Having braced himself for the inevitable fall backwards, to suddenly be pulled in towards the blond sets him a bit more precarious situation. Steve Rogers is kissing him, which as a small miracle in itself, ought to be picked at and revealed a strand at a time like any fine particle or machine.
Firstly: his warmth. Steve is a good bit warmer than most people, his core temperature runs hot from an over active metabolism. That makes his mouth like a sauna. Well, a dry sauna. Tony works to change that, bearing in on the other man.
The feel of his lips are silky, like a woman's lips. Men don't really do much maintenance on their mouths, maybe a little chapstick here or there, so they're usually rough. But not Steve. Tony enjoys flicking his tongue against them, for more than just the way it makes Steve exhale.
Hands. Yes, let's move onto hands. Strong and sure, they lead even as Steve does. The man's earned his rank and it shows in not only the way he carries himself, but in the way he holds other people. His team, for instance. And, less metaphorically, Tony right this instant. Hands that can appreciate and can protect and are so expressive with pastel or charcoal-- These are Steve's, an extension of who he is as a person.
And finally, the body.
Tony's jealous of that body. Even as he presses against it, even as he feels muscles working to envelop him, he has to conquer this urge to run his tongue across every taut, details like that makes Steve up.
Later. Later.
And he's sure there will be ample time. People doesn't kiss other people like this unless it's going somewhere. Tony shifts his hips inward and digs in the toes of one foot against the sheets as his knee and thigh press against the blond's ribs.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-09-27 12:44 pm (UTC)Firstly: his warmth. Steve is a good bit warmer than most people, his core temperature runs hot from an over active metabolism. That makes his mouth like a sauna. Well, a dry sauna. Tony works to change that, bearing in on the other man.
The feel of his lips are silky, like a woman's lips. Men don't really do much maintenance on their mouths, maybe a little chapstick here or there, so they're usually rough. But not Steve. Tony enjoys flicking his tongue against them, for more than just the way it makes Steve exhale.
Hands. Yes, let's move onto hands. Strong and sure, they lead even as Steve does. The man's earned his rank and it shows in not only the way he carries himself, but in the way he holds other people. His team, for instance. And, less metaphorically, Tony right this instant. Hands that can appreciate and can protect and are so expressive with pastel or charcoal-- These are Steve's, an extension of who he is as a person.
And finally, the body.
Tony's jealous of that body. Even as he presses against it, even as he feels muscles working to envelop him, he has to conquer this urge to run his tongue across every taut, details like that makes Steve up.
Later. Later.
And he's sure there will be ample time. People doesn't kiss other people like this unless it's going somewhere. Tony shifts his hips inward and digs in the toes of one foot against the sheets as his knee and thigh press against the blond's ribs.