ironmonger | (no subject)

Tony doesn't react to the sound of either door. It's debatable whether he hears them on any kind of conscious level. He is just a little bit preoccupied right now, you see.

"Did I tell you you could do that?" he asks mildly, leaning against the doorjamb.

He goes from limp with exhaustion to tense and motionless almost instantly.

Then he shakes his head.

"I can't even trust you alone for five minutes," Obadiah says scoldingly.

(It's been a lot longer than that, but never mind.)

He walks over to sit down on the bed, getting a fresh pair of gloves out of the box.

"Honestly, Tony, haven't you learned a single thing today?"

Tony shivers, but is otherwise afraid to move.

"I'm sorry," he tells the pillow.

"You should be."

Obadiah reaches over and turns the plug off, then starts working it out with impatient little tugs.

(He puts plenty of exasperation into his body language and movements to amplify the idea that he's being forceful and direct Tony away from noticing that he isn't really being all that rough as he removes the plug.)

The effort is wasted at first because Tony isn't looking, but he glances back over his shoulder after a few seconds and watches. Helplessly. It feels even more impossible going out than coming in, and he is just as powerless to do anything about it.

He's well aware of Tony's eyes on him, but for once doesn't look at him to make eye contact. He focuses instead on the plug, lips pressed together.

Once he's gotten the thickest segment out, it's much quicker going, and it isn't long before he's dropping it into another, smaller box tucked discreetly back against the wall. Maybe he'll make Tony be the one to clean it later.

"Turn over," he says shortly.

Shaking a little, keeping his eyes on Obie's face as much as he can, Tony obeys.

"You were doing so well, too."

Once Tony is on his back, Obadiah straddles him again, the same position as before.

"I'm very disappointed," he says, and puts his hands around Tony's throat.

He closes his eyes. His lips part slightly. He exhales, then breathes in again slowly, waiting all the while for Obadiah's hands to close and the flow of air to stop.

It's not that he's not afraid; he is. He just... surrenders anyway.

"Open your eyes, Tony."

He didn't really think he was going to get away with that, did he?

(He wants the eye contact. He hadn't intended to do this again so late in the scene; he's not sure it might not be a bit much now in a way it wouldn't have been earlier.

And, though he'd never admit it, he needs the contact for himself. This isn't one of his games. This is Tony. Right now, doing this, is when he is at greatest risk of getting lost and going too far, and he can't do that.)

Tony does.

The look on his face is hard to read. Mostly relaxed, very focused, with a hint of fear at the corners of his eyes. His pulse is fast, the carotid on each side fluttering gently under Obadiah's fingers.

(He doesn't break the fantasy with any words.

But his expression is much less severe as he begins to tighten his grip.)

(It's good, it's better than good, it's—Tony loves him. So much. So, so fucking much.)

He waits. Just waits. Doesn't struggle, doesn't try to look away. Accepts this as his due and waits to find out how far Obadiah will take it.

The part of him that's fully in the fantasy has gone all the way past despair to somewhere calm and peaceful and sad; the rest of him is full of quiet trust. It works out more or less the same in the end.

On one level, it's not quite as satisfying. He likes it when they're scared, when they struggle, when they believe he's going to kill them because that primitive fear drives away all thought of any other possibility. In that respect, Tony's limp acceptance is somewhat lacking.

In every other way, this is exactly what he wants. He's fantasized about Tony's throat under his fingers for a long time, and it seems as though there has never been a time when he hasn't craved a Stark's complete submission in one way or another. There are any number of ways in which Tony has made up for everything Obadiah could never get from Howard; this is easily the best item on that list. He squeezes harder and harder, cutting Tony's air off completely this time, and counts down the seconds in his head, and never once stops looking into Tony's eyes.

Tony blinks a few times, and shudders once; his hands clench into fists, pressing momentarily against the cuffs, then relax. He is afraid. He just won't let himself act on it.

Obadiah's own breath catches a little.

Of course, that's good, too.

You'd think Tony would be too far gone to notice.

You'd be very wrong about that.

One slow blink is all the reaction he gives it. (Behind the slight tremor of his eyelashes, for those three quarters of a second, he is so deeply in love it feels a little like dying.)

He's getting close to when he should let go.

(The goal has only ever once, at special request, been unconsciousness. After all, if they can't react, what's the point?)

He gives it a couple more seconds. Just skirting the edge.

He can feel his pulse beating hard in his chest, pushing weakly past Obadiah's grip on his neck. He's getting dizzy, losing pieces of his thoughts. It's as far as he's ever gone with Sherry—maybe farther.

And even though he doesn't remember why, if he ever really knew in the first place, he keeps holding still for it.

Enough.

(He wants more.)

He lets go.

Tony drags air into his lungs, closing his eyes and digging his nails into his palms.

(He's not crying anymore; hasn't been since Obadiah left him here. His face is streaked with a thin layer of salt that cracks when he moves.)

Obadiah allows him a minute or so to catch his breath.

He needs it.

At the end of the minute, when he opens his eyes again and manages to take one full breath that doesn't sound like a shuttle launch in his ears, he looks up at Obadiah with that same calm expression on his face. Waiting to be told what to want next.