bakerstreet | I Need You.

I Need You.

"I Need You."

Maybe it's desperation. Maybe it's just the right time. Maybe you're in the heat of the moment, body-to-body, and you don't even think about it. Maybe you're scared, or angry, or maybe you're so overcome with love that you can't help but say it. Whatever the reason, you've found yourself with someone important: your partner, your family, your rival, your lover, the person of your dreams--and the words have fallen from your lips.

"I need you."

How do they react? How do you react if they've said it to you?

HOW TO PLAY

→ Post with your character! Put their name and canon in the header, and any preferences you might have!
→Tag other people! Either your character is saying they need the other person, or they just heard that character say the words!
→Have fun!! (don't be a dick)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

A part of him should recognise that the fact Bruce was still here was some small miracle. He didn't think that Bruce was the kind of person who would just up and leave, but he did think that perhaps he'd worry about him enough to leave him to his own devices.

Honestly, Tony wasn't sure whether this was going to go well or not. Especially not with how passive his friend was being about all this. If it were him, he didn't think he could trust just anyone to pluck shrapnel out of him.

It was a struggle enough to trust himself.

"Did I never tell you not to say things like that?"

He says it whilst he picks up one of those tweezers, casting Bruce a look from his ducked position, fingers slipping under his friend's forearm, holding it still and turning his attention down - instantly frowning.

If Tony hadn't been in the Helicarrier the day Bruce met him, there was a very high likelihood that Bruce would have never become an Avenger. He just didn't connect with the others the way he did with Tony. They were all fighters: Steve the soldier, Nat the assassin, Thor the literal god from a culture famous for its warriors. Tony wasn't like that, though, not really. Tony liked inventing and tinkering and solving problems. He got into fighting because he wanted to solve the problems he had created. Bruce knew a little about that himself.

Out of all the Avengers, Tony was the only one Bruce considered an actual friend. He enjoyed their time together and always looked forward to whatever project they dreamed up. He could also tell that Tony cared about him, in his own Tony sort of way. When it came down to it, Bruce trusted Tony - even if Tony didn't always trust himself.

A small, almost mischievous smile alights upon Bruce's lips when Tony replies, and he only puts up a feeble fight against his own urge to tease the other man. Their banter is something he doesn't get from anyone else. When he sees the frown on his friend's face, he tries to come up with something to take Tony's mind off of the nature of what he's doing.

"Not specifically," he says, keeping his tone light and playful, watching Tony's face all the while. "Why? You don't want a nuclear physicist-turned-rage monster coming on to you?" It sounds like a joke, but there's an undercurrent of something else there he won't readily admit to.

For Tony, the Avenger's Initiative came with it's own set of complex decisions and a whole lot of swallowed pride. He rarely spoke about the things that had happened before his awareness of it, but now he felt pretty content that the work they'd done for him, he'd repaid. His money went toward things he could never have hoped to do on his own, and he still had time and money and plans enough to work on his own home grown projects in the mean time.

That Bruce Banner had been called upon was not only a thrill, but an honour. He'd tested, sure - and even Tony had recognised that out of them all - they shared something the others could never have understood. Science did that. He had that much to thank it for.

Science and knowledge and experience. They thought alike, they understood the need to push the limits, and they were both products of their own misdeeds. Mind you, that much could be said for so many of the others, in their own - not so science-oriented ways.

Tony's frown eased up every time he successfully pried a tiny fragment of metal out of his friend's skin - depositing it in a little pile on the couch for lack of better implement. Maybe he should have fetched a bowl or something from the kitchen, but a magnet would just as easily get it up later.

Unless he threw caution to the wind, and himself at Bruce and they ended up with metal bits embedded in them all over again.

Slowly, he lifted his head to look Bruce in the eye - not quite able to hold his stare, gaze flitting across his face, trying to piece together the look, the words, the meaning.

"Are you coming on to me?"

Shit. Bruce hadn't meant for it to sound like he was - but then again, he had been, hadn't he? He went quiet for a moment, licking his lips to give himself time to think, time to figure out what to do. He didn't want to put any pressure on Tony, especially not now when he was so vulnerable and clearly not in a great state of mind, but he also couldn't deny the nature of the tension between them.

Maybe he was just imagining it. Maybe Tony didn't feel anything at all towards him except for friendship. Maybe Tony just saw him as a fellow scientist, someone who would listen without interrupting, someone who would humour him. Maybe Bruce was letting his own feelings get in the way of taking care of Tony.

Maybe he was being a selfish asshole. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Depends," he said at last, the words weighing heavy and hesitant on his tongue. Did he really want to do this? What if it just made Tony worse? Lying to him wouldn't help, though, Bruce knew that for a fact. "Do you want me to come on to you?" There. He'd said it. The ball was in Tony's court now, for better or worse.

Despite the distinct awareness that Bruce's silence said nothing and everything, it wasn't until he finally came out with a final product that Tony allowed himself a smile.

It came on far slower than he'd intended, crept up his face and would stay there as he ducked his head again - smoothing his fingers higher up, beyond Bruce's elbow as he shifted closer, plucking another piece of metal from his friend. How he wasn't pouring with blood fascinated him more than it ought to, and perhaps another day he'd like to test the constant effects of the Other Guy on Bruce's natural body in other ways.

Which begged that other question.

The laughter bubbled from him without warning, and he lifted his hand up to his mouth to try and cover it - sitting upright as soon as it passed, hand dropping idly at his side, barely hanging on to the tweezers between his fingers.

"The coffee table's pretty sturdy."

Tony's laughter broke the tension that had been creeping up Bruce's spine, and he allowed himself to smile in response. Seeing Tony like this was worth embarrassing himself any day. It wasn't affected or fake or put-on; it was genuine, true laughter. It made him look ten years younger and about twenty times more attractive, despite him already being incredibly good-looking. It was a science Bruce would never quite understand.

His response left Bruce red in the face, his eyes widening before he let out a laugh in disbelief. Leave it to Tony to go straight for the gold.

Bruce was still hesitant, though. He didn't want to push too hard in case Tony really was just joking around. Besides, it was fun to go back and forth like this. It made an excitement he hadn't felt in years stir inside of his chest.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, leaning forward a little to close the space between them. He kept their faces a few inches apart, but he was there if Tony wanted him. He raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly and - oh god, he was flirting. With Tony Stark. He was so far out of his depth he couldn't do anything but keep going.

"You look good when you laugh like that," he added, the words a little more hesitant than those preceding them, a little shyer.

Before anything else, Tony respected Bruce. The guy was a genius in his own right, and even though he'd spent an entire night reading up in the hopes to come close to catching up on things regarding the tesseract, he recognised easily that without Bruce they couldn't have known as much as they were able to piece together.

He couldn't overlook the anger management, either. Although, that begged another question right now and one he was sure he should ask but just couldn't find it in himself to threaten the moment.

It was Bruce who leant in first, and he would contest that forever and a day if it ever came up.

"I always look good."

Abandoning Bruce's elbow, he reaches up for his shoulder instead, fingers smoothing over the curve of it and grasping so he could pull him in those last few inches. Other than that, it's only his head that he tips, enough to catch Bruce's mouth in a kiss, light, slow, terribly chaste.

It was a wonderful distraction.

This is probably a bad idea, Bruce reflects, but it's one of the best bad ideas he's had in a long, long time.

It's not as though he's forcing himself on Tony - he gave the engineer plenty of room to back off or push him away or change the subject. They both want this; that much is clear. Yet Bruce can't prevent the guilt that rises in his chest when Tony grasps his shoulder, can't fight off the self-loathing that emerges when their lips press together. He feels a bit like he's taking advantage of Tony's vulnerability.

But they need this. Tony needs a distraction, something to help take his mind off of the horrors they've been through, and Bruce - well. Bruce needs to make sure Tony is alright. That's all that matters.

He keeps the kiss light, but his hands reach forward, eager to anchor themselves. One hand curves gently around Tony's neck, pressing him closer. He always smells good, but up close there's a more subtle scent to him, something muskier and less intense than the cologne he likes to wear.

Despite feeling that he could keep this kiss going forever, Bruce eventually pulls away just a little, keeping their faces close as he glances up into Tony's eyes. "Tell me if you want to stop," he says, torn between desire and fear.

Right now, he can't reflect on anything beyond this - despite how much the both of them really ought to be addressing their most immediate issues. Bruce is still covered in flecks of metal and he's still wondering when he's actually going to kill everyone he's ever known.

Anything Tony had chosen to wash with or put on would have faded by now, their mission had taken them far away from New York and a they'd certainly had their abilities put to the test. All of them. Honestly, his next suggestion - after he'd cleaned Bruce up had been a shower, not together. Together hadn't been in any part of his plan aside from in the most platonic of senses and suddenly it was all he wanted.

That it's Bruce pulling away has him frowning, but no sooner are those lips missing from his - he's taking action. Opening his eyes, holding that stare, letting amusement replace frustration.

"Never pegged as the type to take control."

The warmth in Tony's eyes is reassuring, and Bruce feels himself relax a little. He's had trouble allowing himself to want things ever since the gamma accident, since everything he wanted was either impossible or could be used as a weapon against him. Wanting Tony didn't feel like that, though, especially not now that he was realizing Tony wanted him, too. In what sense exactly he wasn't sure, but that didn't have to matter. Not yet, at least.

A smile crosses his lips and a spark of mischief enters his eyes as he regards his friend's face. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he murmurs in response, brushing the tips of their noses together affectionately.

Now that they'd crossed the line separating friendship and intimacy, Bruce felt bolder than usual. He'd been looking at Tony this way for a while now, though he'd done his best to keep it under wraps. Being attracted to a teammate wasn't always helpful, and he didn't want to distract Tony from more important things.

But perhaps a distraction was what was best for both of them.

He wants to speak again, to let go of the words that have been building up in his head, but it doesn't feel like the right time. So instead he presses their lips together again, applying more pressure now, trying to show Tony that yes, he wants this, this is good.

Since Afghanistan, his playboy attitude had taken a hit. He still flirted, still acted every part the person that everyone believed Tony Stark to be - but his bed, and any bed he'd slept in since then had been decidedly empty.

He didn't talk about it, he didn't bring it up - and in fact, besides JARVIS and perhaps Pepper, he didn't think anyone had any inclination that he felt more like a hot mess than a hot billionaire.

Tony could only imagine that Bruce knew of his reputation and thought little of him for it. There had never been any room for something kindling between any one of them. Barton had the right idea. (He'd rather Barton take credit over Fury for the farm in the middle of nowhere.)

This, however, had gone from a few scraps of paper to a raging fire in seconds, and all it took were those few words. Excitement flared behind his eyes, and despite his efforts a sharp breath would give away just what he felt about tonight. Suddenly the promise of discovery was less science and more physical and yet he was sure they'd find room to claim scientific discovery over the whole thing and that was that.

Without thinking on it, as soon as Bruce closed the gap between them he scooted forward on the table, aware of how one of his knees slid along the inside of Bruce's leg and the ripple of electric the sensation sent up through his own body. This was more than okay, and if he didn't learn more about Bruce than his file-diving exercises before the Avengers had taught him, he'd be sorely disappointed.

They never discussed it, because it just wasn't the sort of thing that Bruce liked to talk about and because they were always busy talking about other, more scientific things, but if Bruce was honest he didn't care an ounce about Tony's playboy reputation. Before they met he just seemed like another handsome, wealthy, incredibly intelligent man - it made sense that Tony Stark would be able to sleep with whomever he wanted. Bruce had been too busy trying to avoid people to give it much thought.

Besides, Tony was a brilliant scientist and engineer. Bruce's respect for that far outweighed any misgivings he might have about the guy's personal life. After they met and got to know one another, Bruce had been pleasantly surprised by Tony's underlying vulnerability; it hadn't been too difficult to become friends, especially not with their shared backgrounds.

That vulnerability always made Bruce want to take care of Tony, though. The other man tried to hide it, tried to cover it up by acting the way everyone expected him to, but it wasn't hard for Bruce to see the flicker in his expressions or the way his hands would sometimes shake when nothing was wrong.

He hadn't figured out how to take care of him, though, other than simply being there for him, a steady and reassuring figure for Tony to lean on. Perhaps this was the solution he'd been trying to find.

The insistent press of Tony's knee against the inside of Bruce's leg sent a rush of desire through Bruce's body, and his hands clutched a little more tightly at Tony, one in his hair and the other at his waist. Suddenly nothing mattered except bringing him close and keeping him there, where he was safe, where Bruce could kiss every inch of him.

He deepened the kiss a little, his tongue stroking over Tony's lips before dipping into his mouth, testing the waters. Just because he was a pacifist didn't mean he was a passive partner, particularly not when the attraction had been building for such a long time. A soft, breathy moan floated up from his throat and got lost between them.

They rarely had time for small talk. Silly quips and comebacks were more his thing, but when they worked together on a project it was less about filling in the silences and more about the work. He didn't need to one up Bruce, they were on a level playing field. He knew Bruce was smarter than he was about a lot of things, but he felt no need to hold his own against him. There was an acceptance of one another that just didn't come with the others.

The two of them thought along the same lines, on the same wavelength - and he was thankful that carried on through this.

Oblivious to the fact that Bruce had seen beyond the thin defence he put up, or unwilling to acknowledge it - Tony was happy to simply accept his friend's company. Whether it was in the lab where they tended to work best, or on the field, or even-- definitely here.

Shit. Bruce was good.

Yes, he'd thought about it. No, he had no expected this.

Bruce's moan was mirrored in him, but he didn't let it slide by without recognition, rather took the bull by the horns and chose in that moment that he needed this more than he needed to redeem his sins. That could wait. Couldn't it? Shifting off the table altogether took little more than a shift, and press of his feet against the floor - he was in the wrong place of course, and as soon as his knee brushed higher up Bruce's thigh he grumbled, pulling away from the kiss with for not just a gasp of air, but a moment to take readjust his position too.

Tony had no qualms with how it looked, had no issues with his sexuality, or what happened here. As long as it was consensual and amazing. Fun was important. For once, he says nothing as he lowers a knee to the couch, using both hands to push Bruce back against it, gentle - aware that there's shrapnel everywhere all over again and wishing they'd gone to the workshop because he was sure there'd be some gadget he could come up with in a few seconds to get rid of it but no... they're stuck like this and his silence doesn't last too much longer either whilst he gets up to straddle Bruce's lap.

"You're still covered in it."

Bruce had been thinking about Tony like this for longer than he wanted to admit. It was hard not to - Tony often worked in a tanktop, especially when the lab got a little too hot from blowtorching or when he was simply too keyed up to be restricted by clothing. He was the flirtatious type, too, and they'd exchanged more than their fair share of innuendo-laden comments and fleeting touches.

That was nothing compared to this, though. Feeling Tony pressing closer, feeling his knee so close to that spot in Bruce's pants where the fabric was stretched uncomfortably tight, made this more real somehow. It wasn't going to just be them kissing for awhile and then forgetting about it. He would make sure Tony got whatever he needed to help him forget what had happened, even if only for a little while.

Of course, he wanted this for himself, too. When Tony pushed him back against the couch Bruce let out a soft, surprised sound, his eyes tracking up the length of Tony's body and his cheeks heating up as he processed the fact that Tony was straddling him. His hands dropped to the other man's waist, clutching at him just a little, a hint of possessiveness in his fingertips.

He can feel the shrapnel still embedded in his skin itching where it's trapped against the couch, but he ignores it in favour of tilting his head up to kiss along Tony's collarbone and up the side of his neck.

"Don't worry about it," he murmurs. Then a mischievous grin splits his face and he glances up at Tony with that look he sometimes gets when they're working on a problem and Bruce has thought of an extremely clever, if not entirely ethical, solution. "I don't mind being covered in things. Especially if they belong to you."

He liked to flirt. It was comfortable - especially with people he liked and even more so when it came to flirting with someone like Bruce. Not only had he seen flashes of another side of Bruce that others, including himself hadn't seen, but it went a long way to creating the perfect kind of atmosphere to work in.

To say he hadn't noticed Bruce would be a lie, even if he very likely wouldn't admit this was something that was a long time in the making. He flirted with most of the others, in his own way - different with every one of them, but Bruce was different. Not just in the most obvious ways.

He recognises that look before the words come, which is perhaps why he's caught off guard when the words finally come and it feels a lot like a punch in the gut. Remembering the way those kisses up his neck felt was doing little to sate the voice in his head screaming a reminder that he'd done this. Those bombs belonged to him. His hands, his workshop. His-- His.

Belatedly, he realises he was holding a breath - and has to suck one in deep and sudden to satisfy his lungs, hating that he needs to look away, that he's so affected by this. That he's here, making out with the guy he'd almost killed.

Both hands shift, settle on Bruce's shoulders, effectively pinning him to the couch, head tipped, still avoiding eye contact. How stupid was he? It wouldn't take much for those pieces to sink further into his skin, and he'd be in the business of miniature arc reactors as chest pieces again.

"Where are the damn tweezers?"

Bruce knew saying something like that was risky, even if Tony was already on his lap. He didn't often try to be sexy, since he didn't really have intimate relationships with anyone and he wasn't looking for any, either. But the risk was of embarrassing himself, not of making Tony freak out.

He can tell he's said the wrong thing when he feels Tony go still on top of him, and he pulls back to regard the other man, worry creasing his face. Tony's got that look that says his brain is yelling at him, a look Bruce knows all too well.

When he looks away Bruce's self-loathing resurfaces. Of course he'd fucked this up. Why wouldn't he? It was what always happened to things he wanted. He was being selfish, greedy. He wasn't looking after Tony's needs because he was so caught up in satisfying his own.

The question pierces him like a needle into a balloon, making him deflate. He shakes his head a little, one hand reaching up to capture Tony's cheek gently, trying to get him to make eye contact again.

"Hey," he says, his voice tight with regret. "I'm okay. It's okay. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." He attempts to smile, trying to lighten the mood again. "It doesn't hurt. But we can wait until it's gone to do anything else, if that's what you want."

This was for Tony, not for Bruce. He had to remember that. Otherwise, he'd lose him for sure.

There's no one more pissed off at himself right now than Tony. If starting up a fling with Bruce had been his intention then he would be kicking himself for ever allowing his friend to sit here and make out with him with shrapnel still imbedded in his skin but this was so sudden, despite his feelings for the other scientist. He couldn't possibly have prepared for this, couldn't ready his mind for the jokes and the flirting and the honesty in those words that clearly wasn't intended.

A hand on his cheek makes him pause long enough for breath, and although he stills his head - it's not until Bruce is done talking that he turns his gaze onto him.

"You're not okay. How can you be okay? You nearly died. People died. People-- my weapons. Mine. I--"

So much for feeling like he'd conquered the panic attacks.

"Goddamnit."

Oh. It's like that. Bruce fights off a frown and shakes his head, his eyes never leaving Tony's face. He slides his thumb across the other man's cheek reassuringly, trying to calm him down. He knows where Tony's mind is; he's been there more than a few times himself. It's one of those things they never discussed but innately understood about each other: they were both creatures of mass destruction, and they both hated themselves for it.

"Tony." The word is more commanding now, but still soft. "I'm alive." As if to prove it, Bruce clasps his fingers around Tony's wrist and brings the man's hand up to rest on Bruce's chest, where his heart is beating steadily.

The other part isn't so easy to deal with, though. A soft sigh escapes Bruce's lips and he shifts beneath Tony, trying to bring him closer. "You don't do that anymore," he reminds him. The hand he has placed on Tony's cheek slides up into the engineer's messy, dark hair, combing through it affectionately. "It's not your fault that bad people are taking advantage of your past. You still got us out in time."

He knows it's no consolation. The blood on their hands can't be washed away so easily. But Bruce is willing to do whatever it takes to help Tony recover.

He pauses for a moment, considering, then murmurs a warm, "C'mere," before guiding their lips together in another kiss. This one isn't hungry or hesitant. It's not about desire. It's about showing Tony that they're both alive and they're both okay. He pulls away after a couple of seconds but keeps their faces close, not wanting Tony to go off into his own head again.

Every other time he'd felt like this - he'd turned tail. With Rhodey in the bar, with damn Harley, with Pepper. The instinct to run is strong, there's a weight in his gut, and a buzz in his head and a weird tingling sensation up both his arms that screams for him to get up, get up and go.

Bruce is the anomaly, and perhaps this is the turning point.

Awareness of the shake in his breath comes as those fingers slip around his wrist, and it feels weak, for him to allow this to happen but some part of his brain seems to recognise that this is just what he needs.

Everything about the way Bruce touches, moves under him, speaks and pauses is so fucking cliche but so terribly perfect that he lets it happen. His focus shifts, there's a warm body under him, a soothing hand in his hair, a living, breathing, walking, talking, attractive scientist right here in front of him who understands what it is to feel this way.

Giving in is simple. It's in the tip of his head and the closing of his eyes and the way that even as Bruce pulls back again, he shifts - until his forehead is there against Bruce's. There's calm. This. This is calm.

"How do you do that?"

Relief surfaces within Bruce's chest when Tony returns the kiss, when he keeps himself close instead of pulling away. Bruce has been through enough panic attacks to understand the urge to flee. The way the body reacts to a danger that is only present in the mind is frightening and difficult to cope with - but he's determined to help. Tony doesn't deserve to feel like that, no matter what bad things he's done in the past.

A shy smile alights on Bruce's lips at the question, and warmth seeps through his body. It's nice to know that he's helping. "Years of practice," he says quietly, keeping things small and intimate, hoping he can draw Tony's attention away from the ghosts that are haunting him.

Living with anxiety is difficult enough for people without powers or super-intelligence or space-age suits of armour. Bruce learned a long time ago that letting his fears get out of control only led to doing things he'd regret. It was a battle that was far from over, but he was farther along than Tony, and that meant he could could reach back and pull the other man along with him.

His fingers card through Tony's hair, giving him something physical to hold on to. Now that they've crossed into intimacy, Bruce feels like it's okay to give in to his frequent impulses to be affectionate and touchy - as long as Tony doesn't mind, of course. He keeps his movements light and easy to escape from, doing his best not to overwhelm the other man.

"I'm here with you," he murmurs, trying to keep feeding Tony little reminders that they're okay, they're alive, they're not alone. "I've got you."

He finally opens his eyes again on Bruce's smile, that small, shy thing that he might just have fallen in lust with all those months ago. Their most formidable asset, the king pin, the key piece of human tech that Loki had targeted and successfully manipulated to bring about their downfall and he had a smile like that.

It had amused him back then, and it would amuse him forever more. The memories bubble up, and without trying Bruce is, as he says, right here with him.

It's so ridiculous to feel like this.

Truth was he'd never let anyone in like this. Never allowed anyone to stick around long enough to see him crack, to watch the pressure crush him beside a kid who happened to be in the right place at the right time with the right tools and his CEO. He'd forever deny that he allowed them in, Bruce however. Bruce.

"Have you got me?" It's the first thing he says with any kind of confidence despite how the words are whispered, and seconds later he's moving both his hands to catch Bruce's face between his fingers, easing him in close enough to kiss, holding him there.

When Tony kisses him something blooms in Bruce's chest. It's more than relief, more than happiness; he doesn't know of a word that can describe it accurately. Knowing that Tony, who is clearly not doing so well mentally, is responding in this manner to Bruce's attempts to make him feel better is the best reward he could imagine.

Not just because they're kissing - though yes, Bruce will admit that the selfish side of him is incredibly happy about that part - but because the kiss signifies so much more. It's not just kissing anymore, at least not to Bruce. It's wordless communication, like the way they can understand each other without having to speak, with just a glance.

He loves Tony. He's known this for a while now, but it wasn't something he ever planned on admitting. Bruce is used to having the things he wants most taken away from him. He's learned not to articulate those wants, to just go on existing, to simply live through the hell that life seemed determined to give him.

But he can't deny it. The way he feels for the other man - wanting to protect him, nurture him, wipe away all the dirt and grime of his past so he can see the clear, bright future that's waiting for him - it can't possibly be anything else.

He doesn't want the kiss to end, so he holds it for as long as he can, keeping it chaste. When he finally pulls away for air he keeps their lips close together and murmurs, "I've always got you, Tony. For as long as you want me to."

Love is not something that Tony had ever considered in relation to himself. He knew, of course - that his Mother loved him, and had always shown him that much in the least. Until recently, he believed that his Father felt very differently - that Bruce could feel something so strong for him was beyond him. Utterly.

Tony definitely won't be admitting any feeling toward him any time soon. Working out what this is he feels might be difficult enough for someone so driven by immediate and physical things.

So he lets himself give in to this instead - calming as the seconds tick by. Not that he had any intention of stopping, actually.

"Mn, I didn't mean in the supportive way." He muttered, following it up with another kiss, slow, brief, perhaps too meaningful for his liking. Perhaps it's the reason he's teasing instead.

It takes a second for Bruce to realize the he missed the joke, but when he does his cheeks turn a dusty pink and he ducks his head, embarrassed. There's a smile on his lips, though, and the warmth in his chest begins to seep out into the rest of his body. He shifts again, just a little, and it reminds him of how good Tony feels on top of him like this - in more ways than one.

He's still feeling embarrassed when they kiss again, though as the seconds tick by that feeling melts into something else. He steals a second kiss, even briefer than the first, before pulling back a little to take a breath.

Should he let this continue? It seems like Tony wants it, but Bruce is worried that continuing might make him panic again. Stopping doesn't exactly seem like the best idea, though, so he compromises by allowing his thumbs to brush up beneath the fabric of Tony's shirt, where they rub small circles over his hipbones.

"How did you mean it, then?" he asks, his own voice teasing but still affectionate. There's a glimmer of mischief in his expression that's all too easy to read.

It's not until Bruce is done kissing him that he leans back, wriggling on his knees to edge closer.

He says nothing, but a soft hum escapes him as he regards the state of Bruce's cheeks, pulling his hands away to get a better look at just how his face is affected by it. Whether it might spread, what else he could possibly say to make things worse for him.

Only, it's his turn to startle. The gesture is gentle, a shift of his hips to try and evade or perhaps encourage more of that touch. It feels good, better than he'd like to admit - and the need for more strikes him harder than he'd expected it to. Of course, getting the right ends without making it a demand, or even suggest. He has his pride still, after all.

"How else could you have me?"

One eyebrow arches. It's his trademark smirk.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject