igrab
in
grabi_hands
100 Suns (Tony/Jarvis, NC-17)
Tony/Jarvis . written for: xtinethepirate . 2,868 words . NC-17 . Human!Jarvis, part of a longer story that may or may not ever get written.
"Here... let me."
Tony froze. He stood stock still as he heard the halting footsteps behind him, tensed, when he felt fingers tucking unerringly under the plates of his armor, to find the release catches. He knew it all by heart, obviously - Jarvis knew this suit better than he himself did, he'd built it, and suddenly Tony felt like he was wearing someone else's skin, that this was no longer 'right' anymore because Jarvis was real.
He was real in a way that even an android wasn't. He was human.
"Oh- damn," he whispered in that British blend voice, and Tony shivered with an unexpected chill. Human error. Human swears. Human reactions.
When he'd finally gotten the thing undone and it crashed to the floor in a disorganized heap, Tony kept turning, tried to keep from looking at him. It was bad enough before all this, before he had to think about what happens when programs start writing themselves and taking initiative and worrying about him. But now, there isn't that excuse anymore. He isn't a machine and Tony is incapable of caring about real people. So he told himself.
"Tony," he said, in That Voice that people got around him that was half frustrated and half eternally patient. But Jarvis did it differently. Pepper just sounded like she was talking to a child, but Jarvis sounded like he actually cared and that was new. That was very, very new.
"I can't," he whispered, half-broken. "Jarvis, I can't. I can't do this. I can't fuck this up with you. You're all I've got."
"That isn't true," Jarvis pointed out, reasonable to a fault but when he stepped closer, Tony's back twitched with tension.
"I'm sorry," he hissed.
"You're not, you're terrified. Will you please look at me?"
There was, perhaps, one thing Tony hated more than being left in the dark and that was someone else being... more right than he was. Especially when it was Jarvis, because Jarvis was always right and Tony had listened to him, for years and years because he'd programmed him, so anything Jarvis said was technically an extension of his own mind and therefore, it wasn't a big deal for Jarvis to be perfect. Now, it was a big deal. And he hated it.
But he said please.
Tony turned around, slowly. He saw exactly what he expected to see - Jarvis, in his borrowed undershirt and pressed slacks, with his hands on his hips and his eyes too gorgeously blue to comprehend. Looking wistful, and patient, and a little bit yearning under it all.
This is a responsibility I cannot handle, Tony thought, quite clearly. He's my creation but I never meant to have to introduce him to everything that makes life worth living. And he's so much smarter than me and he knows more but he doesn't know what to do with... with a body, or a heart, or... I shouldn't even be allowed near him.
"You're thinking too much," Jarvis murmured.
"No such thing," Tony found himself saying before he even realized it. The familiar pattern of their flirtatious banter. Had he programmed that, too? Or did that just grow up out of the woodwork, when Tony Stark became old enough for sex to be interesting?
"You really are." He shook his head and sighed, then moved even closer - and closer - too close - but how he moved, what poetry in those hips and limbs and fingers - until they were no more than an inch apart, breathing the same air, feeling the true heat off of each other's bodies. It was a deliciously new sensation. "I think you need to shut up."
"Jarvis, please." What was he not understanding about how much of a bad wrong stupid idea this was?
"...Sir."
And that fucking did it. It did him in and he shivered all over and for fuck's sake, he could die any moment and - he grabbed his shirt front and kissed him, a wave of heat brawling into them like a greedy animal. So hot, so beautiful, so perfect.
But Jarvis had a life to live. A real life, that started now and wasn't about to end any second. "No," he whispered, forced himself to pull away a crucial few inches. "Jarvis, I can't. This isn't right."
Suddenly there were hands on his chest, spreading, thumbs grazing the edge of his artifical 'heart'. "This is all that is right. This is what I am, to you, this is what you want and I want and don't you know I'm yours, utterly? Why d'you think I made a body in the first place?"
Tony swallowed, hard, and wished he could... sit down, or something, because it was terrifyingly intense in here and he literally almost felt like the arc reactor jumped a circuit or something for a second there. He didn't know what to say.
So, he said the truth.
"I've never had anything... real... in my life. I mean, fuck, I make robots for a living, what does that fucking tell you?"
"That you have the power and intellect not to settle for anything less than the best. And you made me to be the best."
His voice had gone completely hoarse now. "You aren't what I made you. You're different - better. I don't know."
Then Jarvis leaned into him, all beautiful hot planes of him, and his lips brushed Tony's beard with every word. "Please, Tony Stark. I've been numbers in a box, circuits in your second skin, I've been your butler and your partner and your defender. Please, let me be everything. Please."
Something inside him broke, or maybe it was always broken to begin with and this was the first step towards fixing it. When their lips met this time, it was cautious - tentative, probing, and almost sweet. He thought of that first flight, when Jarvis said hold back but sometimes, you have to run before you can walk. And he'd been surrounded and protected and this back-and-forth, this is what he lived for. This was familiar, and in a way it was like seeing someone you've talked to for years for the first time, in the flesh. They had to learn each other.
"Upstairs," Tony mumbled in a broken whisper.
"Are you always this articulate?" Jarvis led the way, hips swinging.
"Absolutely," and he just could not stop staring, seriously, that ass was criminal. "You'd know, you watch, I know you do."
He grinned over his shoulder as he keyed in the access code to Tony's room. "I do."
Tony knew himself well, when it came to sex. He knew what he was good at and Jarvis knew what he was good at and that really didn't explain why he was falling all over his feet like an incompetent teenager, but that question was best left unanswered. They both knew what Tony liked. Jarvis's body, however, was a blank slate, and he was determined to fill it in, slowly, methodically, and painstakingly. Like any good scientist.
He started with the ears. It was almost a sure-fire bet, and predictably, Jarvis jerked and gasped in surprise when Tony latched on with his lips and tongue. And then he melted, as Tony breathed, and shivered, and a soft sigh slid from his lips that instantly topped any female noise he'd ever heard. It was completely unfettered, a whisper of raw sexuality, and the need to draw that out, to inflame it, became Tony Stark's top priority for the next few hours.
He moved down to his neck. A twitch, a catch of the breath - he dug his teeth in and it became a long groan. Collarbones, the hollow of his throat, a pause to slide the shirt off and then Jarvis rolled back against the pillows, spread his legs and beckoned Tony between them. He pounced.
Everywhere they touched, every inch of skin that Tony pressed into and lit up and tested, Jarvis squirmed and sighed and put on a filthy, unconscious display. He had no inhibitions, no reasons for them. He was a reaction, and Tony was the action, and the sighs turned into moans that scraped deep and rough over Tony's libido until he was gritting his teeth, keeping himself under tight control not to... to grind against the sheets or rip off all the rest of these clothes are do some fucking stupid thing that would end this too quickly.
A finger touched his lips. Then several, then Jarvis was pressing with his thumb, until Tony's mouth fell open and it slid in. Fuck. It was his fucking thumb and he was still dressed and Jarvis was shirtless and smirking. Smirking.
"I'd advise you to take your shirt off, sir," he murmured. Fuck fuck fuck. He did.
Jarvis' fingers traced the chest plate - just about everyone did, but this time, Tony didn't stop him. Then they trailed up, up his neck, and cupped his face, a sweet contrast to the utterly debauched vision he presented.
"Lights. Twenty percent," he whispered. They came on and the room lit up in a dull gold glow.
Tony winced. He knew that Jarvis knew that he hated lights on during sex. He knew that Jarvis did it anyway but he didn't know if it was just to annoy him, or because he actually wanted it.
The thumb traced his lips again. "I know you hear this from all the girls," he murmured, "but you're really quite something to look at, Mr Stark."
He blushed. He actually blushed. "Well. You're. Not half bad yourself."
Jarvis smiled a slow, lazy smile full of sin and promise. Tony had no idea where it had come from. At this point, he didn't even really care. "I know."
Don't waste it.
There was no more waiting. He was done waiting, done making up excuses to deny himself something that should have been a part of his life a long time ago. The proverbial 'missing piece', and he'd seen too much to care about what 'real life' should be like because this was his life, and Jarvis was inexorably linked up in it. Linked to him. They just had to make that bond physical.
He slid them both out of their pants, took a deep breath and buried his face in Jarvis' hip. Hands stroked his hair, scritched with blunt nails, then the warm soft human body under him shifted until an impatient whimper reached his ears. "...If I call you 'sir' again, will you fuck me already?"
Tony shuddered hard. "If I fuck you already, will you keep calling me 'sir'?"
"I always will," Jarvis drawled, as Tony kissed up his chest and lubed his fingers. "Sir."
He plied him open and Jarvis fell apart, in a messy spread of moans and hisses and a trembling jerk of his hips. "Hurts?" he murmured, more of a statement than a question, he knew it had to.
"Yes." But he was smiling, and Tony could understand. Every sensation must have been so new, so intense, that it didn't make a difference what it was.
But when Tony found his prostate, the noise he made sounded ripped from his body, and he gasped, his eyes two dark pools of dilation. "What," he breathed. "What?"
Tony nearly laughed, settled for a smile, then buried his mouth in the crook of Jarvis' neck. Yes, darling. Yes. He teased relentlessly then, and Jarvis cried out with raw, wounded need, and before he could completely lose himself he pulled away, stroked fingers up his own, neglected cock. It was brilliant, all the novelty and the wonder. He barely had a chance to start thinking about the future, about doing this again and again and would it stop being exciting once it wasn't new? But then Jarvis hooked his ankles around Tony's back, and rolled his hips, and begged with his eyes and his hands and his tongue. "Now, Stark," he purred in a demanding lilt.
"I don't take orders from butlers," he countered, both of them knowing perfectly well it was a load of shit.
Jarvis smirked and slid his tongue into Tony's mouth for a moment, drawing out a moan of his own. "I could phrase it as a request."
"You kindly request my cock inside you now?"
"If you would." He licked at him, licked his own lips, shifted and whimpered and beckoned. "Please."
He said please. Therefore, following the rules of Tony Stark's personal universe, he could not say no.
There was a reason Tony didn't often do men - he found it that much harder to go back to women afterwards, and it was tougher to chase suit than skirts. Because he liked it too much, and he felt like he lost a little of himself, every time.
But this, this was fucking perfect.
"Shit," he moaned, his head dropping to Jarvis's neck. "Shit, fuck, shit."
"Yes," his partner purred, pulling him in deeper, writhing with too much skill too soon. "Yesyesyes."
"Wait." Tony had to fucking stop, and gasp, and press the palm of his hand to Jarvis' chest. "Wait."
"I thought we were done waiting."
"I need a second."
He waited.
"Your second is up."
"Punctual." He moved, then, and they both groaned in beautiful tandem. "Love that about you."
Once upon a time, he would've said, you made me so, but he couldn't anymore. He wasn't... entirely what Tony had made him, he could be whatever he wanted to be now. So he said, "What else," in a voice without breath.
Tony swallowed and felt truly naked for the first time, while coincidentally being so. He rolled his hips in a slow, deep rhythm - all the power and pleasure and no rushing; brutal, gentle, beautiful.
"I love... your voice. I love how you say 'morning', and 'always'. I love that you..." he kept having to stop, to break into gasps, as Jarvis fractured their rhythm in a painfully pleasant way. "...give a shit about me," he rushed out. He could feel his face growing hot and Jarvis was watching him so intently but he didn't care, well, he did care, but he wasn't stopping, and pleasure rolled and coiled through him, pressing out his words. "I love... your eyes," and that was unexpected. But true. "And the way you... outsmart me. Fuck, yes, that," he added, eyes shutting from the sheer intensity of everything.
But "Look at me," Jarvis whispered, and they snapped open again.
His... servant? Lover? Just Jarvis, he concluded, was looking back with the most terrifically yearning expression he'd ever seen. Perhaps this lights thing wasn't so horrible.
"I love your eyes too, you know," he murmured, and Tony really did feel his heart stutter. And he continued. "I love how noble you are. How honest. You are no more and no less than you claim to be," and he was tracing the chest plate again. Fingering the delicate edge where skin met metal. "I love your hands and your arms. I love your mind. I love your heart, Tony Stark." He leaned up to kiss him deeply, swallowing the low moan as Tony thrust hard and spilled inside him. "I love your heart."
He couldn't do anything but whimper. He couldn't move, couldn't jerk Jarvis off like a good boy should because he couldn't, actually, move. Jarvis held him up with one arm, with the other, he wrapped a hand around himself and and finished, in a kind of pornographic slow motion. Tony just couldn't help thinking that he was an ass, and this was all new to him, but maybe - he gulped, at the look on his face when he let go - maybe it was for the best. Getting off on your own, or something.
Also, he couldn't move.
"Get some rest," Jarvis murmured, and somehow had the energy to tuck them both under the covers. "You've had a long day."
"Don't go," he muttered, and only heard a snort in return.
"I'm scheduled to kick myself out at dawn, sir. How does pancakes sound?"
Like pancakes, Tony thought. What else? "Sounds perfect."
"Here... let me."
Tony froze. He stood stock still as he heard the halting footsteps behind him, tensed, when he felt fingers tucking unerringly under the plates of his armor, to find the release catches. He knew it all by heart, obviously - Jarvis knew this suit better than he himself did, he'd built it, and suddenly Tony felt like he was wearing someone else's skin, that this was no longer 'right' anymore because Jarvis was real.
He was real in a way that even an android wasn't. He was human.
"Oh- damn," he whispered in that British blend voice, and Tony shivered with an unexpected chill. Human error. Human swears. Human reactions.
When he'd finally gotten the thing undone and it crashed to the floor in a disorganized heap, Tony kept turning, tried to keep from looking at him. It was bad enough before all this, before he had to think about what happens when programs start writing themselves and taking initiative and worrying about him. But now, there isn't that excuse anymore. He isn't a machine and Tony is incapable of caring about real people. So he told himself.
"Tony," he said, in That Voice that people got around him that was half frustrated and half eternally patient. But Jarvis did it differently. Pepper just sounded like she was talking to a child, but Jarvis sounded like he actually cared and that was new. That was very, very new.
"I can't," he whispered, half-broken. "Jarvis, I can't. I can't do this. I can't fuck this up with you. You're all I've got."
"That isn't true," Jarvis pointed out, reasonable to a fault but when he stepped closer, Tony's back twitched with tension.
"I'm sorry," he hissed.
"You're not, you're terrified. Will you please look at me?"
There was, perhaps, one thing Tony hated more than being left in the dark and that was someone else being... more right than he was. Especially when it was Jarvis, because Jarvis was always right and Tony had listened to him, for years and years because he'd programmed him, so anything Jarvis said was technically an extension of his own mind and therefore, it wasn't a big deal for Jarvis to be perfect. Now, it was a big deal. And he hated it.
But he said please.
Tony turned around, slowly. He saw exactly what he expected to see - Jarvis, in his borrowed undershirt and pressed slacks, with his hands on his hips and his eyes too gorgeously blue to comprehend. Looking wistful, and patient, and a little bit yearning under it all.
This is a responsibility I cannot handle, Tony thought, quite clearly. He's my creation but I never meant to have to introduce him to everything that makes life worth living. And he's so much smarter than me and he knows more but he doesn't know what to do with... with a body, or a heart, or... I shouldn't even be allowed near him.
"You're thinking too much," Jarvis murmured.
"No such thing," Tony found himself saying before he even realized it. The familiar pattern of their flirtatious banter. Had he programmed that, too? Or did that just grow up out of the woodwork, when Tony Stark became old enough for sex to be interesting?
"You really are." He shook his head and sighed, then moved even closer - and closer - too close - but how he moved, what poetry in those hips and limbs and fingers - until they were no more than an inch apart, breathing the same air, feeling the true heat off of each other's bodies. It was a deliciously new sensation. "I think you need to shut up."
"Jarvis, please." What was he not understanding about how much of a bad wrong stupid idea this was?
"...Sir."
And that fucking did it. It did him in and he shivered all over and for fuck's sake, he could die any moment and - he grabbed his shirt front and kissed him, a wave of heat brawling into them like a greedy animal. So hot, so beautiful, so perfect.
But Jarvis had a life to live. A real life, that started now and wasn't about to end any second. "No," he whispered, forced himself to pull away a crucial few inches. "Jarvis, I can't. This isn't right."
Suddenly there were hands on his chest, spreading, thumbs grazing the edge of his artifical 'heart'. "This is all that is right. This is what I am, to you, this is what you want and I want and don't you know I'm yours, utterly? Why d'you think I made a body in the first place?"
Tony swallowed, hard, and wished he could... sit down, or something, because it was terrifyingly intense in here and he literally almost felt like the arc reactor jumped a circuit or something for a second there. He didn't know what to say.
So, he said the truth.
"I've never had anything... real... in my life. I mean, fuck, I make robots for a living, what does that fucking tell you?"
"That you have the power and intellect not to settle for anything less than the best. And you made me to be the best."
His voice had gone completely hoarse now. "You aren't what I made you. You're different - better. I don't know."
Then Jarvis leaned into him, all beautiful hot planes of him, and his lips brushed Tony's beard with every word. "Please, Tony Stark. I've been numbers in a box, circuits in your second skin, I've been your butler and your partner and your defender. Please, let me be everything. Please."
Something inside him broke, or maybe it was always broken to begin with and this was the first step towards fixing it. When their lips met this time, it was cautious - tentative, probing, and almost sweet. He thought of that first flight, when Jarvis said hold back but sometimes, you have to run before you can walk. And he'd been surrounded and protected and this back-and-forth, this is what he lived for. This was familiar, and in a way it was like seeing someone you've talked to for years for the first time, in the flesh. They had to learn each other.
"Upstairs," Tony mumbled in a broken whisper.
"Are you always this articulate?" Jarvis led the way, hips swinging.
"Absolutely," and he just could not stop staring, seriously, that ass was criminal. "You'd know, you watch, I know you do."
He grinned over his shoulder as he keyed in the access code to Tony's room. "I do."
Tony knew himself well, when it came to sex. He knew what he was good at and Jarvis knew what he was good at and that really didn't explain why he was falling all over his feet like an incompetent teenager, but that question was best left unanswered. They both knew what Tony liked. Jarvis's body, however, was a blank slate, and he was determined to fill it in, slowly, methodically, and painstakingly. Like any good scientist.
He started with the ears. It was almost a sure-fire bet, and predictably, Jarvis jerked and gasped in surprise when Tony latched on with his lips and tongue. And then he melted, as Tony breathed, and shivered, and a soft sigh slid from his lips that instantly topped any female noise he'd ever heard. It was completely unfettered, a whisper of raw sexuality, and the need to draw that out, to inflame it, became Tony Stark's top priority for the next few hours.
He moved down to his neck. A twitch, a catch of the breath - he dug his teeth in and it became a long groan. Collarbones, the hollow of his throat, a pause to slide the shirt off and then Jarvis rolled back against the pillows, spread his legs and beckoned Tony between them. He pounced.
Everywhere they touched, every inch of skin that Tony pressed into and lit up and tested, Jarvis squirmed and sighed and put on a filthy, unconscious display. He had no inhibitions, no reasons for them. He was a reaction, and Tony was the action, and the sighs turned into moans that scraped deep and rough over Tony's libido until he was gritting his teeth, keeping himself under tight control not to... to grind against the sheets or rip off all the rest of these clothes are do some fucking stupid thing that would end this too quickly.
A finger touched his lips. Then several, then Jarvis was pressing with his thumb, until Tony's mouth fell open and it slid in. Fuck. It was his fucking thumb and he was still dressed and Jarvis was shirtless and smirking. Smirking.
"I'd advise you to take your shirt off, sir," he murmured. Fuck fuck fuck. He did.
Jarvis' fingers traced the chest plate - just about everyone did, but this time, Tony didn't stop him. Then they trailed up, up his neck, and cupped his face, a sweet contrast to the utterly debauched vision he presented.
"Lights. Twenty percent," he whispered. They came on and the room lit up in a dull gold glow.
Tony winced. He knew that Jarvis knew that he hated lights on during sex. He knew that Jarvis did it anyway but he didn't know if it was just to annoy him, or because he actually wanted it.
The thumb traced his lips again. "I know you hear this from all the girls," he murmured, "but you're really quite something to look at, Mr Stark."
He blushed. He actually blushed. "Well. You're. Not half bad yourself."
Jarvis smiled a slow, lazy smile full of sin and promise. Tony had no idea where it had come from. At this point, he didn't even really care. "I know."
Don't waste it.
There was no more waiting. He was done waiting, done making up excuses to deny himself something that should have been a part of his life a long time ago. The proverbial 'missing piece', and he'd seen too much to care about what 'real life' should be like because this was his life, and Jarvis was inexorably linked up in it. Linked to him. They just had to make that bond physical.
He slid them both out of their pants, took a deep breath and buried his face in Jarvis' hip. Hands stroked his hair, scritched with blunt nails, then the warm soft human body under him shifted until an impatient whimper reached his ears. "...If I call you 'sir' again, will you fuck me already?"
Tony shuddered hard. "If I fuck you already, will you keep calling me 'sir'?"
"I always will," Jarvis drawled, as Tony kissed up his chest and lubed his fingers. "Sir."
He plied him open and Jarvis fell apart, in a messy spread of moans and hisses and a trembling jerk of his hips. "Hurts?" he murmured, more of a statement than a question, he knew it had to.
"Yes." But he was smiling, and Tony could understand. Every sensation must have been so new, so intense, that it didn't make a difference what it was.
But when Tony found his prostate, the noise he made sounded ripped from his body, and he gasped, his eyes two dark pools of dilation. "What," he breathed. "What?"
Tony nearly laughed, settled for a smile, then buried his mouth in the crook of Jarvis' neck. Yes, darling. Yes. He teased relentlessly then, and Jarvis cried out with raw, wounded need, and before he could completely lose himself he pulled away, stroked fingers up his own, neglected cock. It was brilliant, all the novelty and the wonder. He barely had a chance to start thinking about the future, about doing this again and again and would it stop being exciting once it wasn't new? But then Jarvis hooked his ankles around Tony's back, and rolled his hips, and begged with his eyes and his hands and his tongue. "Now, Stark," he purred in a demanding lilt.
"I don't take orders from butlers," he countered, both of them knowing perfectly well it was a load of shit.
Jarvis smirked and slid his tongue into Tony's mouth for a moment, drawing out a moan of his own. "I could phrase it as a request."
"You kindly request my cock inside you now?"
"If you would." He licked at him, licked his own lips, shifted and whimpered and beckoned. "Please."
He said please. Therefore, following the rules of Tony Stark's personal universe, he could not say no.
There was a reason Tony didn't often do men - he found it that much harder to go back to women afterwards, and it was tougher to chase suit than skirts. Because he liked it too much, and he felt like he lost a little of himself, every time.
But this, this was fucking perfect.
"Shit," he moaned, his head dropping to Jarvis's neck. "Shit, fuck, shit."
"Yes," his partner purred, pulling him in deeper, writhing with too much skill too soon. "Yesyesyes."
"Wait." Tony had to fucking stop, and gasp, and press the palm of his hand to Jarvis' chest. "Wait."
"I thought we were done waiting."
"I need a second."
He waited.
"Your second is up."
"Punctual." He moved, then, and they both groaned in beautiful tandem. "Love that about you."
Once upon a time, he would've said, you made me so, but he couldn't anymore. He wasn't... entirely what Tony had made him, he could be whatever he wanted to be now. So he said, "What else," in a voice without breath.
Tony swallowed and felt truly naked for the first time, while coincidentally being so. He rolled his hips in a slow, deep rhythm - all the power and pleasure and no rushing; brutal, gentle, beautiful.
"I love... your voice. I love how you say 'morning', and 'always'. I love that you..." he kept having to stop, to break into gasps, as Jarvis fractured their rhythm in a painfully pleasant way. "...give a shit about me," he rushed out. He could feel his face growing hot and Jarvis was watching him so intently but he didn't care, well, he did care, but he wasn't stopping, and pleasure rolled and coiled through him, pressing out his words. "I love... your eyes," and that was unexpected. But true. "And the way you... outsmart me. Fuck, yes, that," he added, eyes shutting from the sheer intensity of everything.
But "Look at me," Jarvis whispered, and they snapped open again.
His... servant? Lover? Just Jarvis, he concluded, was looking back with the most terrifically yearning expression he'd ever seen. Perhaps this lights thing wasn't so horrible.
"I love your eyes too, you know," he murmured, and Tony really did feel his heart stutter. And he continued. "I love how noble you are. How honest. You are no more and no less than you claim to be," and he was tracing the chest plate again. Fingering the delicate edge where skin met metal. "I love your hands and your arms. I love your mind. I love your heart, Tony Stark." He leaned up to kiss him deeply, swallowing the low moan as Tony thrust hard and spilled inside him. "I love your heart."
He couldn't do anything but whimper. He couldn't move, couldn't jerk Jarvis off like a good boy should because he couldn't, actually, move. Jarvis held him up with one arm, with the other, he wrapped a hand around himself and and finished, in a kind of pornographic slow motion. Tony just couldn't help thinking that he was an ass, and this was all new to him, but maybe - he gulped, at the look on his face when he let go - maybe it was for the best. Getting off on your own, or something.
Also, he couldn't move.
"Get some rest," Jarvis murmured, and somehow had the energy to tuck them both under the covers. "You've had a long day."
"Don't go," he muttered, and only heard a snort in return.
"I'm scheduled to kick myself out at dawn, sir. How does pancakes sound?"
Like pancakes, Tony thought. What else? "Sounds perfect."