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]

"Kite," he says, his voice catching in his throat.

"Do what you want with me."

(It's one of Tony's lines, all right; he said it to Sherlock the first time they had sex. With much the same intonation, too.)

[formoftherapy]

"You cannot say things like that."

She scrambles up the bed to kiss him roughly.

"One of these days, someone's going to take you at your word."

[toblameforit]

He kisses back with all of Tony's shaky, breathless, wonderfully uncomplicated enthusiasm.

[formoftherapy]

Kite does her best to get her shirt off without breaking the kiss, and meets with moderate success.

[toblameforit]

Shivering pleasantly, he runs his hands down her back.

[formoftherapy]

The shirt gets flung over the side of the bed.

She shifts up onto her knees, trying to kick out of her jeans.

[toblameforit]

Ooh, ooh, can he help? Can he can he can he?

[formoftherapy]

He most certainly can. :D

[toblameforit]

AWESOME.

(Some part of him is aware that this is not remotely going according to plan, but right now he is being Tony Stark as hard as he has ever been Sherlock Holmes. The need to get it right overrides almost everything.)

[formoftherapy]

She shifts her weight to help the process along, bracing her hands on his shoulder and the mattress.

[toblameforit]

'Helping' mostly seems to mean getting his hands all over her, but he does slide her jeans down her thighs, shivering at the feel of warm skin under his fingers.

[formoftherapy]

Kite likes his kind of help.

She kicks first one leg free and then the other. He gets a kiss for his assistance.

[toblameforit]

Kisses!

He makes a happy little sound into her mouth.

[formoftherapy]

She hums in return, reaching down to shove his pants and underwear the rest of the way off.

[toblameforit]

His squirming is about half helpful and half just enthusiastic.

[formoftherapy]

Between her hands and his squirming, his pants end up bunched around his ankles.

She hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear. "You want to help with these, too?"

[toblameforit]

"Yeah," a little breathlessly.

Apparently the wonder hasn't gone out of this yet.

[formoftherapy]

"Okay, then."

Kite slowly lifts her hands away from her hips and tucks them behind her head.

[toblameforit]

Catching his lip between his teeth (a very Tony gesture, absent and uncalculated) he hooks his fingers under the edge of her panties and tugs down.

[formoftherapy]

She steps out of them with exaggerated care, dropping back to her knees on the comforter.

She sprawls out beside him, one leg sliding between his as she kisses him.

[toblameforit]

He breathes a sigh of pleasure into her mouth, wrapping an arm around her waist.

[formoftherapy]

She presses in closer, rocking her hips.

One hand closes on the back of his neck, her thumb stroking along his hairline.

[toblameforit]

With a quick, quiet gasp, he tightens his hand on her hip.



(Has Tony always been so sensitive there?)

[formoftherapy]

(No. She would have remembered, exploited it. Maybe it's a fluke.)

She repeats the gesture--slower, harder, and with the edge of her nail digging in.

She keeps kissing him throughout, as if nothing in particular caught her interest.

[toblameforit]

"Mm—"

The sound escapes before he can stop it. Tony has no particular attachment to that spot.

He squirms a little—disengangling himself from his pants—and kisses her, again, again, playing Tony on instinct because no matter his identity he is starting to get lost in the taste of her lips.