Come Here (Tony x Reader) [18+]
a/n: for the anon that requested reader as a drummer... ;]
The recording studio felt completely different after midnight.
During the day, it was controlled chaos. Phones ringing. People talking over each other. Vic replaying the same section of a song seventeen times. Jaime wandering off in the middle of conversations.
Everyone moving. Everyone contributing.
But now, it was quiet. The clock on the wall read 12:43 AM. The two of you had been here since nine that morning. And honestly? You were starting to lose your mind.
You sat behind your drum kit, lazily spinning a drumstick between your fingers while listening to a playback of the track you'd been working on all day.
Across the room, Tony leaned back in his chair, one arm draped across the backrest while he listened.
Then simultaneously- "We can do better." You pointed at him. "Jinx."
Tony laughed. "You stole my answer."
The smile that followed lingered longer than it should have. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the couple drinks you'd both had. Maybe it was the fact that you'd been trapped together in a recording studio for nearly sixteen hours.
Whatever it was - something felt different tonight. Earlier, Vic and Jaime had finally given up. "I'm leaving."
"You said that three hours ago."
Now they were gone, leaving only you and Tony behind. The studio suddenly felt much smaller. A few more drinks appeared. The conversation got easier. The laughter got louder. The tension got harder to ignore.
Eventually you gave up on pretending the room wasn't hot. You pulled off your overshirt and tossed it onto the couch. The air hit your bare shoulders, your arms. You were wearing a simple black bralette, thin straps, a dip between your breasts. Nothing fancy, but the way Tony's breath caught made it feel like you were wearing something far more provocative.
His eyes tracked down your chest, lingered on the curve of your breasts, the thin fabric that did little to hide the hardening peaks of your nipples. You saw his jaw tighten, the way his Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. "You trying to kill me?" he asked, his voice barely above a murmur.
You laughed, but it came out breathy. "Studio's hot." Excellent recovery. Ten out of ten.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His muscle shirt stretched across his shoulders, hugging his chest. His arms were bare, tattoos winding around his biceps, disappearing into the sleeves. The lamp light caught the ink, highlighting the lines and curves. Your eyes traced down to his hands - strong, capable, resting loosely on his thighs. You couldn't help but imagine them wrapped around your throat, pressing just enough to make you dizzy.
The thought sent a pulse of heat straight through your core. "Your hands," you said before you could stop yourself. He looked at them, then back at you. "What about them?"
You bit your lip. The whiskey loosened your tongue. "They're... really nice." He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Nice?"
"Strong," you corrected, your voice dropping. "I like them."
The air shifted. He shifted closer, his knee brushing yours. The contact sent a jolt through you, your skin prickling where he touched. "You keep looking at me like that," he said softly, "and I'm gonna get the wrong idea."
He stared at you for a long, charged moment. Then his hand came up, slowly, deliberately, and his fingers brushed the strap of your bralette. He traced it along your shoulder, featherlight, down to the edge of the fabric. "That you want me to touch you."
Your breath hitched. "That's not the wrong idea." His eyes darkened. He leaned in, his lips barely brushing yours. "Tell me what you want."
You didn't answer with words. You closed the distance, your lips crashing against his. The kiss was hungry, months of unspoken tension flooding into the press of his mouth. He tasted like whiskey and something sweet, and he groaned against you as his hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.
He pulled you onto his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. The rough denim of his jeans pressed against the thin fabric of your leggings, and you felt him - hard and thick against your core. You rolled your hips instinctively, and he growled, his grip tightening on your waist.
"Fuck," he breathed against your mouth. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."
"Show me," you said, your voice a challenge.
He didn't need more encouragement. His hands slid down your back, over the curve of your ass, squeezing hard. Then he lifted you effortlessly, standing, and he set you down on the edge of the mixing desk, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat between your legs.
He stood between your thighs, looking down at you. The studio lights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the hunger in his eyes. "You're so fucking beautiful," he said, his voice rough. "All day I couldn't think. Just watching you move, hearing your voice through the headphones."
His hands found the clasp of your bralette, and he undid it in one smooth motion. The fabric fell away, and his gaze dropped to your breasts, his breath catching. "God."
He leaned down, his mouth closing over one nipple, tongue flicking against the hard peak. Your back arched, a moan escaping your lips as he sucked, his teeth grazing just enough to send sparks of pain-pleasure through you. His hand kneaded your other breast, thumb circling the sensitive nipple.
You clawed at his shirt, pulling it over his head. His chest was warm, smooth, the muscles shifting under tattoos as he moved. You let your hands roam, tracing the ink, the hard lines of his abdomen. He shivered under your touch, his hips pressing against yours.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and adoring. "You want my hands?" he asked, his voice a whisper.
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
He brought his right hand to your throat, pressing gently, not enough to restrict, just enough to feel the weight of it. His thumb stroked your pulse point. "Like this?"
He kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours as his hand stayed at your throat. The pressure increased slightly, a heady thrill flooding your body. Your world narrowed to the feel of him - his mouth, his hand, his body pressing against yours.
His other hand slid down your belly, past the waistband of your leggings, finding you wet and swollen. He groaned into your mouth as his fingers found your clit, circling slowly. "You're so wet for me."
"Only for you," you gasped.
He pulled his hand away, and you whimpered at the loss. But then he was unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down just enough to free his cock. It was long, thick, the head glistening with pre-cum. He stroked himself once, twice, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Tell me you want this," he said, his voice strained.
"I want it. I want you, Tony."
He positioned himself at your entrance, the head pressing against your slick folds. Then he pushed in, slow and deliberate, filling you inch by inch. Your head fell back, a cry tearing from your throat. He was so deep, stretching you in a way that made you feel completely taken.
He stilled when he was fully inside, his forehead pressed to yours. "Look at me."
You opened your eyes. His gaze was intense, vulnerable, full of something deeper than lust. "You drive me crazy, you know," he said breathlessly. "I fucking adore you."
He started to move - slow at first, deep, grinding thrusts that hit that perfect spot inside you. His hand never left your throat, the pressure ebbing and flowing with his rhythm. The sounds of your bodies meeting filled the small room, wet and obscene, mixing with your moans and his groans.
He angled his hips, hitting deeper, and you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Right there."
"Right here?" He thrust harder, his pace increasing. The desk creaked beneath you, the glass walls fogging with your breath.
"Yes- fuck, Tony- don't stop."
He didn't. He drove into you, relentless, his cock sliding in and out of your slick, tight heat. The pressure built, coiling low in your belly, every nerve ending screaming for release. His hand tightened on your throat, just enough to make your vision blur, and that push sent you over the edge.
Your orgasm crashed through you, wave after wave, your walls clenching around him. He groaned, his own control snapping, and he thrust deep once more, spilling inside you with a shuddering groan. His body went rigid, then collapsed against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
You both stayed like that, breathing hard, trembling. He pulled out slowly, and you felt his cum trickle down your thigh. He didn't move away though. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, kissing your forehead, your temple, your lips.
"That was..." he started, then laughed softly. "You're everything."
You smiled, your fingers tracing the ink on his chest. "So are you."
He held you for a long time, stroking your back, murmuring sweet, adoring things into your hair. The studio hummed around you, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the way he looked at you - like you were the most precious thing in the world.
Eventually Tony broke the silence and slightly pulled away. "You know we're never getting this song finished tonight."
You laughed. "Probably not."
His smile widened. "Worth it." You rolled your eyes but your face hurt from smiling. Tony noticed. "There it is."
You groaned immediately. "Don't."
The affection in his voice made your chest tighten in a warm way. The kind that settled somewhere deep. Tony pressed a kiss against your temple like he couldn't help himself. "You tired?" he asked quietly.
His arm tightened slightly around you. "Then let's go home."
The word landed differently now, and judging by the smile on Tony's face - he noticed that too.
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