ironmonger | (no subject)

(no subject)

The past few days are finally starting to take their toll on Obadiah when Milliways appears tonight. It's mostly over, save for tracking down the masterminds and dealing with them. Tony is fine - physically, at least - and Sherlock hardly the worse for wear despite the blow to the head he took. In terms of physical damage, the worst they got was Jones's broken leg. In terms of publicity, they're doing well; Stark Industries is front page news. Everyone likes a happy ending.

He's still looking very much forward to making the assholes in charge of the operation pay the price, but for now he's more than happy to settle in at the fireplace with a drink. And, at Bar's insistence, dinner.

[OOC: Warning for painplay and consensual breaking of safewords at some point after the six-hundred-comment mark. This one kind of got away from us.]

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"That'd be quite a dedicated effort," he observes.

"Though I suppose it's not a memory you'd mind blurring a little."

"You'd be right about that," he admits wryly. "In fact, I expect it would be a very good idea to apply some layering to the rest of it too, before we try this with Tony."

Give him some memories of sex with Obadiah that aren't soaked in brandy and self-loathing.

"That sounds like a reasonable request," Obadiah says. "I think I could manage something for you."

He finishes off his whiskey and sets the glass aside.

"Thank you. Much appreciated."

"Did you have any special timeline in mind?" he asks courteously.

"No," he says, "not as such. I am happy to abide by your preferences, if any."

Sherlock is feeling very agreeable right now. It probably has something to do with the snuggles. He really does have a strongly positive reaction to friendly physical contact from someone he trusts.

"How does now suit you?"

Their conversation has, overall, been very stimulating, and Obadiah has some pent-up tension from the kidnapping that he could stand to release. Some good sex would fit the bill nicely.

"Perfectly," he says, and means it.

"And perhaps, if we are going to experiment with anything that might leave marks, we ought to do that first. So they will be as far gone as possible when the time comes."

Obadiah approves of this line of thinking.

"I am wearing a belt today," he says, though he knows perfectly well it's obvious even to anyone who isn't Sherlock Holmes.

"I'd noticed," he says dryly. "Would you rather beat me with it here, in the bedroom, or in your rooms?"

"My rooms," Obadiah decides, getting up.

Just to avoid leaving behind anything Tony might pick up on.

"All right."

Sherlock smiles and heads for the door, retrieving his shoes along the way. He isn't sure whether it is better or worse to do this in the same place the original trouble happened; better, he thinks.

Frankly, that connection hadn't even occurred to Obadiah.

Conveniently - as will occasionally happen in Milliways, when it wishes - his room isn't far away. He's unlocking the door just a minute later.

And Sherlock is quite cheerful as he follows Obadiah inside. He's looking forward to this.

He listens for the sound of the door closing behind him, then turns to slide an arm around him.

It doesn't carry quite the same pleasure as it had when he'd done it knowing Sherlock hated him, but that doesn't mean he enjoys it less.

Sherlock leans on him a little, turning to rest his cheek against Obadiah's shoulder.

The real, fundamental difference is that this time, instead of thinking about violence, he is thinking about love. Everything else comes from that. The easy comfort in his posture, the way he smiles. All of that.

He can feel the different in Sherlock's carriage, especially now that he knows how many times he avoided being killed or injured last time without realizing it.

That, Obadiah thinks, is a definite benefit to Sherlock's deciding he's in love.

He was relaxed last time, but it was a forced relaxation; he made himself relax so he would not do anything, would not give the appearance of being about to.

This time, he is relaxed because he is happy. A world of difference.

"It might be simpler if I played Tony," he offers. "You can see more or less how he will react, accounting for circumstances of course. And I can give you his safeword without it meaning anything. Mine will remain Anthony."

"All right," Obadiah agrees.

He is very much looking forward to this. He doesn't have quite the same neat set-up as before, but he can improvise. And he does still have the essential supplies.

"Lovely," he says, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Shall we, then?"

Obadiah steps back to watch.

"Let's."

He doesn't make any particular ceremony of it, but by the time his shirt hits the floor and he starts unfastening his jeans—

—he is someone else.

It's interesting to watch the transformation when he knows it's coming and is paying attention. He still can't quite pinpoint the moment when Sherlock disappears beneath Tony, even though he knows there must be one.

(He changes as well, more subtly, in anticipation of dealing with Tony and the events ahead.)

And he flashes Tony's smile, bright with anticipation, as he wriggles out of all the rest.

Tony is so innocent. He can look forward to getting hit with a belt and be this cheerfully unworried about it, because he trusts Obadiah and he thinks it will be fun.