ironmonger | (no subject)

Obadiah's eyebrows go up.

"You are perfectly safe with me," he says, then,

"Maybe we should discuss this somewhere a little quieter."

"And maybe you should answer my question," he says, not backing down.

Obadiah gives him a fond look.

"Maybe," he says with slightly more emphasis, "we should discuss this somewhere a little quieter."

Do you get it now, Tony?

"...Fine. My room. Sherry, you coming?"

He has to think about it.

Obadiah gives him an inquiring look.

He's not even going to try to argue about this.

"I want no part of this," he says at last, "and I have no reason to doubt your good behaviour."

Now, there's a surprise. But certainly not an unwelcome one.

"All right," he says magnanimously, getting to his feet. "Tony?" Is that all right with you?

"Sure."

He sticks his hands in his pockets and heads for the stairs without looking to see if Obadiah follows him.

Obadiah nods a goodbye to Sherlock before he follows Tony upstairs.

He says not a word the whole way up, and when they are in his room and the door has closed behind them he leans against it, folds his arms, and waits.

"I meant what I said before," Obadiah tells him. "I'm not interested if you're not interested."

He slides his hands into his pockets, giving Tony a studying look.

"But it seems like something has your interest."

"A straight answer would be nice."

Apparently what Obadiah just said doesn't count.

"I'm not sure you're asking the question you think you're asking."

It sounds like a dodge, but for once he actually means it.

"What question do you think I'm asking?"

"I think you're trying to figure out something about a divide between fantasy and reality," Obadiah says. "I just want to be clear about my preferences in reality."

When it comes to Tony, at least.

"What I'm trying to figure out is you. And since I am not a complete idiot, if I thought for a second you'd—do that, I wouldn't have brought you up here."

That might be an exaggeration. Just a little one.

It's possible he might have anyway.

"I know," Obadiah murmurs. "I just wanted to be absolutely clear first."

He meets Tony's gaze steadily.

"From a fantasy perspective, the answer's a little different."

It's not like he thought it would be, actually hearing it.

He doesn't make any obvious nervous gestures, not out of any great self-control but because he doesn't really feel the need to. Mostly he feels like there's something pressing in his chest, pushing his heart away from the comforting enclosure of bone. But he stays where he is, still blocking the door, and his voice is steady when he says,

"Yeah?"

Obadiah's hands are still in his pockets; he's watching Tony carefully, wary of even a slight misstep. There is something to this, but it's no good to him if Tony decides he doesn't want to deal with it.

"Occasionally," he says, and chooses not to elaborate. For the moment.

"...You're not gonna just leave that there," he says, a statement of fact rather than a question or even a demand.

He allows himself to look ruefully amused.

"I wasn't sure it wouldn't blow up in my face," he says, confessional.

"All right. I think about it sometimes. That's what fantasy is for. Things you can't or won't do in real life. I like to indulge in the fantasy that I could get you off no matter what."

That definitely has an effect. A positive one... more or less.

(Tony looks very like Sherlock right now. Standing straight, chin up, face calm—perhaps the word is: uncompromising.)

"Yeah?" he repeats, softer now. Thoughtful. The tight anxious feeling, the hollow growing in his chest, hasn't gone away, but he's not really scared. Just nervous. And he's starting to let himself think about why.

Yes.

He nods.

"Like I said. I like it when you enjoy yourself."

"Yeah, you keep mentioning that part," Tony observes.

He pauses for a moment as though marshaling his words, and then says, "Are you trying to make this nice? Because it's not nice."

It's a lot of things. Very possibly hot; very possibly intoxicatingly hot. But nice? No.