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The Art of Kissing

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Tony wasn’t quite sure what had woken him up, but something had dragged him out of the peaceful oblivion that was sleep. He grumbled discontentedly, wiggling down into the warm blankets surrounding him.

There was a small laugh right above him. “Tony.”

Tony refused to answer, keeping his eyes closed.

“I know you’re not asleep, Tony.” There was a sweet press of lips against his forehead, and oh. Now Tony knew what had woken him up.

“Asleep,” Tony grumbled, pressing his face into a smooth expanse of skin. He inhaled deeply, taking in Steve’s unique scent and warmth.

Fingers stroked through Tony’s hair, scratching his scalp gently. “You’re remarkably coherent for a man who claims he’s asleep.”

Giving it up for lost, Tony rubbed his nose against Steve’s chest and opened his eyes, blinking up into Steve’s fond face. “Now I’m not,” he sighed, tilting his head back into Steve’s fingers.

“Now you’re not,” Steve agreed, and he brought his head down for a kiss, warm lips pressing against Tony’s own.

Waking up wasn’t so bad, not if he had this every morning.