ironmonger | (no subject)

"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.

"No," Obadiah says readily. "It's not. But that's the part that . . . keeps my attention. That's the core of it. Without that, it's just . . ." Boring.

He shrugs slightly.

"Not about you anymore."

—oh now there's a thought that—no. Moving on. Because no. This is going to stay a conversation about Tony because anything else is too depressing to contemplate.

He moves away from the door at last, rests his hands on Obadiah's shoulders, and gives him a very quick, very gentle kiss.

"So," he murmurs—still steady, still thoughtful, only barely nervous— "I guess we should talk, huh."

He smiles a little, reaching up to stroke Tony's cheek. It's a light, affectionate touch.

"I guess we should."

Tony leans into it slightly, not quite smiling back.

"'cause I think maybe we could work something out there," he says quietly. "If we both know what we're doing. If we both know the risks. We could both get hurt, and I don't want that to happen. But I do wanna know where this goes."

And he trusts Obie. That part should be obvious from the fact that he is standing here talking about this.

"Of course," Obadiah murmurs. "We'll have to be absolutely sure to be on the same page."

He is more than willing and prepared to do all the necessary legwork, before and after, with such a payoff. He cannot have this go wrong.

"I mean, if we fuck it up bad enough you could end up dead, and I—" his voice catches— "really don't want that. And I don't wanna get all messed up, either."

Oh, there are a million ways this could go horribly wrong. And yet Tony isn't thinking to himself what a bad idea it is. He's not thinking about how Obadiah could so easily use it to hurt him. He's thinking that he wants it to work, that they're going to do it right or not at all, that he loves Obie and trusts him and that if they pull this off it's going to be amazing.

"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."