[Tony only has enough time to catch his breath and make the vague realization of oh, that's my jacket Thor's stamping on, before his roommate (a.k.a. King of Asgard, a.k.a. Lord of Beefcakes) walks over, kneels down in front of him, and clasps his hands against either side of his jaw, ugent. Maybe a little rough, even.
Oh. Man. God. Uh.
He blinks up at Thor and wonders if -- have his eyes always been that blue? Or is it just his own bioluminescence reflected in them? Probably the latter, though that doesn't make Tony feel much better about the tension in his lungs, the butterflies in his stomach, and -- goddammit, it's not even Cordis.
He inhales and tries to regain his bearings, but all he gets is the sharp edge of acrid smoke in his nostrils from burnt cloth and vinyl. He winces his eyes closed and shakes his head, all too aware of the points of Thor's touch -- and Chroma transfer -- as they move with him.]
You... you could say that, I guess. Or. I mean, indirectly. [Tony tries super hard to convince himself his voice came out completely, convincingly normal, and not strained, or weird, or sort of cracking like a sixteen year-old's in front of the school homecoming queen. Football star? Whatever, whatever--]
I... [He takes a deep breath. He grits his teeth against another thrum of buzzy contact that thrums through him, right against his stupid, desperate prostate, or like -- at least adjacent to it, because he's genuinely unsure whether a direct hit in this moment would set him off in such ways that it'd be an opportunity to test a different type of bodily containment he's built into this stupid prototype suit, and why -- why was he dumb enough to come here in the first place?
Because it was a good excuse, a little voice whispers. Let the moons set it up, and -- oops, I did it again.
Tony yanks his head backward, but it meets resistance against Thor's hands, strong and unmoving. His cheeks burn, red and hot, as he winces his eyes shut.]
I'm -- I mean. [Words, Stark. He swallows.]
I'm fine, it's just. [Pause.] Iris. Y'know.
[Maybe Thor will figure it out. Maybe he won't. Tony's not sure which outcome he dreads more.]
[ Tony sounds strained, despite what Thor assumes are his best efforts.
He eases his grip, but only enough to move his hand down to the center of Tony's chest while Tony stumbles through fragments of an explanation that Thor still doesn't truly understand. ]
Be still. [ His own magic isn't a subtle thing, but that doesn't mean it can't be wielded with some finesse. Veins of lighting flash just beneath his own skin, and the blue of his eye is subtly alight.
He doesn't know if this will work at all, but he tries to attune himself to the flow of electricity within Tony and his suit. He's charged the suit before, he just needs to be careful not to feed it too much this time.
It's difficult to separate the suit and Tony at first, but it all seems concentrated near the ground, contained within the suit where--
The glow from Thor stops abruptly, his expression clouded with confusion. ]
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industries) wrote2019-05-15 09:19 pm
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Oh. Man. God. Uh.
He blinks up at Thor and wonders if -- have his eyes always been that blue? Or is it just his own bioluminescence reflected in them? Probably the latter, though that doesn't make Tony feel much better about the tension in his lungs, the butterflies in his stomach, and -- goddammit, it's not even Cordis.
He inhales and tries to regain his bearings, but all he gets is the sharp edge of acrid smoke in his nostrils from burnt cloth and vinyl. He winces his eyes closed and shakes his head, all too aware of the points of Thor's touch -- and Chroma transfer -- as they move with him.]
You... you could say that, I guess. Or. I mean, indirectly. [Tony tries super hard to convince himself his voice came out completely, convincingly normal, and not strained, or weird, or sort of cracking like a sixteen year-old's in front of the school homecoming queen. Football star? Whatever, whatever--]
I... [He takes a deep breath. He grits his teeth against another thrum of buzzy contact that thrums through him, right against his stupid, desperate prostate, or like -- at least adjacent to it, because he's genuinely unsure whether a direct hit in this moment would set him off in such ways that it'd be an opportunity to test a different type of bodily containment he's built into this stupid prototype suit, and why -- why was he dumb enough to come here in the first place?
Because it was a good excuse, a little voice whispers. Let the moons set it up, and -- oops, I did it again.
Tony yanks his head backward, but it meets resistance against Thor's hands, strong and unmoving. His cheeks burn, red and hot, as he winces his eyes shut.]
I'm -- I mean. [Words, Stark. He swallows.]
I'm fine, it's just. [Pause.] Iris. Y'know.
[Maybe Thor will figure it out. Maybe he won't. Tony's not sure which outcome he dreads more.]
no subject
He eases his grip, but only enough to move his hand down to the center of Tony's chest while Tony stumbles through fragments of an explanation that Thor still doesn't truly understand. ]
Be still. [ His own magic isn't a subtle thing, but that doesn't mean it can't be wielded with some finesse. Veins of lighting flash just beneath his own skin, and the blue of his eye is subtly alight.
He doesn't know if this will work at all, but he tries to attune himself to the flow of electricity within Tony and his suit. He's charged the suit before, he just needs to be careful not to feed it too much this time.
It's difficult to separate the suit and Tony at first, but it all seems concentrated near the ground, contained within the suit where--
The glow from Thor stops abruptly, his expression clouded with confusion. ]
What... Are you doing to yourself?