seekevolution | The Amulet

"It's called spooning. I'm getting you those old sex ed films from the fifties to explain this stuff to you, Banner," Tony says, his breath tickling the curls at the back of Bruce's neck. Pepper's a little too warm to hold, not because Tony doesn't like it, but because she can't stay cool enough to let him sleep so close. She always sleeps over the covers, AC blaring. It's nice to have a little human...or not so human...contact.

And besides, just what harm is this doing? Answer: Nothing at all.

"Relax. You can't get pregnant this way, Myrtle."

Bruce gets something he rarely does anymore - goosebumps. They ripple down his arms and he stretches out a little bit to try and settle the odd feeling. The question of humanity is very dependent on who you even ask about Bruce.

"I'm male, I know I can't get pregnant." But there is a very quiet laugh somewhere in his voice, a nervous laugh, but he's trying to deal with this. Tony must just be pushing at him again. There's no danger like this; the Other Guy is quiet inside and Mohinder's reaching should be out of distance.

"Give science time. I'm sure you can get pregnant one day. Never lose hope," he teases, hand flat on Bruce's stomach. Tony shifts his thigh against the backs of Bruce's and tucks his knees into the curve of the other's. He's missed physical contact from one of his deemed 'safe' sources.

No wonder Mohinder's been crazy for Bruce... He's really a good guy and remarkably cuddly. Is that from all the body hair?

Give Tony a moment and he'll work his cool fingers up the inside of that horrible yellow t-shirt, cool digits on overly warm skin.

Even with Betty, though he had held her close, it was never this level of closeness. Tony seems determined to get in close in every inch he can- ah his fingers are cold! This only works at all because of their relatively similar heights.

He wants to protest, wants to run, yet even as he lays there, Tony going still against his back, Bruce takes stock of the situation and finds it surprisingly... quiet. No increased heart rate, no possible issues, only a quietness in his mind and body. Maybe it isn't so bad, then? He could try to sleep like this, with the octopus known as Tony Stark.

Would Suresh hold you? Yeah, Tony's having make believe conversations now as he feels Bruce sink in against him. There's almost a sense of vindication which, of course, is definitely the wrong way to go about this whole thing. Caring for Bruce is not a competition.

Tony just has never learned how to properly share anything in his life. Not even friends.

As Bruce begins to drift, muscles relaxing, breathing evening out, Tony presses his lips to the back of his neck, thereby ruining everything calm and wonderful about cuddle time.

You know the answer to your own question, Stark. Mohinder would have given nearly anything to be in the position you're in right now.

That motion pulls Bruce from the sleep he's heading towards, but at first, he isn't even sure why. Everything is still quiet and still around him, Tony is there- wait. Tony... he can feel Tony's breath right against the back of his neck again, making tension start to coil back through him again. Is Tony asleep...?

Sleeping people might sometimes have jerky motions, might sometimes paw at bedmates, but nothing like this. Smooth, gentle strokes up Bruce's stomach and chest lead to fingers curling in chest hair. Tony's breathing is much too fast for a man sleeping too, and perhaps for one even at rest. The tip of his nose nudges at the back of one of Bruce's ears and his hips rock slightly forward to close any lingering distance between them.

He'll speak, because he's not the sort to do anything to another person under pretense. Just give him a moment.

"Are you awake?" Hopefully the answer is yes.

Under Tony's fingers, there are little flutters of muscles that Bruce's mind starts naming as they react. Along his belly, under the breast bone, the flat expanse over the pectoral. Bruce lies infinitely still otherwise, his mind trying to focus on each little place their bodies touch, wanting to catalog each and tuck it away so it could be remembered far beyond the right now.

"Yes." Very quiet, barely even a movement of his lips. Where Tony's skin grazes the back of his ear, Bruce actually sucks in a breath audibly. One hand digs into the sheets and holds on like he very well might fly away if he let go.

Tony's good at reading people. He's had to be, you can't do business unless you're willing to learn how people work and what each little tilt of the head, narrowing of the eye, or change of breath could signal in negotiations. Having someone in your bed is just an extension of the same. Where the roadmap will lead depends on careful analysis of direction and speed and the gas in the engine. You have to learn to read the map, and interpret it correctly to get anywhere.

It takes only a little effort on Tony's part to move back, for Bruce's weight to immediately fill the void his own had left. The drop of Bruce's shoulder allows Tony to lean over it. To study Bruce's face. If all signals are green, or even halfway there, Tony will go for it, a kiss a little less intense than the last one.

At first.

Tony can't help himself if everything ramps up quickly.

Bruce knows a very clinical look at reading people; it takes a careful, knowing eye to be able to read issues in the slight off-gait of someone's walk, the movement of the chest indicating difficulty breathing, the droop of a muscle indicating possible issues of the cranial nerve. Everything else in his life has pulled him away from the more social norms of being able to read people and even on top of that, Tony Stark is a confusing, difficult man to begin with.

Bruce's eyes meet Tony's as he lies there, but he remembers this. This sudden closeness, the warm yet directed look into Tony's eyes, the shift of his hand up to capture-

And there it is. That sudden warmth and faint wetness that leaves Bruce still, Tony completely in control of the kiss. Bruce's eyes do slide closed though, one hand still clinging for dear life, but unlike the utterly unexpected kiss last time, he manages to bring his other hand up and somewhat awkwardly slide over Tony's shoulder, gripping there instead. He can feel the roughness of stubble against beard, suddenly, oddly, a little grateful he hadn't bothered to shave just yet.

Yep. Winner. Ding ding ding, it's Tony Stark. There's no triumphant fist bump or anything to callous but Tony does enjoy a small smile crushed against Bruce's mouth before shifting more of his weight over onto the other man. The hand still on his chest curls a bit, the feel of manicured fingernails gently pressing into skin as his lips part and teeth and tongue do what they do best.

Well. Best after talking.

There's really no denying just how much Tony enjoys Bruce-- His mouth, his presence, his heat. They fit together. They should be together...at least as much as Bruce is able. Tony doesn't want to share this.

Perhaps there should be the feeling of panic, and well, okay, maybe there is the faint urge to run somewhere in the crazy mix of feelings Bruce has running through him right now, but it's a surprisingly small feeling in the wake of everything else happening in that moment. Maybe it's part of what Mohinder had started the other night, a strange form of awakening towards what this sort of affection could feel like without being on the edge of bolting.

Now, instead, there is every urge to capture that small feeling again, the one in the center of his chest. It's both terrifying and intoxicating, and Bruce, for a moment, forgets about pushing it away and pulling back. He had nearly gotten there with Betty when his warning-alarm had stopped them, but it had been silenced some time ago.

Now, he lets himself go, just a little bit. There's no experience here, but his chin lifts just a touch, trying, learning, even as his head spins.

It's all right to let go. Even if Tony isn't sure where this is going, he can fake it and figure it out later. Or crash and burn. Either way, it's going to be a whole lot of fun!

There's no part of him that regrets this. Guilt will probably happen a little later, when his hands stop roaming and Pepper emails or calls him in a harrowed fashion tomorrow about her meeting. But for now, Tony's motto is simple: Enjoy.

And oh. Oh, he's very much enjoying, slowly trying to tug off Bruce's shirt.

Bruce would, for his whole life, question if it is all right to let go. Letting go means vastly more for him than it does most people because there will always be a line he has to avoid crossing, and it is a line often difficult to see drawn in the sand.

Tony's hands feel like they're everywhere, even though he knows that isn't true. Bruce swallows quite audibly when he shifts enough to let Tony peel his shirt off, looking up at his friend uncertainly. What is Tony expecting from him? Tony himself brought up one of the major issues why he doesn't allow himself to deal in this area.

So his gaze is questioning. Uncertain. Nothing says stop, either.

That vulnerable look gets him. Gets him each and every time. It's like the other man is trying to pull out his heart. Tony kisses him again, rushed and aroused and needy. The shirt is tossed somewhere over the edge of the bed and then his own follows, causing him not only to break the kiss, but show off his nice new scar...

And his otherwise perfect chest.

It's not fair to want someone so much, but he can't really blame poor Bruce for being so utterly desirable. The man doesn't realize it, that much is obvious. He's got a troubled past, no opportunity to really do things the normal way and--

Tony doesn't care.

"I really like your mouth," he groans against Bruce's full lower lip.

Bruce's eyes drop down to the scar, studying it the best he can in the light, surprised how very different the tanned chest looked without the slow hum and glow of the arc reactor. For a moment, he wonders how it feels for Tony - had he gained or lost something?

Except the comment about his mouth pulls him out of his thoughts he briefly fell into, and thinking about it, it's such a strange thing to hear from someone. Bruce swallows, his lips brushing Tony's as he murmurs, "thank you?" Each of Tony's kisses are growing more fierce, more... passionate, Bruce assumes, but no matter how much strength behind them, they all make his head spin until he has to hold to Tony to keep himself centered.

Intoxicating indeed. "How... how do we...?" He isn't even sure what he's asking, but Tony knows there's a limit right now, what does he want?

But Bruce's finding himself wanting to actually touch, so very cautiously, his hand moves from Tony's shoulder to his chest, brushing down towards the scar, then over it, gentle as a feather.

"We just do what feels right and stop when it's too much and then go do some physics," Tony replies, so much more gentle now that Bruce is stroking his chest. Stroking the scar. The biggest mistake of his life. Living without Iron Man, with the suits, the arc reactor-- He'd done it for Pepper but he feels so empty. He'll never tell her. She might never forgive him.

Or maybe she'll come to resent him after that--

Yeah, he shouldn't be thinking about Pepper right now. Tony lays beside Bruce, dragging him along to be close. Fingers find tendons and run along them. Neck. Shoulders. He steals kisses here and there whenever Bruce looks unsure or too curious or about ready to balk.

Slow and steady wins marathons. This isn't really a race, though.

It is exactly the right thing to say. Bruce relaxes under Tony's hands with those words and lets out a breath of relief. It gives him enough courage to lean in and actually press his lips to Tony's collarbone, remembering how it felt to touch Betty and feel taut, warm skin under his lips of someone he cared about. Tony might have been trying not to think of Pepper while they lay here like this, but Bruce is the opposite. It isn't tainting a memory, it isn't guilt; it's only adding to something he holds close in his heart.

Bruce still doesn't fully understand why Tony chose to do what he did for Pepper. No, not that he doesn't understand that Tony loves her enough to do it... but he doesn't understand how Pepper can't see that Iron Man is as much a part of Tony as is the need to breathe. There is something lesser about him, in how he carries himself.

He thinks Tony misses it.

Despite his need to be in control of just about everything, in bed, that's not the case. He'd rather just nudge Bruce along here and there and let the other man decide where to go. It's so much safer. So much less potentially disastrous should intensity become a problem along the way.

Encouraging the lips at his throat with fingers threading through Bruce's hair, Tony's spare hand traces lines and curves of muscles from the small of Bruce's back to his shoulders. He understands why the doctor might need to be muscled, to be at least leanly athletic--

But damn. Years on the run have given Bruce quite the hard body!

Oh, he quite likes that. The fingers in his hair feel rather good, very encouraging, and he pauses to simply enjoy the feeling of it for a few long heartbeats. While he's certainly not Tony in terms of muscle, and there are spots that are less than lean, he is probably more muscular than most scientists and doctors, for certain. The pudge on his belly only gives him a softness he needs, right?

The kisses, more like presses of his lips, are soft, shifting, feeling the way the muscle and esophagus beneath the skin move. When he feels the pulse bright under his mouth, he pauses, counting, before pressing a heavier kiss there.

Sorry for the glacial pace, Tony.

Glacial? Yeah, that's a good word for it. Tony's half amused and half frustrated, ready to pop any second. He shifts uncomfortably under Bruce, leg moving to keep him close and keep him interested and remind him that there's a whole lot more to touch if only Bruce would figure it out.

He's not one to be worshipped. Not like this at least. Letting Bruce take the lead is driving him just a little bit nuts. To prove his point, hands drift purposefully south and the mound of flesh filling out the back of Bruce's sleep pants gets a good kneading.

Having someone paw at his backside is a new feeling, not bad by any means, but a bit distracting. Bruce breathes warm against Tony's neck, then shifts his weight to an elbow to look over him. His fingers find the scar at the center of his chest, feeling the reconstructed bone beneath. Such a beautifully done surgery, but then again Tony had paid for the best of the best.

Bruce's gaze lifts from that and he is quiet but, somewhat rarely, a bit blunt because fumbling towards an unknown is a touch disconcerting. "What do you want me to do?" He asks. Not quite what he wanted to ask, which is 'what do you want from me?' But it would do for now.

"Touch me." Tony has no qualms with directing Bruce to do the things he wants him to. It's easy, even if it shouldn't be. He struggles with the waistband of his sleeping trousers, tugging Bruce back down at the same time for another kiss.

It's a victory lap, this. Not just over Mohinder, but Bruce himself. Tony sells it as a way to open his friend up, to let him explore himself. He's not a good man. Not rely. He tries, but he's just human.

Pleasure is something Tony wants above all else now. He's always been so hedonistic though.

Bruce feels Tony wriggling around beneath him, the removal of pants- oh. He swallows hard, assuming what Tony means by 'touch me'. Each kiss is electric, making his breath shudder and throw him more off-balance, but he knows he can't let himself go beyond this point. Things have to stay safe, for Tony's sake.

But maybe he could just pleasure Tony instead. That... Would be acceptable. He's ignored himself for years enough that his body hasn't reacted terribly much yet, though he could feel Tony hard through his soft sleeping pants.

Cautiously, a hand slides down and just like that, thinking it is a start on a path he's firmly lost sight of, he cups Tony in his warm palm, feeling the nearly matching heat.

Good. It's good. Bruce fumbles but it's a little difficult to mess up a handjob. His thumb skirts along the underside of his friend's jaw and his head falls back on the pillows. He won't make Bruce work too hard for it. He is entirely too pent up and having even uncertain touches makes him mewl like a kitten.

Soft, whispered words of instruction or encouragement will pass through his lips. His knees twitch slightly and the muscles of his abdomen clench. He's not sure why this is so important... But it is. Every moment of this is important.

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