ironmonger | (no subject)

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.

The muscles in his jaw tighten. (Those elsewhere do not.)

Flatly: "Yes."

His expression goes flat.

"Have you chosen anything yet?"

(—Tony has an entirely inappropriate urge to hug him and say sorry.)

"I told you what I want," he says instead. Another thing he learned from Sherry: if there's something about you that people are going to use against you anyway, you might as well own it.

But he can't help glancing into the box. His resolve is cracking; he is more than a little afraid of what Obie might pick for him, especially with that look on his face.

Obadiah doesn't answer. He just watches Tony, and keeps working on him.

It's an opportunity, Tony. Take it.

Yeah.

Yeah okay.

"The glass one," he says, because there is only one glass one so he does not have to get any more specific, and it is neither so small as to be clearly there just to get his hopes up nor as downright terrifying as some of the other options. One of those dildos looks to be as big around as a Coke can, for Christ's sake.

Obadiah takes it with his free hand and puts it aside without comment, or much change in facial expression.

"Anything else?"

Slowly, he shakes his head.

"All right, then."

Obadiah studies the assortment for a moment. As he does so, he begins to work a second finger into Tony.

This time, the tears he blinks away are definitely new.

He takes his time over the deliberation - stealing glances at Tony - before eventually selecting the dildo from earlier and a plug made up of connected bumps increasing in size.

(He's unlikely to use everything, and it won't be difficult to swap the plug for one that's smaller but otherwise identical without Tony noticing if it proves necessary. That's hardly the point of this little game.)

Yeah. That one. Of course that one. Why did he ever think it wouldn't be that one.

If Obadiah is trying to make Tony nervous, it is working like a charm.

(As for the plug, he has indeed not noticed that it is one of a family of three, and it will no doubt be easy to give him other things to think about if Obadiah does need to exchange Mama Bear for Baby Bear. So to speak.)

Obadiah smiles at him without warmth.

"I hope that meets with your approval," he says, in a tone of voice that's almost sweet.

"My approval does not actually matter to you," Tony points out.

(Which is one of the major hotness factors of this whole scenario, but he does just fine at keeping the smile out of his voice. The fact that he really is that nervous helps a lot.)

"That's true," Obadiah agrees pleasantly.

Then (because he has some experience in these matters, and he doesn't think it will do any damage) he shoves the second finger in the rest of the way, down to the knuckles.

Tony makes a choked-off noise of protest, squirming briefly before he thinks better of it.

(Yeah. Hot.)

But his self-preservation instincts are obviously not functioning to spec, because as he goes still again he also snaps, "Oh, just shoot me already."

Obadiah chuckles.

Then he reaches over to the box and picks out another item.

Tony wasn't wrong about the Coke can.

He is temporarily thrown, but too pissed off right now to let the brief flash of terror take hold.

"Go fuck yourself. Better yet, go fuck the Tsar Cannon, since apparently you like 'em big and mean."

"I thought we were done with the crop, Tony. Did you want another round?"

Obadiah is prepared to indulge that.

He shudders.

Swallows.

Shakes his head.

"No," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

"Good answer," Obadiah tells him.

"I won't ask first next time. Remember that."