Tony waits until almost everyone at the Shangri-la is sleeping. He doesn't think it matters: there's no real secrets when you're in a place full of telepaths, but Jomy asked and Tony will never refuse him. So he waits until just about everyone is sleeping and then he teleports through small, blink-and-you-miss-the-psionic-wave jumps until he's in Jomy's room, and then just another short jump until he's behind Jomy, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, leaning his face against the crook of his neck.
"Jomy," he says as a greeting. This is home, he thinks, what remains of Naska, the same way Artella and his friends are, but different, because this is Jomy. There's no-one who makes him feel the way Jomy does, and the things he does, the way he fights... they're only because of Jomy. Because Jomy asks him to.
Jomy remains quiet for a moment his eyes on the darkness of space before he shifts his focus from the cold outer space to look at him. He smiles a bit, looking tired. He doesn't sleep much, these days, and Tony's hatred for humanity grows, because it's their fault that Jomy looks like this, that he's so tired all the time, that he has to worry so much for everyone in the Shangri-La, for the Mus that the humans are killing right now.
"You need to sleep!" Tony says, frowning, moving so that Jomy can face him. It's still weird, for him, to be taller than Jomy. Jomy is such a huge presence in his life that a part of him still thinks that it shouldn't be like this, while the other part thinks that it's better like this, because if he's like this, then he can protect him, and that's what he has wanted for as long as he's been alive. "It's not good for you!"
"I'm alright, Tony," Jomy says, craddling his face. Tony leans his face against the smooth fabric of his glove, curling a hand on Jomy's wrist. Jomy is smiling at him then, even if it doesn't reach his eyes. "I am."
Tony gives a frustrated noise, and then he leans forward, pressing his lips against Jomy's, hard, the way he and his friends kiss each other, sometimes. The way he thinks he remembers his parents doing, when they thought he was already asleep. It's awkward, and he thinks he might taste blood, where his teeth cut the soft flesh inside his mouth.
Jomy puts his hand against his shoulder and Tony let's go a bit, but he keeps his hold on Jomy's other hand, on Jomy's clothes.
"Tony..." and it's there, Tony thinks.
"Please, Jomy," Tony asks, and then, in his mind, in their minds, softer 'don't leave me alone'.
Jomy's eyes grow sad, a bit, but this time it's him who kisses Tony, softer, his lips gentle against his.
It's Tony who teleports them to the bed, that being easier than breaking apart when all he wants to be is close to Jomy, to feel his shoulderblades beneath his hands, his waist, to be able to feel the tiny shifts of Jomy's breathing, the way he relaxes bit by bit, both his body and his mind, and for this, for these moments with Jomy, for the way he kisses him back, softly, lips on his and his fingers carded through his hair, Tony will keep on fighting, because there's nothing he wouldn't do, nothing at all he wouldn't do to help Jomy.