ironmonger | (no subject)

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."

"We'll figure it out," he says, with all his quiet confidence, just sure that if they do this right, if they talk it out beforehand, if they're careful, it'll be okay. "We can start slow. We've got time."

Because if it works once they're doing it again. That's one of those things, like you're not gonna just leave that there, that is an absolute fact.

It's been a while since Tony even thought about his drink; it's been just a weight in his hands, something to hold. He sips it and asks, soft and curious and not remotely bothering to pretend he isn't turned on, "What would you want to do to me?"

He closes his eyes against the onslaught of images Tony's question brings up. Shoving Tony onto the bed, pinning him down with his hands around his throat, watching the animation drain from Tony's face and shock replace it as he realizes that Obadiah isn't playing around . . .

"I usually think about catching you by surprise," he says. "Sometimes we've just been fooling around and you haven't been ready to fuck yet, and I'm tired of waiting. You think I'll be patient forever. You don't even see what's coming until I'm dragging you to the bed, or bending you over the arm of the sofa."

Tony relaxes more with every word, until he's draped against Obadiah's side like a blanket. It would be just fucking ridiculous to spill his drink again, so he reaches lazily for a side table and puts it down.

"I like the sound of that," he murmurs, settling back into place. The first time he's admitted it, really said it out loud. He feels nervous but calm. Safe. All the danger is imaginary, and he wants more of it, wants to hear everything.

It's Obadiah's turn to forget about his drink, focused as he is on Tony pressed against him and on filtering the thoughts in his head to make sure only the right ones come out.

"Of course you do," he says. "That's the first thing I want to do, is make you admit how bad you want it. But you have to mean it. No just saying what I want to hear."

He chuckles. "When have I ever just said what you want to hear?"

"Never. Stubborn little bastard." The words aren't without affection.

"But that's all right, because I planned in advance. I've got a few things I could use to - persuade you."

He's inhaling when he hears the word persuade and his breath catches in his throat.

"Tell me," he says when it lets go.

Obadiah chuckles softly at the sound of Tony's breath catching.

"It wouldn't do not to have a few toys on hand," he says. He opens his eyes as he speaks, to watch Tony's reactions. "Especially if I can get you cuffed to the bed. From there I suppose it's up to you. How well you've behaved so far. Some things feel good. Maybe a little invasive, a little much, but good. Some things don't."

He can feel his own heartbeat against Obie's side, so Obie probably can too. It's getting faster.

"I never behave," he says, and leaves the so tell me what you'll do to me when I don't implied.

The next part—and tell me what you'll do to make me—is going to take a while to get to.

(hands on Tony's throat, pressing his head back into the mattress, choking him over and over until he's too dazed from oxygen deprivation to resist -)

He remembers his drink, takes a long, slow swallow. Heightening the suspense. (Using the filter.)

"Have you ever tried clamps?" They're a little too impersonal for his taste, best used for keeping someone occupied while he gets something else ready, but the right pair would look good on Tony. And if he's got plenty of time, he may as well start slow. (Slow to him, anyway. Maybe not to Tony.)

"Nope."

But he sounds cheerfully curious, not apprehensive.

(And what he's thinking about is the dozen ways you can disable a gun to make it perfectly safe, and what kind Obie might use, and when he should suggest it or if Obie might first. If it hasn't come up after the first time they do this, if they do this, he thinks he will.)

"They can range anywhere from a mild pinch to a nasty bite."

He turns his glass meditatively in his hand.

"Of course, if you want something mild, you're going to have to earn it."

That's just... cute. Hot, but in a cute way. Tony grins fondly, distracted from his train of thought.

Obadiah gives him an inquiring look.

Tony looks innocent!

Okay, no. No he doesn't.

"...Is it terrible that I think that's cute?" he asks with a crooked smile.

Obadiah looks taken aback.

Then he laughs.

"I have to admit, that wasn't quite what I was going for."

"I mean. Hot, too," he admits. "But cute."

"Then tell me what you were looking for," Obadiah invites.

Clearly he's nowhere near what Tony believes to be his limits yet.

The thought of guns comes back to him, and now it is Tony's turn to hold back saying something because he's not sure of the response.

(It only just occurs to him that for once he might have come up with something that's too much for Obie.)

Obadiah raises his eyebrows.

"I'm a big boy, Tony, I can handle myself."

Well, if he wants Obie to take him a little more seriously, this'll do it all right.

"I want you to hold a gun on me," he says evenly, still relaxed, with not so much as a shiver to show how he feels about the words. Just the way his pulse spikes again.

. . . Tony keeps surprising him during this conversation.

He's beginning to think he could get used to that.

"Really."

"Really. One that doesn't work, of course, anything else is just asking for trouble."

Tony believes very firmly in firearm safety!

Obadiah looks amused.

"Of course. Shooting you by mistake would ruin all my fun."

It sounds a bit theatrical to him, frankly, but if it would make Tony happy, he's more than willing to oblige. And it says volumes about how far Tony is prepared to go.