He aches—everywhere—from the second he wakes up, and while some of the aches, like the hickey on his thigh and the bruise on his arm are pretty satisfying, the hideous pain in his lower back—not so much.
"Oh, good grief, how the hell do you sleep on this medieval torture device?" Tony moans in tandem with both the alarm and the pulsating pain in his back. He'd known he was going to have a bad morning from the moment he and Probie hit the sheets over this lumpy mattress last night, but he hadn't anticipated it would be quite this bad.
Tim lifts his head from Tony's chest, brow furrowed in confusion. "Hmm?" he questions, his eyes not yet fully open even as he reaches over Tony and turns off the alarm by feel.
Tony winces as he tries to shift without jostling Tim overly much. "Your bed sucks, Probie," the words slip out before he thinks about it.
Tim's eyebrow lifts, and Tony can read the idea—clear as day—in his eyes, Yeah, well, so do I, Tim doesn't have to say, what with the way the dirty thought is written all over his smirk.
Tony grins and chuckles despite the twinges spasming up his back. "Well, there's good sucking and then there's bad sucking."
Tim bites at the corner of his mouth, seemingly unsure where Tony's going with this, so Tony immediately lays off the teasing to reassure his partner, "That was some very awesome sucking last night," he promises.
Bashfully and oh-so-predictably, Probie drops his chin, blushing for good measure, but half a second later, his eyes come back defiantly, smirk intact and almost breath-takingly beautiful to Tony's eyes. Wordlessly, Tim teases him back, his head leaning in for a kiss and making Tony lean up to him. Whatever Tim was going to say next is lost to the moment, though when Tony yelps from the stretching.
Abruptly, Tim sits up, yanking the covers with him. "Tony?" he demands, looking down at Tony's body at a glance and seeming to focus on where Tony's far hand has gone for his back. Tim winces, "Oh, I see. You weren't kidding about this bed sucking, I take it?"
Tony's lips pinch together. He shakes his head, wishing he didn't look so much like an old man in this moment, especially not with Tim so young and spry and Yowza!—tasty looking—beside him.
"Can you turn over?" Tim lifts his brows and asks him so sweetly.
Clearing his throat, Tony tries not to wince because he's really not sure if he's up for that much motion without a heating pad and about four aspirin, "As much as I appreciate a dirty mind—"
"Tony!" Tim hollers, bright red and almost as scandalized as it would seem he's turned on.
Without thinking, Tony licks his lips. He blinks up at Tim, remembering how hot Tim was at even the thought of Jeannie's backdoor, recalling how wrong he'd been on his assumption that Tim was a breast man. Tony breathes hard, not sure what to do with the sudden and certain knowledge that Tim would probably gladly fuck Tony if Tony's ass were on offer. For the first time in his life, Tony wonders if that would feel good. Tim would do everything he could to make sure it felt good, of that Tony is certain. Tony squeezes his eyes shut and winces once more before confessing, "It'll be a lot easier to turn over if I have some help," he lifts an arm up and over his own body to give Tim something to yank on, so he can tug him onto his belly.
Tim purses his lips together. "On second thought," Tim rubs Tony's belly in a mirror image of where Tony would rather be touching Tim, "let me get some ibuprofen and a heating pad first."
Dropping his arm, Tony nods and shuts his eyes, feeling completely ridiculous.
Tim goes for the kitchen a moment later, fetching another bottled water. He runs for the bathroom next, yielding the promised prescription. Tony grabs for the pain reliever unabashedly. Tim hands it to him, letting him deal with the child-proof container while he yanks at the cap of the water bottle. He hands Tony the drink right after Tony pops two pills into his mouth. Tony sips just enough to wash down the pills, is about to hand the water back to Probie, but his partner shoves the bottle back towards him like an experienced street pusher.
"You need to drink at least half of that to make sure the meds go down properly," Tim drops his chin and gives him a stern look. Tony rolls his eyes, but blinks away a second later to try to hide his pleasure at the fussing. As he completes the ordered task, Probie plugs in the heating pad, setting it on high and then laying it beside Tony. Once he sees Tony's finished half of the water bottle (and not a drop more—ha!) he lets Tony give it back to him. "You ready to flip over?" Tim prods gently.
Tony nods, hoping he doesn't make much more than a manly groan when he moves to his belly. Usually, Tony wouldn't have bothered to stay in a bed that had so viciously assaulted his back from the moment he'd lain down. But this was Tim's bed, and he hadn't wanted out of it a second sooner than he had to go. With Tim's help, it doesn't take long to shift Tony to his front. Tony takes a time out to allow himself a silent whimper, but then he realizes that Tim's been too quiet for too long behind him.
"Probie?" Tony tries to keep the pain out of his voice, but doesn't know how well he succeeds.
"Sorry!" Tim hurriedly returns. "I just—I'm sorry!" he repeats.
"Sorry?" Tony blinks his confusion.
Tim hands go for Tony's lower back, rubbing right where Tony needs it. "I just got distracted for a second," Tim mumbles.
Tony relaxes into Tim's magic hands for a moment before teasing, "Enjoying the view?" he asks playfully, trying not to sound hopeful about it.
Tim's silent for a breath too long, his hands still working at the knots in Tony's muscles when he confesses, "Yeah," softly, shyly.
Tony sets his forehead against the coolness of the too-low thread count that Tim apparently accepts for his cotton sheets. He smiles despite the way his back is still twisting up. "Good," he declares back, feeling about as bashful as Tim sounded.
He wishes he could see Tim's eyes on him, wants to know for sure that Tim is really looking and really liking what he sees. Maybe Tony's not so old after all.
"You should have told me the bed was bothering you," the softness of Tim's voice cuddles right into Tony, settling somewhere about his heart.
Making a half-hearted attempt at a shrug, Tony drowsily admits, "What would we have done—drive to my place in the middle of the night just to avoid a couple of stiff muscles?"
Tim stalls his massage, shifting behind Tony until their heads are practically next to each other. The harshness of Tim's tone in his ear is undercut by the tenderness of those magic hands resting against his skin, "Yes, Tony! I would much rather have lost a half hour's sleep than see you in pain this morning!"
Hiding his face in the lousy, thin cotton, Tony tries so hard not to smile. He turns his face away from Tim's, not sure if his partner can see the upturn of his lips from this angle. "K," he allows softly.
Tim gets quiet again above him, and seems to still a little more completely until, all at once, his hands start moving again, slowly and thoroughly attacking the stubborn twists in Tony's back. Tony closes his eyes as Tim's diligence allows his muscles to unfurl. He breathes deeply, smelling the light, breezy fabric softener that Tim has always favored, along with the soft scent of Tim's body embedded in the sheets and surrounding him. He exhales evenly as he leans into every pass of Tim's touch. At once, Tim's fingers stall, Tony thinks he may hum in discontentment at this undesirable lack of motion, but then he feels a wet kiss at his shoulder blade and a chuckle—like a rippling mountain stream—burrowing under his skin.
"You're practically purring!" Tim crows, adding another kiss, this time closer to Tony's neck, before his hands go back to work on Tony's aching muscles.
"Mm," Tony returns shortly, displeased at the interruption of his massage, even as he enjoys the light, sweet breeze of Tim's laugh on his back.
Tim's voice is still close to Tony's ear when he joyfully vaunts, "Look at you! You're like a cat!"
Tony frowns at the loudness, "Hm," he complains, jerking his head once in Tim's direction, the way he might have moved if a fly had landed on him.
It just makes Tim chuckle again. Tony keeps his dissatisfied frown, but his shoulders relax as he soaks up Tim's laughter. "Mmm," he allows and burrows into the threadbare sheets.
"Here, kitty kitty," Tim teases, voice low this time as he moves towards Tony's exposed cheek, dropping a kiss there before nibbling along the jaw.
Brows raising, Tony drops his shoulder and voices his interest, "Mmm?"
"Mm-hmm!" Tim nuzzles along the far edge of Tony's cheek, along his sideburns and teasing into the hollow of his ear.
Tony's neck arches into the touch, and he doesn't have to strain his lower back one little bit. It's only when he tries to twist a little more to get a proper kiss that he jerks with the pain of the motion, which immediately and unfortunately gets McMotherHen all stiffly worried again and a lot less cuddly. "Hmmm," the whine may be slightly pathetic—Tony's totally man enough to admit that.
Tim gives him one last kiss to the check before pulling away and taking his warmth and magic hands from Tony.
"Unnhh," okay so that whimper is somewhat more pitiful.
"The heating pad's warmed up," Tim's voice turns more worried than playful. Tony's about to complain about the change in mood when McLovin' settles that sweet, hot, electronic relief right where he needs it.
Tony turns his face back into the ridiculously thin sheets, "Hmm," he reluctantly offers his approval.
Tim gives him a short chuff—nothing as playful as his mountain stream laugh—but still better than most people's full-bodied guffaws. "Relax a while, and I'll make us some breakfast, okay?" Tim squeezes his upper arm, just pinching at the bruise his grip made last night.
"Mm-Kay," Tony voices his satisfaction. He drifts for a few minutes afterward, and time seems to gather a fuzzy element to it, since it feels like only seconds later that the welcoming scent of coffee trips over towards the bedroom where he lays, feeling comfortable and taken care of. He listens to the Tim-noises coming from the other room—a hiss when Probie burns himself on the bagel as he removes it from the toaster oven; a hum as the King of Geeks takes a quick sip of his coffee before the soft plink of glass indicates he's set it back on the counter so he can finish pulling together their lunches (both of them doubtlessly showcasing the deliciously overstuffed sandwiches Tony got them from Jorgenson's last night); a soft shuffling of paper that makes Tony wonder if Tim's looking over the poem he'd gifted Tony with yesterday. Tony can't help the grin that climbs back up his face at the thought of Tim rereading the sweet love letter with that same look of pleased satisfaction that he gets painted across his face whenever he finishes writing a new chapter of his latest mystery series.
Tony's eyes flip open, Tim wrote me a love letter, he lets the thought circle his mind under the brisk light of the new day. A man wrote me a love letter, he acknowledges the fact slowly, trying to get used to it. A man sucked my dick, he breathes through the thought. I would've sucked his dick, too, his breath stays even where it flows into the Probie-scented sheets beneath him. I wanted to suck his dick, he imagines the weight of this thought should stab him somewhere, perhaps in the pancreas? Then maybe after that assault with a feckless weapon, it could reach into his wallet and rob him of his dude-card? Tony squints, wondering what sort of picture might be on his man-dentification if he really had one. Maybe a sweaty photo after a Saturday morning at the Y, or an old polaroid from his football days? Something that showcased Tony's innate athleticism, for sure. (Tony was never going to be the strong, silent type, but he'd always been a classic jock.)
Tony licks his lips, his mind apparently not allowing him to remain side-tracked for long. I wanted to suck Tim's dick, he repeats to himself, knowing that the heat that fills his cheeks at the thought is partially shame.
He shuts his eyes, recalls the way Tim talked to him last night, the way he so baldly spoke of wanting Tony—of watching him—and of how he was going to get him off. Tony swallows hard, licks his lips, feels his breath abruptly coming in quicker. A man wrote me a love letter, he reminds himself once more, as starkly as he can, but while he tries to tell himself it was simply a man, his mind morphs the cop-out back into Tim.
Tim wrote me a love letter, Tony's heart beats faster, and all at once, he just wants to read it again, wants to have to squint at Probalicious's atrocious handwriting as he reads, even though he practically has the whole thing memorized after re-reading it so many times yesterday. You catch me, Tim had told him, and Tony knows he meant it. You'll let me catch you, too, and somehow Probie knew that even before Tony did.
Yeah, an unexpected calm trickles over Tony like water across the pebbles of a mountain stream. You've got my six, don't you Probie? It only takes a second for the unintended innuendo to catch up to Tony's naturally dirty mind, to imagine that maybe Tim would want him bending over for him someday. The thought blasts through his brain like fresh spraypaint on a newly minted overpass. Tim obviously enjoys some backdoor lovin'. Maybe he'd want that from Tony, too. Maybe he'd even need it if this thing between them were to keep going. Tony swallows hard and, in the safety of Tim's lumpy bed, lying on his partner's barely-there sheets, Tony wonders if maybe he might like it, and when the thought makes his heart beat faster, Tony closes his eyes, and he lets it.