homemeless | 002 - The Stargazing Meme

002 - The Stargazing Meme

Vega, Altair and Deneb, The Summer Triangle and the Milky way

the stargazing meme

oo1. comment with your characters
make sure to put names, series, & preferences somewhere!
you can use < ! > sans the spaces to make the comment "blank"
oo2. reply to others in character
oo3. use the rng and enter 1-10
oo4. play out what happens—anything goes!
oo5. profit? oh yeah!

prompts

one → meteor shower you just saw a falling star! and another! make a wish!
two → aliens what was that? was that really? omg no way a ufo!
three → lunar eclipse you've been sitting out for hours, waiting for this. it's so cool!
four → comet does it move fast or slow? either way, it's amazing.
five → full moon the moon is so huge! just don't look too long, it's really bright too.
six → star dust anything can happen in space. make up your own plot!
seven → solar eclipse this might be happening in the middle of the day!
eight → planet sighting is that a new star? nope, just a neighbor in the solar system!
nine → constellations do you know the stories behind these odd patterns?
ten → deep space normal stargazing isn't that much fun. you got a telescope!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He sees the way Justin’s eyebrows come together and although he doesn’t address it, although he addresses the drinking and everything else, Tony can’t let that expression go without remarking on the words that brought it into existence.

“Some states, and countries, have a lot of really weird laws. Archaic, no longer applicable laws that don’t make any sense whatsoever,” he tells him, rolling his eyes. “I think if you printed the whole thing out, my arrest record would be like, I don’t know, twenty pages worth of offenses. Like, ninety-eight percent of them completely harmless.”

The other 2% have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with his drinking, which leads him rather nicely around to that topic. He doesn’t take offense at Justin’s speech, isn’t insulted that he would withhold sex if Tony attempted to engage in it with him drunk.

“I don’t intend for that to ever happen,” Tony says reassuringly, reaching out to cup the side of his neck. “Getting drunk in general. I’d like to think I’m past that. But I wouldn’t ever—Drunk or not, you can always tell me no. For any reason.” His lips curve into a shallow smile. “And for the record, not feeling like it is a legitimate reason.”

The first archaic, no long applicable, nonsense law that Justin thinks of is the rule of thumb. As far as he's aware, it's a saying because there was once a law that men could beat their wives, but only with something that was the width of a thumb or smaller. He's all set to mention it before he realizes that coupling that with their earlier mention of sexual gratification through beatings might lend itself to Tony thinking Justin's not being honest about it. So, for a moment, he looks ready to say something, but then he promptly shuts his mouth and shrugs one shoulder, shrugging off both the idea of thumb-wide canes and whips as well as Tony's list of crimes.

"Everyone does dumb shit. Some laws that are broken are just people saying no to doing dumb shit no one would think would be illegal in the first place. Like doing an Irish jig during a full moon if you're not at least five hundred yards away from a forest or something."

Maybe, if Tony were drunk, Justin wouldn't automatically lean into his touch. But even then, he couldn't be certain. It's as natural as breathing at this point, and he's absolutely fine with it.

"I actually got such a small tent because, sometimes, when I wake up? I'm on the other side of the bed. I don't like it. I don't know why it happens. But like this, it can't happen. It's so tiny, I can't physically do it. No matter what happens, we'll be in each other's arms all night."

Mushy romantic crap? Yes. Does Justin mind it at this point? Not at all.

For all that he puts on a callous front and pretends that romance is for schmucks, Tony's a romantic at heart. He fails at it a lot of the time. He puts things together that fall apart or go wrong, that are too extravagant or not extravagant enough, that seem like a good idea to him and are in fact terrible to the one he's trying to win over. But he tries. Sometimes, like with the suit, his success is debatable. Other times, like with space, he thinks he does all right.

Justin, he thinks, is better at it than he is. He has this knack for dropping these touching comments and revelations at the most unexpected of times, and they never fail to take his breath away.

The smile that starts to spread slowly over his mouth is almost shy. Almost wondering. Obviously, blatantly touched.

"Yeah?" He doesn't disbelieve him, he just needs a minute to figure out what to say that isn't utter idiocy. "You know, we could, maybe we could do something about it. Figure out a better way to sleep. I... I think by now, it's pretty obvious how much I like touching you, huh?" Ducking his head, he leaves a kiss on Justin's jaw. "I won't let go of you tonight. I promise."

Space was right. Tony nailed space on the head and did it all so splendidly that Justin doesn't believe he'll ever be able to top it. Tony's won his prize less than a year into it all, and Justin's more than fine with that. He got to see the planet Earth from outside of its atmosphere; how could Tony ever beat that out?

"Yep. I think so. And yeah, I've picked up on that by now." Though why, other than sex and the comfort of physical contact, Justin hasn't ever really understood in regards to anyone before, so it's still a little odd. "And you better not. It's cold and I don't want to wake up ten times throughout the night because you tried to migrate to the flap or the other side of the tent. That's rude. Don't be rude."

It's pretty much second nature at this point to open up his neck whenever Tony decides to dip down to him, to tilt his head to the side so he can move from jaw downward if he wants to. They're lov—they're together. Tony has free rein when it comes to Justin's body and what he wants to do with it. If he wants to kiss Justin's jaw, he'll make it apparent he can kiss more than that if he wants to. If he wants to get his hands up his shirt, he'll take it off. It's really simple, though he still wonders why anyone would want to half the time.

"How were your first smores, by the way?"

“I won’t be rude.”

Tony can’t maintain the sap for long periods of time, and he is somewhat sappy. For someone like Justin, who has claimed many times to dislike it, he doesn’t expect it to last. And when it deteriorates into something that sounds joking more than anything else, he doesn’t mind. Or feel any sense of upset.

He doesn’t stick his hands up Justin’s shirt, but he does kiss his neck a little. Scatters a handful of kisses over his skin before he pulls back with a quiet murmur of unintelligible sound. There’s a smile on his lips, and in his eyes, when he straightens up.

“My first smores were great. Largely, I believe, because of the company. But taste-wise? They weren’t half bad. Not half bad at all.”

There's probably a million people who want Tony Stark to kiss their neck. Who'd let him. Who'd beg him to, if only to slather themselves in some fame and possibly money for a few hours. That Tony has pushed those all off the table and makes his home (metaphorically speaking) with Justin is something that continues to astound and confuse him, but it's nothing worth bringing up. A few insecurities have cropped up and been cut down, but to be on the receiving end of any sort of affection from a man who's spend years being hailed as the most wanted physically...it made him wonder, at the same time, what Tony saw in him and if what he saw was something Justin had overlooked or was unaware of.

That it doesn't go any farther than his neck is fine. It's cold. They're not a new couple. Justin doesn't want to actually die of seminal depletion. Dry up and crumble into man dust. That's not a very appealing thought for him at all.

"We'll have to get you some smores Pop-Tarts when we get back so you can really appreciate actual smores. I mean, those things are good. But when you've had a real smore? You just want to start up a fire next craving you get."

“Pop-Tarts?” The name’s barely out of his mouth before Tony shakes his head. “Did you know that Thor’s favorite thing to eat in this world is a Pop-Tart? I don’t know why. Asgard’s got to have all kinds of crazy food, and the guy is addicted to Pop-Tarts. Pop-Tarts.”

If there’s one thing Earth’s good at, it’s making dessert. There are a wide and seemingly unending variety of desserts, from cakes and cookies to candies and pies, ice creams and puddings, mousse and soufflés. And Thor likes prepackaged, hard little cake things with crunchy icing and a thin spread of fruity or sweet filling on the inside. It’s almost like an insult to all things dessert-y.

“If I start having them around the house, Thor will start showing up. It’s like his version of spider-sense. He’s got Pop-Tart sense. He’ll come down from Asgard with his stupid hammer and weird-ass way of talking and we’ll have to deal with that all the time. And the ale parties. All they do there is drink ale, I swear. Do you want that? I don’t want that.”

"Oh. No. I did not know that, actually."

It's an odd thought. Of all the things, truly—but.

"Well, they're easily accessible. Maybe he's so used to all his meals at his ale parties taking hours to cook that having something sweet whenever he wants it is, like, more appealing than the thing itself. Yeah, they're a bit crappy. But they're there and it's no real effort required. If he ever comes back around, see how he handles Toaster Strudels. Minimal effort, covered in icing, actually really good. Maybe it'll blow his mind."

There's a moment of silence before Justin leans his forehead against Tony's shoulder, companionable silence he couples with physical contact. One hand roams under his shirt and over his side, just enough for him to get bare skin without lifting it and exposing him to the cold.

"'M glad we did this. Over a month, just me and you. It's been nice. I feel spoiled, actually. I don't really want to go back."

"I don't either."

The comfortable, slightly nonsensical Pop-tart conversation is quickly overshadowed by the reality of their vacation coming to an end. All good things must end, he's heard that trite phrase more times than he can count, but just because he knows a thing doesn't mean that he wants it to happen. Or likes that it must.

"We could just stay here," he suggests, curving an arm around Justin's waist. It's an unrealistic proposal, but he figures that if anyone's allowed to be unrealistic, it's the two of them. "Run away into the woods. Build a house in the middle of nowhere. Disappear off the grid and make our own. Maybe make our own state, too."

A state requires a name, and Tony wracks his brain for something good. When nothing truly clever presents itself, he falls back on the tried and true shove two names together method. And maybe it's stupid. Maybe it's really stupid. But he doesn't care, and he feels no shame in saying, with a grin, "Hamarktopia. It'd be great."

One leg behind him already, Justin simply lifts his other one to swing it over Tony's lap, foot swaying off the ground slightly. He's not a tall man by any stretch of the imagination; hell, neither of them are. But one foot firmly on the ground is enough. The cooler is the height of comfortable sitting, but who he's with and how they're together makes it more appealing than the most comfortable of mattresses. Really, it's the company that makes it more than what it is, as Justin's come to find.

There's a quiet laugh as he scoots in as close as he can, making it easy for Tony to keep that arm around his waist and for Justin to stay right there with him.

"Hamarktopia, huh? In the middle of nowhere. Tiny little state somewhere in the woods of what used to be Kentucky. And what then? Will we build one of those crazy houses that's half tree house, or is like in the middle of a clearing, but it has a tree running through it? Are we going to really go for the Tarzan thing? I didn't realize you liked Tarzan that much."

The fire seems to be dying, as far as he can tell. Even with his blurry vision, he hears it starting to fade. He doesn't need to see it to know that it's well on its way to being an ex-fire. Soon, it'll be gone, it'll be colder, and they'll have lost their main source of light. Oh, sure, they could restart it—hell, they could toss what wood they have left on it and have it burn another hour, maybe—but Justin can't be bothered to move. He spares it a glance before resting his chin on Tony's shoulder, shrugging one of his own.

"Too much paperwork. And that's saying a lot, considering it's coming from. You know. Me."

“Loin cloths. Swinging from vines instead of walking. What’s not to like?” He’s smiling as he says it. Tarzan’s all right. He’s not much of an outdoorsy person, so he can’t really say that as a child, he’d ever wanted to be Tarzan when he grew up. But in a fantasyland, where there’s no mud or bugs or stiflingly hot temperatures or uncomfortable places to sleep, it’s an amusing enough idea to at least joke about it.

Once, the encroaching darkness might have been troublesome to him. He’s never been afraid of it by any stretch of the imagination, but in the middle of the woods in an unknown area, it could be more dangerous than if they had light to guide their way. But they’re not far from Justin’s house and they are together. More than that, Tony has only to take off his shirt and the arc reactor will chase away the dark.

Being a human flashlight isn’t something he’d recommend for everybody, but he’s gotten used to it now. He can joke about it. Find the silver lining.

“So no Hamarktopia, huh? Well, then, I guess it’s back to the real world. Although really, any time you want to get away for a bit, all you have to do is say something.”

"I dunno. Bugs. Mud. Really hot weather. Having to buddy it up with gorillas. Screaming your voice out as you beat your chest. No technology anywhere. Not being able to check your e-mail at the drop of a hat."

He shudders as though it's the most horrible fate he can imagine, nearly shaking all over as he says it. Justin's not an outdoorsy guy, either, and the idea of running around like Tarzan isn't one he'd thought appealing as a child. He'd rather have been shot to the moon in a cramped space vehicle than anything else. Hell, he'd even be happy to get to sit around and do work for NASA. That'd be just fine with him.

"You'd have to make physical bodies for JARVIS and JEEVES. You could make them the gorillas, actually. It wouldn't be so bad then. I'm sure they'd know better than to fling their shit all over if they get pissy or have the joy of taking a dump for the first time ever and want to share it with the world."

The mental image that that conjures – two mechanical gorillas well-nigh indistinguishable from real gorillas, courteously not flinging poo willy-nilly – makes him laugh. It’s the light, carefree laughter few others get to hear, the kind that comes from Tony Stark the man, not Tony Stark the technological equivalent of the golden goose.

“You know, if I ever build them gorilla bodies, it’s going to be your fault. They might not thank you for it.” Even as he says it, Tony has to admit that there’s a part of him that wants to do. Not because he wants to consider JEEVES and JARVIS to hairy gorilla bodies for the rest of their days, but to see if he can actually do it. Build life-like fake bodies that are so realistic, no one can tell the difference with the naked eye.

Because if he can make animal bodies, who’s to say he can’t make a human one too? And maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to give JARVIS – and now JEEVES – true freedom.

“Everyone’s so worried about AI turning the world into the Matrix, they’re never going to see Planet of the Apes coming.”

The image of robot gorillas doesn't bother him. It actually makes him smile about as much as Tony's laughter does. The mention of the Matrix turning into the world being taken over by apes, however, has his eyes widening. Maybe it wasn't such a good thing to joke about, because it's very likely that Tony will start tinkering with some sort of body for them. Not that Justin doesn't trust the AI or their creator, but he has to look properly horrified by the aspect of it in order to seem sincere in his protests.

"Oh no." It's as terrified as he can make it, pulling back slightly as he squeezes his hands together tighter, almost as if he's in fear for his life at that very moment. "That's...that's so un-American. They let Lady Liberty rust and get overtaken with sand! Turning the Matrix into...oh no, Tony, you can't do that. It's just too frightening an outcome to imagine. If I was wearing boots, I'd be shaking in them. I'm not, and 'shaking in my sneakers' doesn't really sound the same, does it?"

He casts a glance at the dwindling fire again, leaning backwards to feel around for his glasses and put them back on.

"Hopefully, there won't be any shaking tonight. Pretty sure I got everything we needed, according to the weather forecast." A moment's pause. "And an extra blanket, because. Well. The weather can change. Be prepared, right?"

Justin’s terror in the face of the possibility of their new robot-gorilla overlords doesn’t actually worry him. He recognizes over-the-top acting when he sees and hears it. He has to, being as melodramatic and theatrical about perfectly ordinary thing as he can be. It does bear consideration though. Not the gorillas, but the bodies for the AI. He could do it. He knows that he could. He just needs to work on it.

Talk of movies about the marginalization and possible extinction of the human race leads him down the path of movie villains. And although Justin starts in on something purely reasonable and grounded in common sense, he’s already so far down the path that there’s only one way he take that final question.

And that’s launching into song right at the chorus. “So prepare for a chance of a lifetime. Be prepared for sensational news. A shining new era is tiptoeing nearer.” If he wasn’t sitting on the cooler, he’d do the dance, too, but since he can’t, he contents himself to grandiose hand gestures. “I know it sounds sordid, but you'll be rewarded when at last I am given my dues. And injustice deliciously squared. Be prepared!”

Grinning, he lifts his eyebrows. “Like that, you mean?”

Edited 2013-03-31 03:13 (UTC)

Justin knows the song. He's not quite prepared for it, having been thinking more along the lines of the motto of the Boy Scouts, but it's the second thing that comes to mind. Tony actually bursting out into the song has an amused smile overtaking his face, and he quickly zooms to the part of his brain that has all those songs memorized to make sure he can keep up wherever it is that Tony stops.

"Yeah! Be prepared? We'll be prepared. Prepared for what? The cold of January in Kentucky! Why, is it winter? Yes, fool, and we're going camping. Making smores, too. Great idea! Who doesn't like smores?"

The mangled song, spoken like Justin remembers it from the movie, is something he thinks Tony will appreciate. Mangled in a good way, as far as he's concerned. It doesn't exactly fit the rhyme of the original, but it's far more relevant than anything else he could think up. That, and it would take him too long to try and parse it properly.

"Because not having had them before, that's, that's a true injustice. And we got vengeance on it, so: job well done, you think?"

There's a soft, pleased laugh as his hand makes a beeline for Tony's hair, pushing a few parts that are sticking up away, only for them to pop back just where they were. It's a losing battle, really, but it's not so much a battle as it something Justin enjoys messing around with. It's an excuse to touch him and Justin will take it for as long as he can, fingers threading through the top of it and pushing it off to the side as though he's just going to try and fix what he can.

Which, when it comes to Tony's hair, isn't a damn thing.

Edited 2013-03-31 14:39 (UTC)

Randomly belting out Disney tunes in the middle of something is one thing. Belting them out and then improving on them by adjusting the lyrics to the situation is another thing entirely. Tony’s smiling so widely that he knows his face will start to hurt soon if he keeps it up, but that doesn’t make him stop.

Instead, he just slides his other arm around Justin’s waist and pulls him closer, as he bends his head and buries his face in the crook of his neck. His knows that his goatee might be a little scratchy, where it brushes Justin’s skin, but Tony takes care of it. He trims it, he washes it. It’s not as coarse and uncomfortable as it could be. He thinks that, for a little while at least, Justin will be okay.

“I love you.” With Tony, he believes that he either says it too much or not enough. With Justin, he’s half afraid that he says it too much, since Justin himself has voiced his dislike of romance and soppiness. But the way the emotion rises inside him now makes it impossible not to say.

“Every time I think I couldn’t love you any more than I already do, you find a way to surprise me. I’m glad. About that. I’m not complaining. In case you think I was. I’m not.”

Justin doesn't mind his goatee a bit. There's not a single iota of him that would pull away because of the possibility of a moment's discomfort. Sure, it could get a little aggravating if he just rubbed it over a single spot for too long, but as it is? There's nothing wrong with it. There's no missed bit of graham cracker hiding it, no possibility that he'll look into it and find a bird's nest—clean and trim and neat, the way Justin likes pretty much everything in his life. Until Tony lets it grow into a shaggy, long, scraggly mess? He's not going to comment on it either way.

Though, the light, quick laugh when it crosses his neck in something like a tickle is probably comment enough.

"We are just gonna have to have a Disney movie night when we get back. Or weekend. Whatever, there's a lot of them." If Justin didn't like Tony's goatee, he wouldn't scoot into him when pulled, and he certainly wouldn't toss his leg back across his lap like he was in the most comfortable position in the whole damn world. "I hear that when you watch them with the person you're head over heels for, it's like a whole new world behind those songs you never would've thought of before."

“A whole new world of shining, shimmering splendor? Do I need to build us a flying carpet first? Will that make the experience more authentic?”

It’s possible that, with enough time and energy, he actually could make a flying carpet. It wouldn’t be exactly like the one in the movie. It would require something more than just the fabric of the rug itself. But with a few repulsors, he bets that he could put together a passable flying carpet.

The kisses that Tony scatters across Justin’s neck are affection instead of amorous, something he does because he can and it’s a simple enough way to express his feelings. And since they feel like they’re going to overflow at any moment, he thinks expression is the best thing for them.

“I could probably do it. It wouldn’t be quite like the movie, but I think I could do it.”

In the beginning, when Justin's mind was heavily clouded by the man Tony Stark made himself out to be in the public's eye as opposed to the man he actually was, Justin wouldn't have been able to tell affectionate gestures from ones that were done in the sole hopes of leading up to sex. He did, in fact, understand that a person sometimes put on a totally different face than they actually were, but there were decades of "Tony Stark" working against him, even if Justin didn't want them to. It wasn't until he'd confronted him about the idea of them not being a "thing" as far as Christmas that he realized the full extent of how foggy his view had become and, thus, had been able to tear down a lot of those walls. Of course, Tony being Tony had done quite a number in that direction, but after a good deal of time had passed, Justin was confident he was fully aware of Tony the man and not letting Tony the Public Figure seep its way into his every word and action for him to look at later and say, ah, yes, just like this one article I read and the following news report two weeks later.

He knows that Tony's not letting his mouth roam free over his neck as a start towards the endeavor of getting Justin's pants open yet again. He knows that he's doing it because he wants to, because he can, because he likes to (and that's still strange), and because Justin will—possibly above all of it—allow it and wants it himself. There's no inward cringing about oh that Tony, always wanting sex. Not any longer, and there hasn't been for quite some time. It's something that makes him smile and squeeze his side tighter, that hand leaving his hair to run up and down the contour of his spine underneath his jacket.

"I'm sure you could." It's not fully supportive but it's not fully dismissive. He doesn't think Tony's serious about it, just like he didn't think he was serious about courteous gorilla bodies for his AI. It doesn't make it any less silly an idea, in Justin's opinion. But, hell, without a company to run, what else is he going to do when he gets frustrated with Iron Man projects and wants to do something to keep him occupied and give him time away from it so he can see it at a new angle when he gets back? "Actually, I know you could. But what would you do with it? You can't mass produce it. Or, you know...it'd be like the number one way for kids to break bones, surpassing scooters and skateboards and bikes. You could fly it around the house instead of using the stairs, though. That might be handy in case you ever, I don't know, get too tired to drag yourself up there and the elevator is busted. Then again, maybe you could just.

"Sleep on it.

"Midair."

A moment's pause.

"Shit. Now I want a flying carpet to sleep on. That sounds amazing."

“Ha! See?”

Who doesn’t want a flying carpet? Really? It’s up there with flying, or at least Tony thinks that it is. It’s as famous as the genie in the lamp. A little stereotypical, maybe, since it seems like every movie or TV that features something vaguely fantastical happening in the Middle East also includes a flying carpet, but there’s got to be a reason that the concept has endured for so long.

Humans want magic. They want to fly. They want to push boundaries and feel excitement and exhilaration. A flying carpet’s a way to get all of those things in one neat little roll-up package.

“It would be cool. And anyway, who says I can’t mass produce them? Look at hoverboards. Those things were like the gadget of choice back in twenty-fifteen. Or well, Back to the Future’s idea of twenty-fifteen.”

Speaking of, maybe he should make a few of those, too. He’s got two years. He could mass produce a few different types of hoverboards for kids and young adults, and flying carpets for adults. Start a whole new transportation revolution.

Looking at Justin, Tony grins. “Maybe I’ll just make those, too.”

Justin imagines it. He imagines the advertisements run for it, hoverboards and magic carpets alike. He imagines it, and all he can think of is...

"All I can think of are those old commercials for roller blades or skateboards, with the kids in the neon clothes and their never-matching helmets, with the knee pads and elbow pads and all. Talking about how radical! it all is while wearing all that crap. And how they have to add disclaimers about how you have to wear proper equipment when you do it, and no one ever does. Or, they rip it off when Mom's not looking. And then they get all beat and knocked up to hell and back, and hospital visits and then lawsuits and people screaming about it like it's the second coming of that evil devil music—like it's the coming of Elvis Presley and Ozzy Osbourne in a flying toy. And then you're in court and...well. I mean. You'd have to go through a lot of patent stuff and testing, and. Well."

He pauses a moment, wrapping his arms back around Tony's waist loosely.

"If you really want to, I can handle that. It's not too much extra work."

The one thing Tony doesn’t give a damn about is safety disclaimers. He doesn’t follow them on his own, and looking at the state of the country, he has to wonder if the excessive handholding and automatic response to everything of suing is part of the problem. As far as he’s concerned, kids could use a few more scraped knees. Might teach them a thing or two about life and how it doesn’t always go the way one plans.

“You know, it’s kind of stupid, but I think I do. Want to do it. Just to say that I did.”

Which kind of sums up Tony’s approach to life in general, really.

“I don’t really care about the whole marketing end of it. We can keep it between us. Our own personal flying carpets. Make a statement.” Serious as he is about it all, he’s smiling. “But if they do get marketed, I’m bucking the trend. No safety warnings. If people can’t figure out that they can fall off of things on their own, all the safety warnings in the world aren’t going to help them.”

He swings his leg while Tony talks, trusting that he'll tell him if the pressure moving from one thigh to the other gets to be uncomfortable. While Tony talks about his desire to make one and how he might just keep it private, he squeezes his waist a little tighter and rests his cheek on his shoulder, mind working overtime about what would have to go into marketing such a thing. The idea that he could do it without warning labels makes him smile, and although he's tempted to protest with a small lecture on "That's Not How These Things Work," he's rather certain he'd hear it from Potts. And that's her job, honestly. Or, part of it. Justin could very well launch into it, but he'd really rather not. It's not his job. Hell, with Tony, he doesn't have an actual job.

Job implies work. Justin doesn't work when he's with Tony. It's all...leisure activities, be it falling asleep while watching a movie, making dinner, or dirtying up fresh, clean bedsheets. There's never been any work involved, and it's quite possibly the biggest reason as to why the entire thing has worked.

"You could pimp them out. Put speakers on them. Play snake charmer music ditties all over the place. If you go fast, the song speeds up. If you go slow, it mellows out. If you idle and putter around, it hisses at you. It has to be charmed. It wants to be wooed. I don't know, something silly."

There's no sense of obligation behind the action of him scattering Tony's neck and shoulders, clothed or not, with kisses. It's his pleasure, nothing more.

"Or just Disney tunes. Whatever works."

Like a movie, the scene plays out in his mind. Flying carpets replacing cars are the popular means of travel. Large carpets for large families, replacing the fuel inefficient SUV. Smaller ones the equivalent of motorcycles, for joyrides, not running errands with other people or the family pets. All the sizes in between. And through it all, each carpet playing songs that fit the operator’s lifestyle. Rap and pop, rock and country. Hell, he could probably design each carpet to go along with its main music setting.

A western themed carpet – replete with cowboy boots, horses, and cacti - goes sailing by his mind’s eye, crooning Randy Travis, and it makes him laugh.

“A themed carpet for every occasion, huh?” he manages to choke out when the laughter subsides. “I like it. We can call them Mood Rugs. You know, like mood rings. Only you buy a couple of them and then choose which to take out at a given time based on your mood.”

It’s the first thing he thinks of and he knows it sounds stupid, but he’s too happy and content to care. He runs a hand over Justin’s back, tracing his spine through his clothes and rubbing at the muscle he knows by memory more than he can feel. “What do you think?”

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