[ Steve gives a mock pout, exacerbated by how drunk he is, flushed pink and looking up at Tony with nearly black eyes. ]
Still am mad you were late. Could've recited you my poetry.
[ But that melts into a groan as Tony presses a third finger into him, as his jaw falls slack and he gasps like he's surprised at how pleasurable it is to be opened on Tony's hand. It's strange, isn't it? How many times they've done this, but it feels so brand new. ]
Go to parties together, get drunk, leave with each other.
[ It seems so mundane when he puts it like that, but he kind of loves the idea of something to balance out all the times their relationship is so bizarrely absurd. Tony asking him to fly into Italy on a moment's notice, Steve asking Tony for remote access to an abandoned AIM facility and then to dinner after.
Their lives are ridiculous, and that's why they have a lake house and why Steve puts up a tree every year for Christmas and wants to knit Tony sweaters and make a little scrapbook of their lives. ]
Depends on how bad our hangovers are.
[ He swivels his hips down on Tony's fingers, his words almost breathless, but soon enough those little snippets of dreams for their utterly normal lives together turn into something more pressing: ]
no subject
Still am mad you were late. Could've recited you my poetry.
[ But that melts into a groan as Tony presses a third finger into him, as his jaw falls slack and he gasps like he's surprised at how pleasurable it is to be opened on Tony's hand. It's strange, isn't it? How many times they've done this, but it feels so brand new. ]
Go to parties together, get drunk, leave with each other.
[ It seems so mundane when he puts it like that, but he kind of loves the idea of something to balance out all the times their relationship is so bizarrely absurd. Tony asking him to fly into Italy on a moment's notice, Steve asking Tony for remote access to an abandoned AIM facility and then to dinner after.
Their lives are ridiculous, and that's why they have a lake house and why Steve puts up a tree every year for Christmas and wants to knit Tony sweaters and make a little scrapbook of their lives. ]
Depends on how bad our hangovers are.
[ He swivels his hips down on Tony's fingers, his words almost breathless, but soon enough those little snippets of dreams for their utterly normal lives together turn into something more pressing: ]
I'm ready, Tony, please Tony...