dial tone

[formoftherapy]

It's a Saturday, nothing special about it.

Kite, having done all of the homework she plans on doing and unable to settle on what to do next, grabs for her phone.

She calls Tony's house. (Nothing special about that, either.)

Comments

[formoftherapy]

She laughs a little, shaking her head.

"Please. He could plot just as easily from here and you wouldn't know anything was up until his face was on the money."

[toblameforit]

In classic Tony style, he realizes at last that he is blocking the doorway, and moves back to let her in.

"Now there's a scary thought," he says with an exaggerated shudder. "Sherlock Holmes, U.S. president. Obie would shit bricks."

(Sherlock and Obadiah have never quite gotten along. They've always been a little... distant, in a way Obie never is with Tony.)

[formoftherapy]

She grins as she steps inside.

"In that case, it's definitely on his to do list."

(Despite having yet to meet Obadiah, Kite's been able to pick up on the tension between them.)

[toblameforit]

He snorts. "Even Sherlock" (see! He remembered!) "wouldn't take over the country just to get a burr up somebody's ass."

Beat.

"Probably."

[formoftherapy]

See Kite's skeptical face.



"You've met him, right?"

[toblameforit]

"Known him all his life."

[formoftherapy]

She laughs, ruffling his hair.

"Kinda figured that was a given."

[toblameforit]

He ducks, wrinkles his nose at her, and ruffles right back.

[formoftherapy]

Kite fluffs her hair idly with one hand.

"So. We've got the run of the house. Any ideas?"

[toblameforit]

Well, he has one.

[formoftherapy]

Kite can guess what that might be.



"Nobody'll ever accuse you of having a one track mind." She slips an arm around his waist.

[toblameforit]

"'Course not," he agrees, turning in towards her. His breath is warm against her cheek.



A little hesitant, at the last second before his hands settle to her hips? Surely not.

[formoftherapy]

She ducks her head, lips brushing his neck when she speaks.

"Perish the thought."

[toblameforit]

He chuckles, kissing her hairline.

It's one of—Sherry's pet phrases.

[formoftherapy]

She drums her fingers in the small of his back.

The graze becomes a kiss becomes the scrape of teeth.

[toblameforit]

His head tips back a little. "Mmm."

[formoftherapy]

She nuzzles the corner of his jaw.



The scrape becomes a bite.

[toblameforit]

She'll know by now how much Tony likes that.

He hasn't stopped.

[formoftherapy]

She hums against his skin.

Her nails grind circles through the fabric of his shirt.

[toblameforit]

"C'mon," he says breathlessly.

"Let's take this upstairs."

[formoftherapy]

"Good idea."

She drags her tongue over the bitemark before making a break for the stairs.

[toblameforit]

Laughing, he follows.

Chases, really.

[formoftherapy]

Kite puts on another burst of speed and turns hard into Tony's room, feed skidding sideways as she heads through the doorway.

She dives for the bed, sliding halfway across the comforter.

[toblameforit]

Pounce!

Can he pin her to the bed? Tony is pretty good. Not as good as Sherry. (She has never wrestled Sherry.)

[formoftherapy]

He can, if she's not fighting dirty.

This doesn't mean she makes it easy.