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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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.

He hisses, mostly with pain, but doesn't—quite—let himself flinch.

Next time he might not even be able to manage that much.

This time, he does aim for the same spot as before.

There's no extra force behind it, but he won't blame Tony for not noticing that fact (though he wonders if Sherlock will).

And he doesn't stop himself in time; he pulls away a little, whimpering.

(Oh, yes. Yes he does.)

He pauses for a beat, then hits that spot again, watching the viciously vivid red spring up against the milder redness from the flogger.

He whimpers much louder, tense with the effort of keeping himself in place, keeping himself from making any futile attempt to escape.

He moves a bit lower with the next stroke, but makes it much harder.

Gasping raggedly, he presses his face into his shoulder.

(Magnificent is the word that springs to mind.)

In contrast to Tony, Obadiah takes a slow, even breath before he delivers the next blow, changing the angle to cross both of the last two spots he hit.

There's a moment when he stops breathing entirely, and then he moans—into it, oh yes, but hurting—and subsides into a quiet punctuated by tiny whimpers every time he moves.

Obadiah pauses to rub his hand none-too-gently over the most vivid marks on Tony's skin.

Then he brings the belt down on them, hard.

That was legitimately a scream.

He smiles.