Justin wouldn't have mentioned any area between his legs if he hadn't been prepared for it to be taken sexually. He expected a hand sliding down his calf, maybe. Fingers pushing his sock down as though in preparation for later that night, though Justin would really prefer to keep his socks on if he had anything to say about it. Taking a hold of one knee to open his legs further as though Justin held them closed too much, as though Tony had an obstacle to overcome. What he wasn't exactly expecting was a palm sliding over his junk. He didn't jolt, but it was obvious he hadn't taken that course of action into account if the way he gripped his smore so harshly that one cracker nearly snapped in half. He wasn't going to say anything, and really couldn't; he just crammed as much of it into his mouth as he could and looked from marshmallow to his lover holding it aloft like a spoil of war.

He doesn't say anything immediately. Oh no. He just watches him, well aware he's being ungentlemanly and that his lips are sticky and have traces of melted chocolate on them. He's as expressionless as a man eating a warm, melty little sandwich can possibly be. For a moment, it may seem like he's not going to say or do anything at all, that he's gone to a higher plane of existence until Tony tries to make his own.

But then he tilts his head at an angle that Tony should be familiar with, one that lets him lean into his neck and kiss him without compromising the cleanliness of glasses. It's quick and decisive, and if Tony doesn't move or push him off, he's going to have a stick, gooey mess of a kiss right beneath his jawline.

Sorry!