You know, like they edited in a bit of Rudolf Wanderone, or... Actually, never mind. Forget it. [ tony screws the lid back onto the bottle. ] The matter at hand here is, just how crazy of a shot can you make? [ with a glance around the room, tony gets Ideas, both good and bad. the dimple on his cheek deepens as he turns back to simba. ] Prepare yourself, Pinky. I know what we're doing tonight.
[It's not exactly hard to figure out what Tony's pondering, at least on a basic level. But-]
...Pinky?
[He spends most of their conversations feeling like he's two steps behind Tony, but that's probably how most people feel around a slightly manic genius.]
I'm gonna guess it involves bad decisions and alcohol.
The latest in a long list of 'em, [ tony chirps and claps simba on the back. before he returns to the table to formulate the next challenge, he refills his glass. ]
[He gives Tony a wry grin as the man refills his glass, then stays behind the bar when Tony goes to set up the next challenge. Instead of drinking his martini, he picks up the abandoned bottle of water and finishes it off.]
[ after a series of increasingly convoluted shots with a light bulb as thankfully the only real casualty (tony needled the gion into ricocheting the ball off the inside of a lamp), tony graciously concedes–though "concedes" may be the wrong word, since his goal seemed closer to pushing simba to greater heights than any sort of victory over him, given how after each successful shot tony mainly got excited for the next.
either way, in reward for simba's stellar performance, tony pulls up a world series match for him to watch on the massive TV. it's an old recording uploaded to youtube, so it's grainy footage with muddy audio for modern standards, but simba seems happy. tony watches only until he's done snacking from a bag of mixed nuts and then stretches out on the couch, his feet pointing toward simba, hands folded on his stomach, and his head on the armrest. behind closed eyes, he brainstorms applications for his improved sonic technology; slowly, the announcer's voice and crowd roaring and the smack of ball and bat from the surround-sound speakers fade into white noise. it's been a good night, he thinks. no work got done, no superheroing was needed, and his underwater issue persists, but he had a good time.
bit by bit, tony drifts into a light sleep, his body relaxing and face going slack, a tiny part in his lips. he could blame the steady trickle of alcohol in his system, but along with that, with simba nearby, he likes to think he's safe. ]
[He's inordinately pleased that the game Tony finds is between the Yankees and the Dodgers - sure, he'd happily watch any game, but god, he remembers being at Ebbets Field, no matter how ephemeral the memories are. There's a Black man playing for the Dodgers, and he makes a mental note to ask JARVIS about him later.
Sometime around the sixth inning, he looks over, and Tony's dozed off. He smiles softly, a little fondly. It's good to see Tony relaxing, and even better to see him sleeping. He needs it.
When the game's over, the Dodgers have squeaked out a win, and he's feeling good. He glances over at Tony, then stands and gently picks him up, cradling him in his arms as he carries him back upstairs.]
[ tony twitches awake when his body is lifted. his head rolls loosely on his neck up to simba, and for just a split second, he confuses their surroundings for the desert sky. ] Wow, this some ... déjà vu, [ he murmurs. ]
[ how many times has tony remembered this feeling, the flashes of being carried across the sand that night? how many times has he wanted to feel it again, however briefly, even if just to see if he remembered it right? (turns out he did. the softness of the fur, the welcome warmth, the hold on him as strong as titanium, all of it.) but he's not shivering and delirious this time. he's perfectly capable, so there's no need.
tony swallows. definitely no need. voice still rough, he reminds the gion, ] Well, as much as I love being bridal-carried by a real-life D&D character, I do have two working feet.
[He probably shouldn't think about how much he enjoys feeling Tony pressed against his chest. It's just the closeness of another person, he tells himself. Nothing more to it.]
I didn't mean to wake you.
[By now, they're at the top of the stairs, and he gently sets Tony down on his feet.] There.
[ that's sweet, tony thinks; simba planned to tuck him into bed as snug as a bug. if he were gay (and a gion), he'd be charmed, but he's not, sooo moot point, right? ] Great. Thanks for the lift, [ tony says, strangely quiet, and then stands there awkwardly like a girl being dropped off at her doorstep after a first date, which–nope. not going there. he coughs and calls out, ] JARVIS! Hit me with the time.
[ "it's 12:46 a.m., sir."
as good of an exit as any. ] Yeah, I should probably try to reach that mythical state of "well-rested in the morning" that Pepper insists exists. Night. [ he wiggles his fingers in a wave. ]
Sleeping is a good start, [he agrees with mock solemnity. his next words are totally honest, though.]
Thanks for hanging out with me. It was nice.
[yeah, that sounds dumb, but also terribly earnest (and a little shy). he smiles softly at tony, reaches out to touch his shoulder for a moment, then turns to head back downstairs and to his bedroom.]
[ after sharing a smile and watching simba descend the stairs, tony tries to shake the feeling, first metaphorically and then literally with his whole body like a chill shot up his spine, that Something has Changed. the second try, for the most part, works. ] Yup, [ he gasps and leaves for his bedroom. he shuts the door behind himself and breathes.
when tony finally falls asleep, he unknowingly curls into the spot that simba lazed in earlier that night, even though it had long lost the warmth, the comforter tight around his shoulders. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[He finds a towel stashed under the bar and mops up the spilled alcohol. Needless to say, the other reference goes completely over his head.]
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...Pinky?
[He spends most of their conversations feeling like he's two steps behind Tony, but that's probably how most people feel around a slightly manic genius.]
I'm gonna guess it involves bad decisions and alcohol.
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[He gives Tony a wry grin as the man refills his glass, then stays behind the bar when Tony goes to set up the next challenge. Instead of drinking his martini, he picks up the abandoned bottle of water and finishes it off.]
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either way, in reward for simba's stellar performance, tony pulls up a world series match for him to watch on the massive TV. it's an old recording uploaded to youtube, so it's grainy footage with muddy audio for modern standards, but simba seems happy. tony watches only until he's done snacking from a bag of mixed nuts and then stretches out on the couch, his feet pointing toward simba, hands folded on his stomach, and his head on the armrest. behind closed eyes, he brainstorms applications for his improved sonic technology; slowly, the announcer's voice and crowd roaring and the smack of ball and bat from the surround-sound speakers fade into white noise. it's been a good night, he thinks. no work got done, no superheroing was needed, and his underwater issue persists, but he had a good time.
bit by bit, tony drifts into a light sleep, his body relaxing and face going slack, a tiny part in his lips. he could blame the steady trickle of alcohol in his system, but along with that, with simba nearby, he likes to think he's safe. ]
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Sometime around the sixth inning, he looks over, and Tony's dozed off. He smiles softly, a little fondly. It's good to see Tony relaxing, and even better to see him sleeping. He needs it.
When the game's over, the Dodgers have squeaked out a win, and he's feeling good. He glances over at Tony, then stands and gently picks him up, cradling him in his arms as he carries him back upstairs.]
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At least you get to sleep on a bed this time. Even if it feels like quicksand.
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tony swallows. definitely no need. voice still rough, he reminds the gion, ] Well, as much as I love being bridal-carried by a real-life D&D character, I do have two working feet.
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I didn't mean to wake you.
[By now, they're at the top of the stairs, and he gently sets Tony down on his feet.] There.
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[ "it's 12:46 a.m., sir."
as good of an exit as any. ] Yeah, I should probably try to reach that mythical state of "well-rested in the morning" that Pepper insists exists. Night. [ he wiggles his fingers in a wave. ]
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Thanks for hanging out with me. It was nice.
[yeah, that sounds dumb, but also terribly earnest (and a little shy). he smiles softly at tony, reaches out to touch his shoulder for a moment, then turns to head back downstairs and to his bedroom.]
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when tony finally falls asleep, he unknowingly curls into the spot that simba lazed in earlier that night, even though it had long lost the warmth, the comforter tight around his shoulders. ]