ironmonger | (no subject)

"Good."

Obadiah makes a point of picking the crop up and putting it back into the box, then finding the clamps and putting them away, too.

It takes him a few seconds after that to relax, but relax he does.

(It would be so easy, wouldn't it.)

(Resisting the temptation requires an almost physical effort, but he manages it.)

His hand is still slick from lubing up the sounding tube; he reaches over and wraps it loosely around Tony, stroking up once slowly. Then again.

"Now," he says. "I do believe I made a few other promises, as well."

Okay maybe it wouldn't be that easy.

The moment Obadiah touches him, he tenses with fear. The words don't help; he can't bring any specific promises to mind, and he's afraid they won't be good ones. It feels good, holy shit yes does it ever, but right now he doesn't trust that it won't somehow end in pain.

Obadiah continues to stroke him, his movements smooth and deliberate - nothing too firm or stimulating, just a little something to remind Tony's body that he can provide pleasure as well as pain.

"I was going to show you," he reminds Tony, "how good it could have been if you'd behaved decently. And I'm going to keep showing you until you're begging for it."

The look he gives Tony would be reassuring in most contexts.

"It's all right, Tony. The punishment is over. Well. The painful part of it, at least."

Tony doesn't exactly relax, but the focus of his tension changes, from fear into something like yearning.

He moves his head as though he's going to glance down at Obadiah's hand, but seems to change his mind at the last second and looks off to the side instead, blinking away what might be fresh tears or the residue of old ones.

(It's a shame that a camera would be such a stupid indulgence. Not catching this on film is a tragic waste.)

He falls into silence for a moment, watching Tony intently. Jesus, he looks good like this.

"I should have done this sooner," he murmurs.

A little shiver runs through him.

Apparently he has run out of smartass remarks.

(Lucky for Obadiah there's nothing wrong with his memory.)

Eventually, Obadiah's gaze wanders over to the gun.

It takes a moment for Tony to follow his line of sight, and when he does he pales slightly.

(Fuck yes.)

Obadiah looks back at him with a bland almost-smile.

"Oh, now, don't look like that," he says. "I'm not going to insult either of us by pretending I think you're a blushing virgin, but I do realize you're going to need a little - work first."

Because that, of course, must be what has Tony so edgy.

Obadiah picks up the lube again.

—that actually does get a brief, crooked smile out of him. No, however much blushing he's been doing today, a virgin he is not.

The amusement breaks some of his tension, enough so that he at least doesn't try to wriggle away. Yet.

Obadiah reaches into the box again, but this time it's only long enough to produce a pair of rubber gloves, which he pulls on. They add, he feels, a nicely impersonal touch to the proceedings.

(They'll also help to minimize the amount of scrubbing he'll want to to do immediately after they're done, which will make it easier to concentrate on Tony. Again, the practicalities do need to be considered.)

...kind of hot, Tony decides. Scary-ish but in a thoroughly sexy way.

He relaxes a little more, but there's a core of tension to him that's not going away.

He'd briefly considered having Tony on his stomach again for this, for increased ease of access as well as the fun of keeping Tony unable to see what Obadiah is using on him, but there's no question of doing that now. He needs to be able to see Tony's face.

So he takes his place again between Tony's legs. Before he opens the lubricant, though, he tips the box onto its side and angles it so Tony has at least a partial view of the contents.

"Pick a few things you might like to try," he says. "If you're very good, I might use one or two of them."

If Tony happens to pick the right ones. Obadiah already knows what he's going to use. A lot of the things in there - especially the larger ones, the ones that look like exactly the kind of thing someone looking to hurt Tony might try to fit inside him - are decoys. Just to make sure he stays nervous.

He bites his lip.

And says nothing.

Obadiah glances up as he works with the lubricant, watching Tony's face.

"I know there's a lot to choose from," he says lightly. "I got a bit carried away."

Soft snort. "Yeah, I'll say."

Oh, look. The smartass is back.

Still more than a little terrified, but back nonetheless.

Obadiah raises his eyebrows.

"Of course," he says, no longer quite so light, "if you would rather I choose . . ."

Here's a hint, Tony: you really, really don't want that.

"You're going to anyway," he says quietly. "I don't feel like pretending I have a choice."

Obadiah puts the lube down.

"You'd be surprised how many choices you have right now," he says, and presses a finger into Tony without preamble.

Tony closes his eyes—for a moment, he is defeated again; for a moment, the violation shatters some crucial working component of his heart.

And then he opens them.

"So fuck me with your gun," he says clearly, lifting his chin.

(He would even if it were real. He knows he would. Because sometimes you're willing to risk anything—even dying, even dying like that—for the chance to cut through the fucking bullshit.)

He doesn't even try to hide the pleasure he gets from Tony's reaction. Or from his suggestion.

"Oh, I'm going to," Obadiah assures him. "I just thought you might prefer to work up to it.

"Besides, we have all day. Well, you have all day. I have an errand or two to run." He smiles. "The gun might slip out while I'm gone. Can't have that."

"You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?"

(And Tony loves him for it. God, how Tony loves him for it. But he's doing a pretty good job of keeping himself focused on the fear and anger.)

"You should have thought of that a little earlier," Obadiah says, moving his finger inside Tony as he talks. "Would it really have been so bad to let me have what I wanted?"

It would certainly have been better than this. For Tony, at least.