[ When Stephen's hand falls on his shoulder, Tony has more or less stopped thinking rationally. That doesn't mean he's stopped thinking -- the opposite, in fact, the everything of it all whirling around inside his head like a twister, a bottomless cold well that won't stop moving. He can't stop, he can't breathe, he's going numb --
Stephen's touch, warm and steady, is a shock. But he doesn't consider who it is or what it means, though a distant part of him recognises that of anyone around him, Stephen knows the most about what this means, the weight of the choice-that-isn't-a-choice. He'd carried it, alone, the knowledge of what needed to happen. There's a kinship there, a shared understanding, perhaps sympathy. But that's not what Tony's seeking when he turns around underneath his hand, clawing blindly until he finds purchase in Stephen's cardigan and curls into him, against him, burying his face in his shoulder.
He doesn't cry, but -- almost. He shudders and breathes harshly and if there are tears, they're quickly soaked up by expensive wool. Instead, he curses in a thick liquid stream, like he's coughing up something toxic, not only the future stuff but all the fear and anger he's been holding onto since arriving in this dimensional cul-de-sac. ]
Fuck, fuck fuck.. oh god.. oh Jesus.. [ He sniffs and sucks in one trembling breath after another, then, meaningfully, and with a closed fist lightly thumping against Stephen's chest: ] Shit.
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Stephen's touch, warm and steady, is a shock. But he doesn't consider who it is or what it means, though a distant part of him recognises that of anyone around him, Stephen knows the most about what this means, the weight of the choice-that-isn't-a-choice. He'd carried it, alone, the knowledge of what needed to happen. There's a kinship there, a shared understanding, perhaps sympathy. But that's not what Tony's seeking when he turns around underneath his hand, clawing blindly until he finds purchase in Stephen's cardigan and curls into him, against him, burying his face in his shoulder.
He doesn't cry, but -- almost. He shudders and breathes harshly and if there are tears, they're quickly soaked up by expensive wool. Instead, he curses in a thick liquid stream, like he's coughing up something toxic, not only the future stuff but all the fear and anger he's been holding onto since arriving in this dimensional cul-de-sac. ]
Fuck, fuck fuck.. oh god.. oh Jesus.. [ He sniffs and sucks in one trembling breath after another, then, meaningfully, and with a closed fist lightly thumping against Stephen's chest: ] Shit.