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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"There," he says after a moment, sitting back. "Give that a tug, see if it holds."

(It will. Obadiah is good at knots.)

"Don't worry about stretching the tie, I can get another." Isn't he thoughtful?

The tie holds up to a thorough, if not heartfelt, attempt to pull away.

"Yep," he confirms. "You've got me, all right."

And he loves Obadiah and trusts him and it will be okay. It will be awesome.

(And he wonders, somewhere far away under all that, how many people Obadiah has tied to beds in exactly this fashion. But he does not pursue the thought, does not allow it to interfere with the pleasure of the moment.)

"Good."

Obadiah rubs his hand gently down over Tony's back, moving the belt lower as he does so.

"Would you like a little something lighter to warm up first, or would you rather get right to it?"

"Mmm... warmup?" he requests. Because Tony isn't Sherry, after all, and he has limits when it comes to pain, and sometimes it's nice to ease into things.

"All right."

Obadiah gets up and goes to his closet. He opens it and gets a black suede flogger from a shelf.

"I got this," he says, "in case the crop was too much for you last time."

(In the back of his mind, he reminds himself that he is not actually telling this to Tony, and thus may end up having to repeat himself at some point down the line.)

"I'm glad I didn't need it, I'd already hit enough items on the S&M porn checklist as it was," he adds dryly.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with the traditional stuff. I like it. It looks nice."

And he can't help just a tiny anticipatory wriggle as he rests his head on one arm, getting his hands as comfortable as he can in their restraints, and waits for Obadiah's next move.

"So do I," Obadiah says. He goes back to the bed and sets the belt aside, then trails the flogger down over Tony's back. "And there's a reason designs like this have survived over the centuries. But -"

He raises the flogger and brings it down across Tony's ass, hard enough to leave appealing-looking red streaks behind.

"I also like to be creative."

He yelps and flinches, caught off-guard, but a moment later he's grinning.

"I like it," he repeats, with rather different intonation.

Obadiah chuckles and does it again.

This time he doesn't flinch nearly as hard, but he lets out a soft little moan and wriggles again shortly afterward.

He watches Tony wriggle

(makes a note to use this with Tony for real)

then gives him a couple more, one in the same spot and one over the backs of his thighs, in quick succession.

He sighs happily. It's perfect—just enough pain to feel really good, not enough that he has to work to keep liking it.

(Sherlock has almost never had to work to keep liking it, except at the very beginning. But he's seen Tony's face, heard him struggle to describe what it's like, and he understands it the way he always understands Tony. He knows every step on the road from here to a whispered Sherlock, and the how and the why of each one.)

He settles into a rhythm after that, working Tony over slowly with the flogger, watching the skin flush redder and redder as he goes.

He could just do this for a while, he thinks; eventually it would build to be too much like anything else would. Eventually he could make Tony flinch just by taking it off the shelf.

(Something else to keep in mind, if Sherlock decides he might like to do this again.)

After a minute or two, he starts to squirm intermittently. He tries to hold still, he really does,

(or at least Tony would, and he'd fail)

but right on the edge between perfect and slightly-too-much is a place full of restless arousal.

A look of satisfaction crosses Obadiah's face. He loves watching Tony squirm.

(Literally and figuratively.)

(And the added definition of Sherlock's muscles makes it even better.)

He continues a little longer, then gives two final, harder strikes and stops.

"I love you," he says happily.

(And remembers the last time he said those words in this voice. A lot has happened since then, hasn't it. So much can change in so short a time.)

"I know."

He puts the flogger down and strokes Tony's back, enjoying the feel of the warmed-up skin under his hand.

He wriggles a little, in a very delighted sort of way.

(There is an undeniable sensual pleasure to feeling someone's hands on skin that still tingles from the recent use of force. He and Tony have always agreed on this.)

Obadiah indulges them both for a moment.

Then he reaches over and picks up the belt.

"You ready?"

"Yep."

It was perfect, again. Just enough time for him to get over the sting a little, so mostly he's missing Obie's touch instead of dreading the belt.

(He makes a note to compliment Obadiah very specifically on his timing.)

"Good."

(He's briefly tempted to start out full-strength; there is, after all, a reason they agreed to invalidate Tony's safeword in favor of Sherlock's, and he is curious about how much Sherlock can really take. But that would be against the experimental spirit of this little venture, so he resists.)

The belt comes down instead at half-strength, enough to give Obadiah plenty to build from as he tests Tony's response.

A soft moan, about a third of the way along the scale from pain to pleasure, manages to escape him before he can stifle it.

(Obadiah is, of course, entirely welcome to take this venture far past Tony's safeword into the kind of pain Sherlock very rarely gets to feel. And it is up to him whether he would like Sherlock to continue playing Tony throughout. Some innovation will be required, because he has never seen Tony that broken and hopes he never will, but Sherlock is nothing if not imaginative.

It does not even occur to him that Obadiah might worry about how he would interpret such a move.)

He isn't squirming anymore; he's very still and a little tense. But he's definitely into it. The look on his face says as much.

(At the moment, Obadiah is inclined to take it as far as he can.)

The second blow has the same force as the first, laid out in a different spot. Starting out at normal to slowly work his way up the scale.

His moan is a little louder this time, less restrained. What self-control he has, and Tony has never had all that much, is disintegrating already.

Isn't it beautiful?

It is.

The third lands a little harder.