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

[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.

[toblameforit]

Honestly, he doesn't try that hard. Pinning, being pinned, as long as somebody's got their hands on somebody he's all good.

[formoftherapy]

She has one leg hooked around his, her hands scrabbling along his arms for purchase.

One hand slides up to the back of his neck and pulls him into a kiss.

[toblameforit]

He kisses her messily, all enthusiasm and no restraint. It's how Tony kisses.

(It's how Tony kisses Sherlock. Close enough as makes no difference to how Tony kisses her.)

[formoftherapy]

Kite laughs into his mouth.

She locks her leg tighter, rams her shoulder into his to try and roll him onto his back.

[toblameforit]

Grinning, he lets her.

There is an element of deliberation to the way he does it—something about the tension of his muscles—that suggests, for the briefest instant, that he might have chosen otherwise.

Maybe it's just that he felt like getting pinned to his bed today.