ironmonger | (no subject)

"Yes, I don't want myself dead, either," Obadiah says, a bit dry, before turning serious again.

"And I don't want to do any damage to you. That's been more or less the point from the start." Taking care of the one issue takes care of the other; if he doesn't harm Tony, the threat to his own wellbeing is irrelevant.

He really does smile at that—at the second part.

"I know."

Obadiah smiles back, kissing Tony's forehead.

"There's always a chance to change our minds if we realize it's not going to work."

"I know," he repeats. The smile fades, but he still looks fond, still looks happy.

"So—wanna sit down, get drunk, and talk about kinky sex?"

"Sure," Obadiah says agreeably. "But talking only."

Which Tony knows, of course, but alcohol isn't known for improving people's impulse control. Especially people named Stark.

And Sherlock wasn't wrong about the marks; best to keep them hidden until they're a little less obvious.

"'course," he says. And he really does mean it. And he really does know how to get drunk and talk about kinky sex without actually having any, thank you, Sherry.

"I'll get the whiskey."

"All right."

Obadiah will just make himself comfortable in the meantime.

This evening is turning out to be better than he could possibly have hoped.

A minute or so later, Tony is settling in beside him on the couch, passing him a glass (the one that's just a little more full) and leaning comfortably on his shoulder.

He doesn't say anything immediately—too many questions; he doesn't know where to start. But that's okay. They'll get to it. They'll get to all of it.

Obadiah takes a moment to savor the drink, the moment, the warmth of Tony leaning against him.

Eventually, he says,

"I suppose we should start with your limits."

"I'm not sure we should, actually," he says, slow and thoughtful. "I mean, I don't... I don't know them that well."

A pause, to think about exactly what he means by it, and then he continues:

"I can't think of anything you would do that I wouldn't want you to."

He knows Obie's not going to kill him; he knows he's not going to walk away with anything worse than some bruises, and bruises are okay. So that's fine.

"And if we find anything while we're at it, that's what safewords are for."

Every once in a while, the fact that he genuinely wants to keep this Tony's trust is a frustrating one.

For a brief moment, this is one of these times. Tony has no idea how open he's just left himself. It would be so easy to leave it that way, to just take what he's being so innocently offered. Easy, and deeply satisfying. Tony would never see it coming.

But Obadiah makes a thoughtful sound, and sips his drink, and the moment passes.

"I don't mean just physically," he says. "I mean - well, the scenario itself. What level of realism can you tolerate?"

He goes still for a moment—just a moment. Because he's thinking about it.

It scares him a little; it turns him on a lot more.

And his conclusion is, "I don't know." And a little smile and a sip of whiskey and, very quiet, "More than you think I can."

Obadiah looks at him. The look is mostly fond, with an edge of something else. It's a good thing he's gotten off already tonight; it'll make it that much easier for him to focus.

"You understand," he says with affection, "that I'd rather err on the side of caution here."

The pressure is back, forcing his heart farther into his chest. Weird way to feel nerves.

His smile widens anyway.

"I know. And I love you."

There's no real need to say the second part, no reason, but he couldn't not.

He smiles back.

"I know," he says. "I just don't want it to cloud your judgment. Your ability to evaluate yourself, not me."

A warm fluttery feeling coincides with the pressure for a moment, until they both ease off. I know. Probably the best he's going to get, and that should be sad but right now it's not. Right now it's fine.

"I promise I'll be careful," he says earnestly. Funny; usually it's Tony reminding Sherry that this doesn't work if he won't take care of himself.

"Good." Obadiah rewards him with a kiss to the top of his head. "I'd never forgive myself if I really hurt you."

Tony is taking a while to think that one over.

Laying it on a little thick, maybe. All right.

"I do have a soul, Tony," he says mildly. "I am capable of regret. I have my own limits."

"I know. But, like... you can say what you actually mean, okay? Especially right now."

Because Tony trusts him, more than he thought he did, enough for the really scary shit, but he needs to know what Obie thinks of this. For real. If it can't be real, it's not happening.

"All right."

He sips his drink, to insert a pause before he speaks again.

"I've gone to some lengths to secure your trust in me. Far more than I would have bothered if I were just playing some kind of game."

Two reactions at the same time, sharply conflicting: hearing Obie talk about securing his trust like that, and knowing that it's true. That Obie is telling him the truth.

Love wins over hurt. He leans a little closer, tucking his feet up under him on the couch, cupping his own drink in both hands without sipping it.

Obadiah slides his free arm around Tony and gives him a gentle squeeze.

He takes a slow, measured breath and says softly,

"The truth is, Tony, I think it would be easier than I'd like to admit to go too far in the heat of the moment. For me."

...yeah. Okay. Scary.

But.

"Thanks for telling me," he murmurs, leaning his head on Obie's shoulder. He can't meet his eyes like this but that's okay. Touching him is better.

"So what do we do about that? What are your limits?"

How can he still not be afraid?

He just isn't. There's no how, no why, no reason and no logic. He just... isn't.

That is, frankly, not a question Obadiah has ever had to explore in any meaningful sense.

His hesitation is genuine.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "That's why I wanted to start with you. A list of things to avoid would have been handy."