing them together while undoing Jon with that low purr of his that sends various shivers down his spine. Where has his hand slipped off to? Right. That one has moved from its position on Tony's hip and inevitably has found itself on the other man's well-sculpted ass.

The last time Jon had tried to cop a feel was when he thought he was being slick tucking his designs into Tony's pocket, Tony was pretty sure, so while the touch had made his back stiffen attentively at first, that errant thought had Tony giggling again, not as adept at swallowing that sound. It was cut off by Tony's gasp and soft, needy moan as the muscles under Jon's hand flexed and Tony used that tangle of their legs to pull as he pushed his hips against Jon, torn between the friction he sought between the hard jut of Jon's hip and soft press of his stomach, and rocking back into his hand. Rutting against him was definitely the right call, not sure if he had even made it the ten seconds he gave himself to get hard at the catch of their naked skin in the dark, and the touch against Jon's stomach eagerly wet from every hitch of Jon's breath. Tony had to grasp at Jon's bicep to encourage him not to stop with another laugh, the motion igniting the sparks of impatience under his skin, making him want everything at once. Whispered absently against Jon's lips, staccato around chaste kisses and grasping at vague threads of conversation for something to say, Tony teased, "That's a good start--is that your plan, take your time? Confirmed, subject is already exhausted, can't take another second, this is absolutely intolerable, good work, doctor."

The laugh hardly registers with Jon, too distracted by the following moan that makes him bite back his own little gasp at least for a short while. Tony moving his hips against him year away what restraint Jon manages to hold on to and he leans his head back against the soft fabric releasing a low noise from somewhere at the back of his throat, the hand on Tony’s backside urging his hip against him as he rocks his own up and against whichever part of the other man he may rub up against.

He tips his head back down only to feel Tony’s lips on and near his own again, and Jon treats the man to a little, breathy huff before he responds. “This— This is not a race, Tony—-“ He is cut off by another move of Tony’s hips against his stomach, making Jon well aware of just how needy Tony is getting. He can’t help but give a small, pleased hum that trails off into a sigh. “Just don’t stop...”

The suggestion made Tony grin again, ready to push, they could make it a race, but after what felt like a lifetime of trying to make himself cautiously wait for more guidance from Jon in the dark--not very successfully, he was working on it--it didn't feel like it would be as satisfying to be resistant to don't stop, not willing to find out that Jon's frustration might make him even less vocal. Instead, he encouraged, "Like that?," for more as he made himself push slowly, slowly against Jon with a shaky breath, and nosed under his chin to coax his head back again to kiss the answer from his throat. There was only so much of his own patience he could fight against, and Tony's hands wandered restlessly, gliding over Jon's shoulder to trace a thumb along his neck, and tickling down his waist to flex over his hip, until Tony had teased and pushed enough to pull Jon's thigh up against his side. Unable to see him as well like this, Jon definitely fell more wiry than he looked delicate, but Tony still couldn't bring himself to match Jon's grab, encouraging more carefully along the tender underside of his thigh to match his pull of Tony's hips.

At some point during this tangling of limbs Tony must have grown additional arms, because his hands seem to be everywhere and all at once and Jon just can't be bothered to count. Not when Tony makes a valid effort to make his mind go blank with that slow, deliberate grind of sensitive flesh on sensitive flesh that has Jon's head fall back with a gasp before he utters something nonsensical that can be a swear, a plea or anything in and between. A more comprehensible response follows after Jon has thrown one of his arms over Tony's shoulder to cling to the man's neck and upper back, the other moves up from Tony's butt to hold him close around his lower back and both of his legs shift just enough to wrap his feet and lower legs around Tony's bottom instead, using those instead of his hand to urge him even closer.

"Good start..." Is what Jon acknowledges with a breathy voice, head tilting back to allow him to briefly nuzzle Tony's forehead before finishing the sentence in a fresh mutter accompanied by with a couple of fingers slowly shifting back up Tony's neck to slip into his hair. "...now stop holding back."

Tony would take that as high praise, shifting like he might meet Jon's lips for it but distracted by every spark of sensation down his body, to press that wet kiss behind Jon's ear and back down his neck. A drop of sweat tickling its way along his chest felt electric, and Tony realized he didn't know when he had gone from shivering cold to scorching hot in every place his skin seemed to stick to Jon's. Not holding back was easier said than done in this position, though, even with Tony curling one hand under Jon's shoulder for leverage as he searched for a satisfying pace of the grind of their bodies together; the other smoothed along his thigh, fitting a thumb along the hollow of his hip to try to spread him wider, trying to match the contact with the roll of his hips, only to push his hand up Jon's waist and tuck under his back to try to arch him closer instead. Tony whined his frustration, squirming in that narrow range that still didn't seem like enough contact, where he could feel the velvety brand of Jon's length alongside him and the press of their bodies together, and with the scrape of his teeth against the junction of Jon's shoulder murmured, "Is that good, cuore? Tell me how it feels, let me hear you."

For all the shifting, adjusting and experimenting, Tony still gets rewarded with a variety of little gasps and small yet needy whines of pleasure at every particularly pleasing move of his hips that send little lightning strikes straight to his core and have his fingers clench in Tony's hair. Jon is quite willing to spread his own legs wider, seeking more of that sensation. More of that contact. More of Tony. His feet are seeking purchase on Tony's ass now to pull his own hips up and meet Tony's grind with his own movements, adding some further friction and pressure to this hardly coordinated mix.

"-we... we're getting there." Jon tries between a gasp and a sharp inhale as his own hand slips away from Tony's back and between their bodies to take both of them into a yet loose hold. "Just remind me-- next time... to bring the lube."

Every gasp was another flutter in Tony's belly, and he was sure he could feel the hum of Jon's voice against his chest. Just the touch of Jon's hand then had him agreeing in an eager groan, "That's it--," rocking into the touch, shifting his arm down Jon's back to lift his hips instead as the other flexed around his shoulder. Absorbed in these sensations and the unmistakable taste of Jon that Tony licked from his throat, curiously clean and bitter, Tony was surprised by his own laugh at Jon's request. "Maybe keep it on you," he suggested instead, drawing his hand out to press down on Jon's shoulder instead, then sense his way down Jon's chest with a flat palm to map a path for the soft press of his lips and nip of teeth to follow now that he could bow over him. Strung precariously between each taste, murmured against Jon's skin, Tony continued, "Stay prepared for the trouble you run into in the woods, like a boyscout."

The increase of speed and intensity draw an exhale from Jon that starts sharply, then quickly softens into a staggering moan and a slight tug at the hair on the back of Tony's head. He can all but agree that this is it. At least for their current knot of limbs and sweaty bodies. Jon can feel hands and lips and teeth and skin and breath and all of it is Tony. Tony whom Jon can't see, but feel and smell and taste and hear and Jon just wants to wrap himself in it all and just for a moment pretend there isn't anything else.

Jon may or may not be blushing at Tony's suggestion about staying prepared for the troubles of the woods, but that certainly is a short chuckle from his end that trails off into a soft note of pleasure at another roll of Tony's hips into his hand and against his own flesh. "S-sound advice." And he gives Tony's hair another, a more deliberate tug. "...as long as you don't make me track you through the woods every time." There's obviously much more room for Tony's brand of trouble.

The second tug was harder to ignore and pull stubbornly back against, drawing him away from the teasing kiss he sucked into Jon's chest with a hitch in his voice that couldn't decide between complaint or pleasure. The hand he used to map his way in the dark quickly tripped down Jon's stomach to tangle their fingers together, Tony's callouses fitted along Jon's scars to squeeze tighter around where he held them together, and make Tony shiver as he acquiesced to that pull of his hair. He leaned in to Jon's hand first, one eye winked shut against it while the other hazily watched the shadows in the dark, then stretched out again to fit them back together, where he could nuzzle against Jon's neck once more, chest to chest and tangle of their hands trapped between them. "Sounds like fun to me," he purred with a laugh, shortlived and cut off by a sigh at the twist of their hands. Voice dropping lower, hot against Jon's ear, he muttered, "You'll have to make me behave, hm?"

The same twist of their hands combined with the added pressure draws a row of high-pitched noises from Jon and the hand on the back of Tony's head releases the man's hair to claw helplessly at Tony's neck instead, barely recognizing Those spoken words as such. He can tell Tony has said something. But he may well just have been making noises, low and hot against his ear and neck, firing shivers down his spine. Jon can only assume that Tony is well aware of what his voice is capable of doing, but this isn't something Jon finds his own mind in the correct place to properly analyze. Not at this moment anyway. Not when his hips rock up into their hands seemingly on their own accord and he finds himself unraveling rapidly.

Something something behave. Right. Right. There isn't much in terms of behaving at the moment and Jon might be inclined to point that out if it weren't for his insides to start imploding at the building tension that threatens to pull him apart any moment now.

"...Tony-!" And that's the one word Jon manages in warning. It's only a matter of moments before his mind is bound to snap into complete incoherence now.

neck of the woods

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