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 again.

"That's the idea, honey."

[toblameforit]

"Mmmm..."

Between Tony and Sherlock, mockery is foreplay. He grins Tony's yeah-you-got-me-there grin, digging his fingers into her hip a little.

[formoftherapy]

Her chin falls to her chest, breath hitching.

[toblameforit]

"Gorgeous," he sighs.

[formoftherapy]

She smiles shakily, reaching up to run her thumb over his lower lip.

"Not too bad yourself."

[toblameforit]

The grin he flashes is pure Stark arrogance; he kisses the pad of her thumb before she can take her hand away.

[formoftherapy]

She bends down to kiss him back properly, her thumb dragging over his cheekbone.

[toblameforit]

He moans happily into her mouth.

[formoftherapy]

Her fingers slide into his hair as she rocks back harder against him.

[toblameforit]

Half curse, half encouragement: "Oh fuck me."

[formoftherapy]

"Working on it, baby."

Hand still in his hair, she sits back up, sinking down hard with a yelp. "God, Tony--"

[toblameforit]

Now, Tony likes it when you say his name.

He doesn't like it like this, with a full-body shudder that's the next thing to terrified.

His hands tighten on her hips and he groans raggedly. Whatever that moment was, it passes.

[formoftherapy]

The moment may have passed, but it's burned on Kite's brain.

(That was wrong; it was wrong the way half a dozen other small things have been wrong and there is a very short list of explanations.

She doesn't let it show on her face.)

She lays a hand over his, moving faster.

[if_inconvenient]

As Tony would say, he sure fucked that one up.

Shuddering again, all pleasure this time, he rocks his hips in time with the rhythm of hers.

[formoftherapy]

"Mmm, fuck yeah."

Her nails scrape along his scalp.

[toblameforit]

"Yeah," he echoes breathlessly, "Kite, fuck."

[formoftherapy]

She drags her nails down his cheek, runs them over his lower lip.

"You wanna come for me?"

[toblameforit]

"Yessssss—"

[formoftherapy]

She hooks two fingers over his lip, slipping them just inside his mouth.

"I want you to, fuck do I want you to.

What do I have to do, Tony, what do you need me to do?"

[toblameforit]

He licks her fingertips, shaking a little.

"Faster," he gasps out, slurred by her fingers. "Ohfuckplease."

[formoftherapy]

She squeezes one of his hands on her hips. "Help me."

She shifts her weight, trying to move faster.

[toblameforit]

And he obeys, matching her rhythm with quick, shallow thrusts. His face is flushed, his eyes bright.

[formoftherapy]

"Oh fuck--"

She drags the pads of her fingers over his tongue.

"Oh fuck, that's it."

[if_inconvenient]

He wraps his lips around her fingers and moans helplessly.

Not long now.

[formoftherapy]

Kite moans in turn.

"Love your fucking mouth, run it all the goddamn time but it's so fucking sweet--"