@statesangria || 100 non-verbal prompts || accepting!
∗ 4o﹕ sender traces one of receiver’s [ scars / bruises ] .
Penny's got him close enough, Tony can feel the warmth of her skin radiating against his collar. The thin strap of her slip dress rests against the hook of his pointer finger. He's been toying with it for a handful of breathless minutes now. Eyes closed. His forehead pressed to hers. The room's warm thanks to the fireplace. They're barefoot and his tie's gone the way of the wind. So has the jacket but not the vest or his dress shirt that's had a button or two popped free.
Metal arm around her waist, they barely sway to the music anymore. Two humans. Standing near one another. Her hand on his chest. The other? It draws a breath out of him that comes heavy and with a quick gasp of air sucked in right after. A feathery touch from fingers that could caress or kill in one practiced twitch glide along the spiderweb of scars that lead towards his ear. Faded but not gone. Certainly not forgotten. Burn marks from their fated fight with a wannabe God who needed to be put down like a rabid dog once and for all.
No matter what the cost...
Or who paid it.. And so many did. Not only him.
The skin is sensitive there. Wakanda and the scientists there could've removed more, done more. And, for reasons he's kept to himself even to this day, Tony Stark --the oh so vain Tony Stark-- didn't let them. Dark eyes open. Half lidded under thick lashes. He turns his cheek, slight stubble presses against her soft skin as her tracing continues. Up. Over his ear. Towards his temple.
"Do they bother you," he asks softly--curious and maybe a little self-conscious, "I used to worry about everyone seeing them and being sent back to that day.. In their heads. Sometimes I wonder if I'm right about a few of them. You think? Don't know. Stopped letting myself think of it after a while. Er. Well. Mostly.."
