He flushes all over again, turning to catch her gaze over his shoulder though it's tempting to just run for the bathroom. "Hey thanks," he replies, getting up and shuffling his way across the room as fast as his body will allow anyway. He doesn't think about his robe or a change of clothes on his way past his suitcase, and in his hurry the door doesn't quite click shut behind him, still floating in the door frame. Tony throws his boxers and t-shirt in he vague direction of the hamper and hops into the shower stall without waiting for the water to heat up first. The initial blast of cold water gets a whimper from him, but his erection does wane a tiny bit.
By the time the water is warm, he realizes there will only be one way out of this, as had been the case too many mornings with Pepper before. He really can't in his life ever remember being so consumed by a woman. Not that his previous exploits have any bearing on the real world to be fair. He grasps his cock once he can put it off no longer, leaning back against the tile to keep himself up while images conjure themselves behind his eyelids. He feels bad thinking these things with her right in the other room, but surely she has to know how he's taking care of it.
Tony tries not to linger overmuch, but it's so tempting to let the fantasy drag on. Even if she says she wants to spend real time with him; even for how close they've gotten, he doesn't know what that means really. Is he being friend-zoned? Would he even know what that felt like if he were? All he knows is how much he doesn't want to go back to the way things were, and thinking back to making out on his couch he's not sure if he could just be friends either. Even though admittedly she had been a good one to him this past couple of weeks. The best, even.
He comes violently and almost catches himself by surprise, coating his hand and the tile in sticky evidence before it's stolen by the spray. "Pepper," he cries in relief, forgetting about volume control or echoing tiles in his moment of need. He makes quick work of pulling himself together after that, delighted to rid himself of the encumberance once and for all. (Until next time)
Cursorily washing himself and running some conditioner through his hair, he fjords out into the steamy fog of the room to find a towel. He rubs himself almost dry for a change, though he doesn't really bother with his hair which does drip almost enough to make up for it. It's gotten too long and he isn't great at dealing with it. He rushes through his morning routine, ending with brushing his teeth and securing the towel around his waist before making his way back out into the room. Running a hand back over his hair, he stops dead in his tracks when he sees her, realizing his mistake. He knows it shouldn't be a big deal, they've been living in close quarters for so long he forgets, but the towel doesn't cover much and now that he's locked eyes with her he feels frozen in place.
no subject
By the time the water is warm, he realizes there will only be one way out of this, as had been the case too many mornings with Pepper before. He really can't in his life ever remember being so consumed by a woman. Not that his previous exploits have any bearing on the real world to be fair. He grasps his cock once he can put it off no longer, leaning back against the tile to keep himself up while images conjure themselves behind his eyelids. He feels bad thinking these things with her right in the other room, but surely she has to know how he's taking care of it.
Tony tries not to linger overmuch, but it's so tempting to let the fantasy drag on. Even if she says she wants to spend real time with him; even for how close they've gotten, he doesn't know what that means really. Is he being friend-zoned? Would he even know what that felt like if he were? All he knows is how much he doesn't want to go back to the way things were, and thinking back to making out on his couch he's not sure if he could just be friends either. Even though admittedly she had been a good one to him this past couple of weeks. The best, even.
He comes violently and almost catches himself by surprise, coating his hand and the tile in sticky evidence before it's stolen by the spray. "Pepper," he cries in relief, forgetting about volume control or echoing tiles in his moment of need. He makes quick work of pulling himself together after that, delighted to rid himself of the encumberance once and for all. (Until next time)
Cursorily washing himself and running some conditioner through his hair, he fjords out into the steamy fog of the room to find a towel. He rubs himself almost dry for a change, though he doesn't really bother with his hair which does drip almost enough to make up for it. It's gotten too long and he isn't great at dealing with it. He rushes through his morning routine, ending with brushing his teeth and securing the towel around his waist before making his way back out into the room. Running a hand back over his hair, he stops dead in his tracks when he sees her, realizing his mistake. He knows it shouldn't be a big deal, they've been living in close quarters for so long he forgets, but the towel doesn't cover much and now that he's locked eyes with her he feels frozen in place.