Justin knows there's no "maybe" about it. He knows that what Tony says it what he means, and that if he has it in his mind to do something, it'll be done. Come hell or high water, Tony will find a way to do it. He hadn't thought orbiting the Earth would be something that anyone could get without years of training, but then again—he hadn't though to do it. He had the same resources, and if he'd wanted to do it at some point in his life, he probably would have done it. He just hadn't really thought much about making a trip to space that only the wealthiest of people could afford. But Tony had heard I would die to go to space in Justin's talks about stars and space camp, and he'd gotten the idea in his head that they would go. He'd gotten that idea, he'd gone through a process, and it had happened.
Not everyone could do that. Afford it, plan it, certainly not. But to get a single idea in their head and go through with it without needing any prompting? It wasn't that people couldn't do it so much as they didn't have it in them to actually do it; they wouldn't do it.
In less than a year, Tony had done things around Justin that had firmly destroyed his public persona. Sometimes, Justin found him self-absorbed, but he wasn't any more focused on himself than the next person. He found him to be one of the, strangely, least selfish people he'd ever run across in their circle. He'd found him to be devastatingly kind and patient, and those were two things that Justin Hammer had never thought possible. Not when it came on the tail end of a name that had worn him raw and blistered so many times before.
So what if he hadn't informed him of his actual reason behind the visit when he was sick? Justin still thought—even if he never said it out loud or Tony personally—he was a pretty damn good man.
He's not really focused on that aspect of Tony, however. At least, not at the moment. He could stop to say something, but he won't. He has no intentions of stopping until Tony's come down his throat unless he tells him to. Short of an earthquake, there's nothing that could get him to stop. Looking up as he is is something that's more for Tony than anyone else, considering Justin can't actually see him without any visual aid. He'd be blurry on a good day. On a night where there's nothing more than starlight, moonlight, and fire? It won't ever happen. He knows that much. He knows Tony knows that. But when he looks up, he tries to make eye contact as best he can. He can recognize the general placement of the face above him, but his eyes may be a fraction of a centimeter off. He can't help it. It's not something he can control. But he looks up for the sole purpose of Tony being able to see it, being able to get a full picture and know that Justin wants to be there. He's not doing it out of some sense of duty, some sort of idea that being together makes him obligated to get on his knees whenever Tony gets hard. It's not that.
In less than a year, Justin's not only come to a strange, unexpected new understanding of Tony. He's come to a strange, unexpected desire to have his cock in his mouth whenever possible. If asked, he'd try to explain it as best he could. Tony was more than free to ask what it was that made Justin so eager and willing to get on his knees at his age. His answer, however, would probably end up with a need to be fulfilled not long after it, so Justin hadn't thought to volunteer the information often, and not in too much detail. One day in Belize—a day where he'd slept ten hours straight after spending the majority of the night restless—he'd given him a brief rundown of the situation as Justin saw it. Maybe that had been enough for Tony. Maybe he'd ask. Maybe Justin would go into it on his own. He didn't know.
He did know, however, that "maybe" wasn't really in Tony's dictionary. He also knew that he apparently had a thing for watching Justin enjoy himself, even if he wasn't actively participating in it (or, actively in the basest sense of it all; Justin wasn't idly masturbating without a thought in his head), so the maybe I'll jerk myself off at the same time went from a possibility to a reality. His zipper was down already, after all, why wouldn't he?
There was no time wasted. Each movement of Justin's head had his nose pressed against Tony's skin or his mouth almost off him entirely.
Maybe it wasn't completely perfect, but if he could keep up the overall "pretty good" of it, he'd be happy. Not maybe; entirely.
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Not everyone could do that. Afford it, plan it, certainly not. But to get a single idea in their head and go through with it without needing any prompting? It wasn't that people couldn't do it so much as they didn't have it in them to actually do it; they wouldn't do it.
In less than a year, Tony had done things around Justin that had firmly destroyed his public persona. Sometimes, Justin found him self-absorbed, but he wasn't any more focused on himself than the next person. He found him to be one of the, strangely, least selfish people he'd ever run across in their circle. He'd found him to be devastatingly kind and patient, and those were two things that Justin Hammer had never thought possible. Not when it came on the tail end of a name that had worn him raw and blistered so many times before.
So what if he hadn't informed him of his actual reason behind the visit when he was sick? Justin still thought—even if he never said it out loud or Tony personally—he was a pretty damn good man.
He's not really focused on that aspect of Tony, however. At least, not at the moment. He could stop to say something, but he won't. He has no intentions of stopping until Tony's come down his throat unless he tells him to. Short of an earthquake, there's nothing that could get him to stop. Looking up as he is is something that's more for Tony than anyone else, considering Justin can't actually see him without any visual aid. He'd be blurry on a good day. On a night where there's nothing more than starlight, moonlight, and fire? It won't ever happen. He knows that much. He knows Tony knows that. But when he looks up, he tries to make eye contact as best he can. He can recognize the general placement of the face above him, but his eyes may be a fraction of a centimeter off. He can't help it. It's not something he can control. But he looks up for the sole purpose of Tony being able to see it, being able to get a full picture and know that Justin wants to be there. He's not doing it out of some sense of duty, some sort of idea that being together makes him obligated to get on his knees whenever Tony gets hard. It's not that.
In less than a year, Justin's not only come to a strange, unexpected new understanding of Tony. He's come to a strange, unexpected desire to have his cock in his mouth whenever possible. If asked, he'd try to explain it as best he could. Tony was more than free to ask what it was that made Justin so eager and willing to get on his knees at his age. His answer, however, would probably end up with a need to be fulfilled not long after it, so Justin hadn't thought to volunteer the information often, and not in too much detail. One day in Belize—a day where he'd slept ten hours straight after spending the majority of the night restless—he'd given him a brief rundown of the situation as Justin saw it. Maybe that had been enough for Tony. Maybe he'd ask. Maybe Justin would go into it on his own. He didn't know.
He did know, however, that "maybe" wasn't really in Tony's dictionary. He also knew that he apparently had a thing for watching Justin enjoy himself, even if he wasn't actively participating in it (or, actively in the basest sense of it all; Justin wasn't idly masturbating without a thought in his head), so the maybe I'll jerk myself off at the same time went from a possibility to a reality. His zipper was down already, after all, why wouldn't he?
There was no time wasted. Each movement of Justin's head had his nose pressed against Tony's skin or his mouth almost off him entirely.
Maybe it wasn't completely perfect, but if he could keep up the overall "pretty good" of it, he'd be happy. Not maybe; entirely.