[ the look of longing on tony's face when simba reemerges is wiped out by another frown, this time stumped. ] Uhh, tiny smart machine? Touch screen to do stuff? About as basic as it gets.
Whatever it's ... programmed to–you really have been living under a literal rock, haven't you? [ tony studies him, thoughtfully squinting. ] How long were you lone-gunning it?
... The Soviet-Afghan War. That was in the 1980s. It's 2008. You're telling me you were out there in your own private Man vs. Wild episode for thirty years? [ tony's face might get stuck like this. ]
[ tony huffs and leans back on his hands, shampoo bottle abandoned, mentally chewing on this new morsel of info. ] Well, you might've missed a few things being a cave-cat. Internet not least of all.
A global network. It's, uh... [ tony circles a hand, searching for the right words to simplify it, but even the simple explanation would go over simba's head. ] ... easier to show than tell you.
[ a fleeting smile ] Technically, a promise never happened. [ then tony straightens with a regal, haughty air. ] But since I am such a generous man, I will bestow upon you my touch.
[Tony can't see him roll his eyes with his back to him, but it's not hard to guess that's what he's doing.]
How kind of you to stoop to performing manual labor for my sake.
[It's remarkably easy to fall into a pattern of banter with someone he's only really known for two days, and strangely, it makes him feel more comfortable and grounded than he's felt in a long time.]
[ hiding another smile and already rubbing a glob of shampoo between his hands, tony instructs, ] Eyes closed, [ and smooths both hands along simba's scalp, back with the grain. while one hand massages the shampoo into a lather with little circular scratches, tony hands simba the bottle over his shoulder. ] Here. Get the front. 'M not giving you a reach-around.
[As Tony lathers his mane up, slowly but surely, he starts to purr, a deep bass that vibrates through his whole body. He blinks slowly when Tony speaks, then huffs amused laughter at his remark.]
All right, all right. [He takes the bottle and squeezes a dollop of shampoo into his palm, working it into the front of his mane.]
[ the bottle passed back, tony adds another glob of shampoo to simba's mane, down more on the neck and beneath the ears and along the cheeks. by the time he's massaging the base of simba's skull, the purring is hard to miss. tony can feel the vibration through simba's back into his knees. he refrains from opening his mouth, which turns out not to be hard; something about the deep frequency in simba's purr hits the right parts of his hindbrain. it's calming.
his hands scrub professionally, but tony spares an idle scritch along the finer hairs atop simba's brow. ] Almost done, [ he whispers. all at once he feels how heavy his body is, too, the water on it aside. he hasn't slept really in–how long? hard to tell with the multiple time zone shifts the last twenty-four hours. maybe two days? he's napped a couple times, and he drank a shot of espresso before the plane landed, but the purring and his legs in the pool keeping his core warm are pulling him under. he can't sleep, though, not yet. he needs to put the suit back onto the gantry, find simba certain essentials asap, show him around the house...
a big yawn fights its way up. the scrubbing pauses for tony to cover his face with one arm, soapy hands held conscientiously away. he makes a "meh" sound and runs his hands through the last of the mane. ] There.
Mmn. [His eyes are half-lidded by the time Tony finishes, his breathing deep and even, and he's very nearly drifting off there in the pool as the water laps gently at his chest. It takes him a moment to stir, and he rises to his feet slowly. He takes a few steps out into the pool before he plunges underwater again, vigorously rinsing the foam from his mane.]
[ rallying himself, tony scoots back, pulling his legs from the heated pool. he just needs to get moving again. hands washed, he begins to peel off his soaked sneakers and socks. ] Ayup. Don't forget to condition.
[He makes a face at the suggestion. Tony's lucky he got him to use shampoo for his mane, and not just more body wash. Instead of reaching for the other bottle, he hauls himself out of the pool.]
Suit yourself. [ emptying his sneakers of excess water, tony sets them and his socks aside and climbs to his feet. he leaves wet footprints as he pads to the house wall, where a compartment opens. he unreels the hose from it. ]
[He follows Tony, but politely turns his back to him again - he doesn't have much in the way of modesty, not after the war, but clearly Tony does, and he can't really blame him for that. His pawprints leave large wet marks on the concrete, dwarfing Tony's footprints.]
[ after twisting the knob on, tony turns. ] Really? Why's that? [ he says, playing dumb. without warning a stream of water hits simba in the back. tony waves the hose up and down, impersonal, like washing a car. ]
[The water from the hose is colder, and he flinches in surprise at the first sudden hit from it. He can't think for a moment, and he just blinks for a few seconds before he replies.]
I figured it'd be more the natural full-body fursuit, [ tony returns easily, spraying simba's legs. whatever the gion says next, tony slides up during it with an impish smile, then lifts simba's tail and blasts the hose on his butthole. ]
What? [ tony says it like absolutely nothing happened and he's genuinely asking. without breaking eye contact, he circles the stream around simba's crotch then holds it briefly over where each nipple would be. ]
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[He furrows his brow, confused.]
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[He shrugs.]
Didn't keep track. Sometime before the guerrillas started hiding from the Russians in the mountains.
[In other words, more like decades.]
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Time flies when you're having fun.
[He is completely and totally deadpan, why did you bring this crazy lionman back to your home?]
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[He tilts his head, curious, and keeps scrubbing.]
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[Rinse, rinse, now he sits down at the side of the pool, his back to Tony.]
Later. You promised to help with my mane, remember?
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How kind of you to stoop to performing manual labor for my sake.
[It's remarkably easy to fall into a pattern of banter with someone he's only really known for two days, and strangely, it makes him feel more comfortable and grounded than he's felt in a long time.]
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All right, all right. [He takes the bottle and squeezes a dollop of shampoo into his palm, working it into the front of his mane.]
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his hands scrub professionally, but tony spares an idle scritch along the finer hairs atop simba's brow. ] Almost done, [ he whispers. all at once he feels how heavy his body is, too, the water on it aside. he hasn't slept really in–how long? hard to tell with the multiple time zone shifts the last twenty-four hours. maybe two days? he's napped a couple times, and he drank a shot of espresso before the plane landed, but the purring and his legs in the pool keeping his core warm are pulling him under. he can't sleep, though, not yet. he needs to put the suit back onto the gantry, find simba certain essentials asap, show him around the house...
a big yawn fights its way up. the scrubbing pauses for tony to cover his face with one arm, soapy hands held conscientiously away. he makes a "meh" sound and runs his hands through the last of the mane. ] There.
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Hose now?
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I think I'll be fine without it.
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It's gonna take ages to get me dry, you know.
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Something about being soaking wet, I imagine.
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What the fuck?
[Cue one Very Indignant Cat.]
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