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

Justin knows it's cold out. It's not deathly cold, they won't freeze in what they're wearing, don't need gloves or mittens or scarves. What they're wearing is fine. For now, at least. Justin's looked into the weather forecast enough to feel confident that they won't wake up at three in the morning, shivering cold with their teeth chattering—it'll be a little cold, but nothing that what they've brought can't handle. That, and they have each other, so unless a freak snowstorm appears from nowhere and weighs down on them, they'll be fine. He's well aware how an erection can feel against cold air, which is why he moves his hand to take a firm grip of him the very moment he hears that moan.

Justin's read a good deal of literature in his time from all different eras. He's read poetry and non-fiction. He's done a lot of reading. He's seen writers talk about the sound of a woman's voice can seem like angels singing or another holy thing blessing the man in love with her, even if she doesn't love him back. Tony's not a woman by any stretch of the imagination, and writers didn't have the freedom to use that same scenario with two men for a damn long time, but the moan and his words are like sacred, beautiful music to his ears. Maybe that's melodramatic, he'll think later, but at the moment? There's nothing else that could sound as good as Tony's breathy reactions during pleasure, be it the very start, the middle, or the end. Justin loves it all, even if he doesn't say as much or make it exceedingly obvious, and it draws a short, chuffed laugh out of him as he works his hand along his length slowly. Eventually, he stops just shy of a proper rhythm, letting his thumb rub the head in circles as he catches his own breath and thinks of what to say.

Tony once said he loved his mouth, sometimes because of the things he used it to say. Something about him always knowing the right thing to say. Justin was not at all perfect. There were flaws and cracks that ran deep and jagged. He didn't want Tony to ever think him perfect. But if it took him a moment to think about what to say, no one could blame him. He wanted to say the right thing for as long as he possibly could.

"Neater, huh." It's far more difficult to sound unruffled when he's quickly on his way to being totally erect himself, but by God does he try. "Anthony, haven't we been over this? If you want me to blow you, just say so. That's—ah—that's neater, isn't it? I swallow, there's no residual evidence. Just slide back a bit and open your legs for me, let me get down here. I'll be completely neat. Promise."

When they set out on this camping trip, Tony hadn’t intended to make a play for sex. He’s never been opposed to sex outside, Belize is proof of that, but he’d also never been camping before and had only his imagination to tell him what to expect. Even after perusing websites of the available gear for a trip of this nature, he’d assumed uneven, lumpy ground that’s impossible to sleep on. A cramped tent. Bugs. Chill wind, low temperatures. Peeing in the bushes. Being dirty. Being uncomfortable.

It hadn’t seemed like the ideal place to fuck, especially since they’d be going back to Justin’s parents’ house smelling like sex.

But then they’d gotten here, and apparently smores are some kind of secret aphrodisiac. Suddenly, sex isn’t something that can wait until they can get back to civilization. Suddenly, it’s something that has to happen right now, on top of a cooler not far from the fire that made the smores in question.

A blowjob isn’t what he’d been aiming for, but now that it’s on the table, he’s not saying no. He slides backward, opening up room in front of him as he spreads his legs. With his free hand, he catches the back of Justin’s head, threads his fingers through his hair and leans in to kiss him. It’s a short kiss, though passionate despite its brevity, and when he pulls back, he says against Justin’s lips, “Only if I get to return the favor.”

The bad thing about being outside currently is that it's cold. Before, had they been in this position on the beach, Justin could have hiked up Tony's shirt and had plenty of skin to pay attention to with his mouth. Now? Now it's too cold to do that. It aggravates him, which he makes a note of for later—one more morning spent entertaining himself with Tony's chest won't be amiss, will it? Granted, it'll be in a tent, but they could always get up before dawn and hike back, take showers, have a morning slept in...

But it is his parents' house. And that's not really the best environment to go for that in, even though he really, really wants to. So maybe, he thinks when Tony's lips are pressed against his, the whole moving in with each other thing will happen before summer. That is, if nothing goes awry and Tony ends up not wanting a thing to do with him.

"Maybe. We'll see. Don't worry—" he punctuates it with the sound of his own zipper coming down as he moves to get on his knees, his smile far from press-friendly in every regard, "about that right now. Just, you know. Relax."

He never went commando in the first place, but he wouldn't have dreamed of doing it on a chilly camping trip. So he has to take a moment to adjust to the cool against his cock as he settles, hand moving over himself briefly so that Tony can see that yes, Justin's affected, too, even if he's trying to play it himself off as indifferent. He's very affected, and while one hand busies itself with Justin, the other moves to take a hold of Tony's thigh and keep his legs as apart as he needs to.

Relaxing may be difficult—he's not sure how Tony takes the idea of relaxing, really—when Justin leans down between his legs and makes no show of anything. There's no slow descent, no start-stopping. There's just Justin Hammer, CEO Hammer Industries, mouth preoccupied with a blowjob that, for all intents and purposes, has no other goal in mind aside from getting Tony off as quickly as possible, as noisily as possible, and—of course—as neatly as possible.

Maybe? What? No. No, there’s no maybe about it.

Tony opens his mouth to tell him that, to point that everybody’s getting off or he isn’t, but Justin’s getting on his knees and pulling down his zipper. The sound seems unnaturally loud, like he can hear each individual tooth clicking free. And his voice chokes in his throat, comes out as a garbled noise that’s more squeak than actual words.

Relaxing doesn’t seem to be in the cards here, despite what Justin says. Tony’s heart is beating too fast, there’s adrenalin surging through him, tangled with anticipation and lust. He knows what’s coming. They’ve done this too many times for him not to know. But he’s still practically crawling out of his skin in the amount of time it takes for Justin to get settled.

“Um, you should—I can—Jesus fucking Christ…” The strangled exclamation fades into a low groan as Justin takes him into his mouth, and goddamn, but he’s not wasting any time with it. Tony lays one hand against the back of his head, touch light so that it doesn’t hamper his movement, and grips the edge of the cooler with the other.

“Okay. That’s—That’s good. Really, fuck. Really good.” His hip shift, but only for a second and then he gets control of himself again. “Just, just, that’s—that’s perfect.”

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.

Historically, Tony is terrible at effectively expressing his emotions. He’s particularly horrible at it if the feelings he’s trying to express are positive. The more he cares for a person, the worse his ability is to show it, and while it usually isn’t a big deal – it’s not like he puts himself into positions to care about people often – he’s at least aware of the problem.

He uses gifts instead of words, things he can buy instead of tiny gestures universally recognized as affectionate, and sometimes, for the really important people, he pulls out all the stops and does something truly extravagant. Taking Justin into space was his way of expressing how he felt in a way that didn’t involve words. It took time that he willing gave to NASA to build the ship that would take them there, it took his ingenuity to come up with new systems the space program didn’t have previously, it took a massive amount of money, and it took attention to the things Justin said to figure out that it was something he even wanted to do in the first place.

He’d said the words. But the trip to space was his demonstration of them. And so far, he thinks it worked out pretty well.

It’s dark and the fire throws chaotic shadows around them, but there’s enough light that Tony can make out Justin’s face. He can see him looking at him, though he knows that he can’t really see him without the glasses. Maybe if he had his contacts in, but Tony knows that he doesn’t. Justin can’t see him, but Tony can see for the both of them, and he threads his fingers through Justin’s hair with deceptive care, stroking the short strands of well-kept, split-end free hair with affection that has very little to do with the fact that Justin’s lips are around his dick.

There’s no request to stop forming on Tony’s tongue and there isn’t going to be. He wants it too much to ask him to stop. And watching Justin jerk himself off while he’s sucking him – it’s incredibly hard to watch both at once, but does the best he can at making the impossible happen – erases any possible objection from his mind. Thoughts, too. Everything but the wet, hot pull of his mouth, the soft rasp of his lips as they slide over his skin, the shifting of his tongue, and the way his cock looks framed by his hand and the shadows from the fire. It’s sensory overload at its best, and with the way Justin’s going to town, he doesn’t have to wait very long before the pleasure building starts to crest.

“Justin,” he hisses, the slight, momentary tightening of his hand in his hair warning that if he needs to back off, it needs to happen right now. He has about ten seconds, that’s really all the time Tony can hold it back, and then he’s coming with a surprisingly strong intensity for a guy who’s getting blown in the middle of the woods.

It had worked out pretty well. They'd been able to get on a sort of schedule about when and where they could meet, they'd become acquainted and comfortable (Justin hoped Tony was comfortable, at least) in different houses, they'd gone across the world for no other reason than they could and Justin had a home in Japan, and he hadn't had a moment's doubt about bringing him around to meet his parents. Where Tony had seemed almost burdened with the worry that he'd make one wrong move and the whole thing would come tumbling down, Justin hadn't a concern in his mind about it. Oh, he was concerned that Tony seemed to be stressed out about it, but concerned about his behavior or how his parents would receive him? Not a one.

That wasn't something many people got, either. Maybe Tony could take that as an accomplishment; maybe he could take it as Justin trying to make him take it as an accomplishment, and therefore think him a douchebag. But he'd already told him how he felt about his sobriety, and that had been taken well enough. So, maybe, after they left and were on the plane back home, he'd tell him as much. Even if Tony had picked up on it by now, a little reassurance couldn't hurt, could it?

His name and that hand in his hair tightening is really all he needs; hell, he'd like to think he's so in tune with Tony when it comes to sex that he could get a good idea of when he was about to orgasm just through his breathing and the twitching of his muscles. But warning is fair and good, and it gives Justin time to try something a little different, even if he's still aiming for cleanliness. His hand leaves his own cock with the smallest of whimpers, but he's got more important things to tend to, and he recognizes that much. One hand on Tony's thigh to keep his legs opened enough, the other wraps around his cock so that when Justin pulls his mouth away almost completely, there's still friction there and desire being shown.

He doesn't pull away entirely, however. He simply leans back enough that with a tilt of his head, Tony only has to look down to watch his spunk go straight into his mouth. Maybe, in the heat of the moment and the way Justin's so fervently stroking his cock, there will be a little bit of a mess on his lips or his chin or just over his cheek. He's not 100% sure of the logistics of it all, though he's almost certain the angle he's got is going to make everything go as well as it can. He could never deny that watching his come go from his cock to the mouth of whoever was sucking him off had always been a bit of a bonus for him. Maybe it wasn't the same for Tony. Maybe the dim lighting around made it impossibly to see. He didn't know. What he did know was that he wanted Tony to look down, and if the light was good enough, be able to actually watch the transfer of his semen to Justin's mouth. A moment of it left on his tongue was all that Justin spared, and then he was swallowing with the smallest of quirks to his lips.

That apparently had gotten a little messy, but hey—it wasn't anything he couldn't get off with a swipe of his tongue.

By now, it’s entirely possible that Tony doesn’t need to tell him when he’s about to orgasm. There are a number of tells – like a sudden tension in his thighs, a slight twitch of his cock, and the way his lips will part just the tiniest bit to name a few – that give him away. But he isn’t consciously aware of them and would only start to recognize them if he watched himself in all of those videos that JARVIS quietly and completely of his own volition took of them. However, he doesn’t watch himself. Justin always manages, unsurprisingly, to consume the entirety of his attention.

Even if he did know, he would probably warn him anyway. It’s become a habit over the years, worn into him by a great deal of repetition. And it’s the polite thing to do. Although to be fair, Tony’s something of a hypocrite in that regard, seeing as he doesn’t really need the warning himself anymore and wouldn’t think twice about it if Justin neglected to provide it in turn.

There’s enough light for him to watch the show that’s put on for him, though at first he can’t quite understand why Justin’s pulling away. Then it dawns on him, and damned if it doesn’t go straight through him, make his balls clench just a bit harder.

“Jesus…” It’s a rough, ragged whisper, breathed out while Tony stares at him. Somewhere between the span of one heartbeat and the next, the daze he’s left in disappears, and he all but lunges forward to kiss him. It’s the kind of wild, sloppy kiss that’s born entirely of desire, and when he pulls back, he’s got his hands on Justin’s shoulders, which he tugs insistently.

“Stand up.” He isn’t sure if Justin got himself off or not, though that tiny whimper he recalls hearing seems to suggest that he hasn’t, and if that’s true, he believes it needs to be rectified immediately. The cooler's fairly low to the ground. He's practically at the perfect height to finish him off just as neatly as he did him. “I want you in my mouth right now.”

Justin's a showman in every sense of the word—on a stage, in a boardroom, in a meeting, he can control an enormous group of people when he needs to. With Tony? It's not about needing or craving control. He couldn't do any sort of show he hasn't seen before, anyway. He doesn't want to try at it, either, and end up doing something extremely embarrassing. It's what it would be, no matter how well he planned it out. Maybe that's why he thought of it in the first place; it was impromptu and not something he'd spent hours thinking about. It wouldn't come across as fake or him trying so hard to do something different and obscene that it was laughable.

It was odd, really, for Justin to feel like he didn't actually have to try at all. Not that he wasn't putting forth any effort into it—God was he ever—but the idea that he could simply be himself and that was wanted and acceptable wasn't something he was really used to. That he could be in a tailor-made suit or worn clothes from Walmart and still appear to be desired all the same...it was odd and refreshing, and sometimes? He didn't think it was really happening.

The kiss wasn't expected, though, really? Justin had no idea what to expect. He hadn't had any plans on sex, either, but when he'd seen Tony rubbing himself without a hint of shame, he couldn't just ignore it. He couldn't shut up and wait for the not-at-all long walk to the tent. And, really, it wasn't anything he wasn't willing to do at most other times, so why not? Sloppy and wild isn't undesirable, but it's over far too soon for his liking. He doesn't understand why it's over until he feels the tug on his shoulders and the cool air still gracing his erection, and then Tony goes and says that.

"Oh. Oh. W-Well. Yes." Where his words are shaky, stammered, and barely capable of making any sense at all, the idea obviously isn't something that he's opposed to. Not only does he stand, but he pushes his pants and underwear down just past his thighs. Cool air be damned, Tony deserves to be able to touch every part of him he wants, to grab his ass and feel skin as opposed to cloth. He had no issues thinking his body was too thin or without enough muscle, but he hadn't been with someone who seemed to love it in such a long time that he still had trouble believing it. But if there was one person who had rights to every part of Justin's body he wanted, almost whenever he wanted, and that Justin was more than willing to give up those rights, it was Tony Stark. Another odd thing, really, but his fingers moved to shift his hair to the side, antsy as he anticipated the switch from cold air to the warm wetness of Tony's mouth. Right now—if that wasn't enough to send his desire straight through the roof, he didn't know what else could possibly do the trick. "You can have me whenever you want. God, just. Now is good, though. Really good."

Tony doesn’t mind the stammer. In fact, he thinks it’s a positive indication of how he’s affecting Justin, and that’s his intention. He wants to scatter his thoughts and shatter his ability to form coherent sentences. None of this may have been planned, all of it may be a surprise, but it’s the best kind and he intends to make the most of it.

It’s a good thing Justin pulled his down far enough to bare his ass; Tony wants his hands on it and he doesn’t want fabric in the way. As soon as he stands up, his arms go around Justin’s hips and his hands settle against him, each one splayed over the center of the cheek it’s resting on, getting the most in his grip as he possibly can. Spreading his legs, heedless of his own pants still hanging open, Tony lightly digs his fingers into his flesh and hauls him in, until his cock’s right there, scant centimeters from his face. He licks it, tongue parting the slit for any drops of precum Justin might have released from his earlier ministrations.

“Whenever I want?” he asks without pulling away, tone silky smooth. He cocks his head, letting the tip brush over his cheek as he glances up, saliva smearing across his skin. “Justin. It’d suck you raw if I had free rein.”

His fingers knead his ass as he speaks, the hairless portion of his cheek sliding down the length of Justin’s erection as he nuzzles against it. “I think you underestimate how much I love your cock.”

Maybe, the thinks, he should show him. It’s too cold to do it here, not the length to which he’d like to express the fondness that he feels. But briefly, maybe, he can try to do it justice. Tipping his chin, he licks his balls, suckles at one just long enough for Justin to feel it, and then drags his tongue up the underside of his shaft. He looks up, opening his mouth to delicately lick the tip one last time. Even though Justin can’t see him, Tony searches out his eyes anyway, since he can see him quite clearly.

Without warning he yanks him forward, sheathing Justin’s cock in his mouth in one quick motion. Familiarity lets him do it without hurting himself or Justin, and eagerness to have him in his mouth, to fuck him with it and be fucked by him, spurs him to make it fast. He takes him all the way in, then pushes on his hips to rock him backward, before pulling him forward again. Justin’s a smart guy. He hopes he gets the hint.

Edited 2013-03-23 00:58 (UTC)

Tony's definitely affecting Justin. Not just sexually, not just in the moment, but overall? He's done a number on him. Not in a negative way, of course. In a very positive way, actually; lots of ways, really, ways that Justin never thought possible from either of them. He hadn't brought home a significant other to really meet his parents in a long time, and the last one he'd brought home hadn't been all that significant in the first place. Just someone to drape in pearls and diamonds to look good on his arm who couldn't imagine the terror! of a holiday apart, don't you think it's a little odd?

He can't see him exactly, but he's completely aware of where everything is and what's going on. There's no other sense that's heightened to make up for his crummy eyesight, of course, but with cold air and Tony's mouth working against him, he couldn't be more aware of him than he is now, glasses or no. The image is blurry, but he's got a plasma screen to make up for it. There's no static lines, no messed up contrast and brightness, only Justin aware of every movement and oh hell.

Anything he might have said (though he doesn't know what he would say because he couldn't think clearly enough to form the most simple of simple sentences) dies in his throat the moment he feels Tony's throat open and take him fully in, and he'd have to be completely dead not to get the hint. The show he couldn't properly see and the motions before it, however, had Justin on the very edge of orgasm already, and he's a man. He can't quell every sexual need he has as much as he'd like to. And, as much as he'd like to fuck Tony's mouth for hours at time, he's not capable of it. His hand, already threaded through his hair and slightly clenched around his skull, tightens less than ten seconds after he gets the hint, less than two movements of hips that he really wishes he could turn into two hundred. His other hand, dropped to grip at one of Tony's wrists as though it was a life preserver, tightened at the same moment, and there was something that could have been a warning that never managed to make it off his tongue as anything more than garbled nonsense. Short, brief, garbage that didn't even come anywhere close to a word, much less more than one. Much less, I can't do this, I'm going to come right now.

But hey, Tony's a smart guy, and they've been doing this long enough that he's confident he'll know what that aborted word means. He hopes so, at least, because it's barely five seconds after it that he finds himself incapable of holding off any more and finds himself having one of the more intense orgasms he's had in the past five weeks.

Considering they'd been together for the past five weeks, it's saying a lot.

When he starts, he doesn’t know how close Justin is. He could be hovering near the edge of orgasm, he could be so far from it that it would take considerable time and attention to get him there. Tony doesn’t know, but he’s prepared for all eventualities. Because while he has always enjoyed the many permutations of sex, he’s never enjoyed it quite as much as he does with Justin, and all of the things that he would have once been slightly hesitant to do with a partner, he does eagerly now.

He’s prepared for this to take quite a while. His throat is loose, he’s as relaxed as he possibly can be, sitting on an awkward and mildly uncomfortable cooler. He’s prepared for the possibility that Justin will fight his intentions and barely move at all, and he’s also prepared for the most vigorous and thorough face-fucking he can provide. He’s even ready for the chance that he’ll barely get his mouth on him before he’s shooting his load all over the place.

As it turns out, that latter possibility is closer to the truth, and Tony accepts it with the same pleasure he would have felt if it had taken longer. The clenching of Justin’s hands on him is enough of a warning and he tightens his lips, sucks just a little harder, all but milking Justin’s cock until there’s nothing left to suck from it and it lays heavy and spent on his tongue. He draws back slowly, gently nudging Justin’s hips back until he has enough room to release him from his mouth. His fingertips stroke his ass lightly, soothing, calming caresses, as Tony licks his lips and leaves a kiss along the jut of Justin’s hipbone.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice low and sated. “That was hot. Gotta remember this the next time we're trying not to get too dirty.”

If they weren't in a relationship that didn't seem to have lasting power, Justin would think of it as a lost opportunity. A missed opportunity to have been with Tony fucking Stark in that way, in any way they'd been together before. He knew, though—or would like to think he knew—that they'd have plenty of days ahead where there wouldn't be cold air, possible insects, and no tent for them to do whatever they wanted, be it face-fucking or laying on the floor and talking about replacing rusty pipes as part of remodeling. He didn't feel any pressure to be something he wasn't, and Justin? Wasn't exactly a sexthlete. Tony knew that much long ago, but one day, certainly, they'd have an opportunity for additional methods to be brought in to make sure that Justin lasted exactly as long as Tony wanted him to.

It wasn't a missed opportunity. It was what it was and a good way to get Justin thinking about future sex between them, though...when hadn't he thought about that on a daily basis? Really.

"You." He pauses, hand in his hair tugging on it just enough so that he can tilt his head back, make sure Tony's looking up at him even though he can't visually see it. "Are going to be the absolute death of me."

It's not until he drops his hands to pull his pants and zipper back up that he realizes that talking about his death seems to be something that puts Tony on edge. It wasn't what he meant, and as he sits back down and pushes his button through the hole, he clarifies as much.

"Sexually, I mean. One day I'm just...you wear me out. I'm not—this is not me complaining in any way, don't think that, because it's—I just. You know. I should have gotten in a bigger tent. Really. It's too small, but if you. We can make due with it, though, right? There's not much room, but if we're on our sides, then I think tomorrow morning could be. Uh. An interesting wake up call, to say the least."

Being the death of Justin is something that Tony fears, not simply because of deep-seated issues with his parents’ death, but because he’s witnessed lunatics targeting the people that he cares about as a way to hurt him. Stane went after Pepper. Vanko went after everybody. Loki went after the entire world. By himself, Tony’s something of a bad luck charm for other people. Add Iron Man into the mix and it just magnifies that bad luck a hundredfold.

An icy spike of fear lodges in his gut, but he doesn’t act on it. His face doesn’t pale, his hands don’t start shaking, he doesn’t look upset or traumatized. He doesn’t even mention it. And when Justin clarifies what he meant – what Tony knew logically that he meant – he shoves it all into the back of his mind and tries to ignore it.

“I like to think of it as satisfying you,” he tells him, focusing on the positive and not taking his words as criticism or some dark foreshadowing of tragedy to come. “If you’re worn out, then you’re satisfied. If you’re not, you might still be wanting more, and I don’t want to leave you wanting more when I’m more than happy to give it to you the first go round.”

The fact that Justin’s hot certainly doesn’t hinder that desire. The fact that Tony loves him definitely doesn’t hinder it.

One day, that little secret will come out. If not Tony saying it aloud, but Justin adding small figures up to create big ones, adding twos and sixes to create hundreds. The idea that Tony believes anyone who gets close to him is a target is well and good, but the idea that Tony believes that Justin would be killed to get at him wouldn't settle well. It would make Justin feel like Tony thought him, in some way, dependent on him. Justin could just as easily be killed for someone not liking his wealth, his brain, his company—he ran that risk being who and what he was. Certainly, enemies would target those closest to someone who could blow shit up with a wave of his hand. But Justin had kept things as quiet as humanly possibly, and if Tony didn't say anything to the wrong person?

Well, they'd have a stalker before anything happened, wouldn't they?

"Satisfying me, huh." As he says it, he's moving his leg over so that he can straddle the cooler and move in properly, nosing through hair that looked so wonderful from above only a minute ago. His glasses are still out of the way, but only so he can place a quick kiss to Tony's temple before he leans back to retrieve them. "But what about you? Are you...satisfied?"

Maybe it's because he's filled with sugar and, yes, satisfied. Maybe it's because it's a new year and he wants to make sure this lasts as long as it possibly can. Maybe the semi-semantics talk has opened a door to it. Justin's not sure, but it seems as good a time as any.

"I mean. Is there something you like that I'm—that we're—not doing? I mean. You know. Is there, uhm, is there something I should. Clothes? I...don't know. There's this whole, uh, world of stuff that I'm not, that I'm not really knowledgeable about, but you. Uh. You're...you've." You're Tony Stark. "I'm open to things? If they're. You know. Within something like reason. You just have to tell me because how, because how will I know otherwise? Right? Like. So. Is there anything you feel like we should be doing and we're not so you're missing out, but you're not telling me, so there's kind of a problem, so you should tell me now?"

He can’t answer him immediately, because he isn’t sure that he’s capable of opening his mouth without laughing. The notion that he might not be satisfied is practically hilarious. He’s never been as content with his life as he is now, and that’s not something he’d ever expected to feel.

“Seriously?” A smile plays at the corner of his mouth as he shakes his head. “Am I satisfied?”

Reaching out, he cards his fingers through Justin’s hair and tips his head so that he can kiss his forehead without disturbing his glasses. “You don’t know the answer to that already?”

There’s nothing he’s lacking. No area in which he believes that Justin could stand to improve. Emotionally, he’s happy. Sexually, he couldn’t be happier. Maybe it’s difficult to believe, given that he’s Tony Stark and his reputation suggests that he’s a frequent participant in sexual acts more appropriate to a circus than a bedroom, but he is.

“You don’t have to do anything differently, Justin. You don’t have to be anyone else but who you are. I’m satisfied. I’m more than satisfied.” He slides his fingers down out of his hair and along the back of his neck. “I’ve got everything I want right here. But you know, that does cut both ways. You can tell me too, if there's anything that needs changed.”

Seriously?

Justin is, partly, expecting Tony to come out with some strange fetish he'd have to Google later to get the full idea of, something he'll have to do a bit of research on in order to feel moderately comfortable before going through with anything. Partly because he knows that Tony's not at all what papers, magazines, the Internet, and "news" television make him out to be. But still, there's a little bit of uncertainty on Justin's end about whether Tony just likes sex in general or if he likes the bizarre, shadowy lands of things Justin can't understand anyone ever thinking of as sexy, much less having become so much of a "thing" that it has its own special name.

He's not expecting what he gets, however, and he grows oddly quiet and still as he listens—there's no fidgeting fingers or nervously tapping feet, just him quiet and still and giving Tony every ounce of focus he contains. The only movement is him leaning into Tony's hand moving along him, nothing more.

"Well." It's short and quiet, and he takes a moment to look like he's really putting extreme thought into what he has to say, like it's life or death. For all intents and purposes, he looks completely serious. "I was going to make a joke about something extremely awful, but I can't think of anything right now. I...honestly wasn't. Expecting that."

If pressed, Justin wouldn't be able to accurately articulate what he was supposed "expecting," if only because he didn't really know.

Brow wrinkling in surprised curiosity, Tony arches an eyebrow, wonder what Justin was expecting and how off the wall it was. Either his reputation is worse than he originally thought, if after all this time Justin still assumes that there’s another side to him that’s yet to make an appearance, or Justin’s self-confidence is even more bruised than Tony sometimes thinks that it is. No matter which it happens to be, he still wants to do something about it.

“No?” he asks, without censure. “What were you expecting? Something illegal or something kinky?”

Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with sex at all, but those are his first two guesses. “Like, I’ve got a pleather fetish or I like being beaten? I don’t. To either. I mean, if you want to wear it, or you want me to wear it, okay. It’s hot and feels a little gross against skin, but I’m willing. And if you’d really get off on beating me, I guess we could work something out.”

He really hopes that isn’t the case, though. He doesn’t get off on receiving pain any more than he gets off on giving it. The whole thing kind of makes him feel a little sick, truth be told, but if it’s something that he needs to try again, well, Tony is always willing to try.

“I know it might seem like I’ve done everything, and honestly, I’ve probably come really close, thanks to a lot of booze and bad decisions.” This is a level of frank honesty that doesn’t come around every day. Not without concentrated prompting. He shrugs, offering a tiny, rueful smile. “But trying it doesn’t mean that I liked it, or that it was even my idea in the first place. So I’m, I don’t know, sorry, I guess, that I’m not as actively kinky as it might have seemed like I am.”

The mention of anything illegal has Justin's eyebrows creasing together so fast that something should sprain—his skin, his eyebrow muscles (or whatever they were called, Justin couldn't think of it), his entire forehead, it happened so fast it was like pulling strings on a marionette. Something illegal? Why in the hell would he...

But then he mentions booze, and Justin can work with that.

"Well, you're sober now. So you don't have to worry about any bad decisions that only happen because you're, you know, wasted. And, honestly, if you're wasted and you're springing something new on me, then...then I'm not going to. I'm going to decline. Not because—" well now, that sounded like Justin was trying to assert some control over Tony's habits, didn't it? That's not what he meant, and he's quick to try and explain as much, though there's quite a bit of stumbling over his words. "Not because I don't trust you, but because I don't, I mean, if you think the only way—that's not. I'm not saying you can't drink or I'll. I'm not. Look, I just want to help you stay away from that, and you seem to really like having sex with me, so if I say 'no' to sex, then maybe it's a deterrent. I'm not going to say I have a headache, I'm just going to say. Uh. No."

Awkward though his speech his, his hands aren't at all when he moves them over Tony's stomach and backs to rest on his hip, interlaced in a simple, loose hold.

"And I'm not going to beat you. That will never happen, I promise."

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."

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