toblameforit | God help them both

God help them both

(from here; warning for some fairly wrong goings-on all round)

His room is on the second floor and it's really more of a suite. First through the door is a comfortable little living room containing all the essentials—squashy couch, wall-mounted plasma TV, bookshelf for Sherry, liquor cabinet for Tony, a pair of reasonably uncluttered desks side by side for the rare occasion when they both bring their laptops. One of them has been usurped by a violin case.

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Obadiah kisses him with bruising force. His hands stay where they are for a moment, until he is apparently satisfied that Tony won't pull away if he lets go. Then they move down to Tony's hips, gripping hard to pull him closer.

Yeah. This could definitely be scary.

If he let it.

He chooses not to. He braces easily against the pressure of Obadiah's hands so that, when he relents a few seconds later and slides forward a little and down a little more than that, it is very definitely his idea; he digs in his fingers and drags his teeth over Obadiah's lip with another, louder moan.

There's a brief flash of exasperation at the resistance, but that is forgotten entirely once they make contact. He's so turned on right now that the thin material of his boxers may as well not be there at all, and he groans into Tony's mouth.

God, that is way too good.

His hand drops from Obie's shoulder to start flicking open the buttons of his shirt, because there needs to be more skin here, there really does.

Eventually, they do in fact make it to the bed.

There is a lot more skin at that point.

They are there for quite a while.

In the end, Tony is pretty much certain that the only reason he's getting cuddles right now is because Obie is too tired to move, and he's pretty much okay with that.

"Best bad decision I ever made," he sighs, deeply content. He might be talking about kissing Obie in the first place, but the words that are floating through his mind are good luck with that.

He's right. Obadiah isn't as young as he used to be. Twenty or even ten years ago, he'd have been on his way back to his room for a shower after pacifying Tony with a promise to meet him downstairs for dinner, but now that's not an option. Not right away.

Staying and indulging Tony isn't a bad idea, anyway, for obvious reasons.

He chuckles, a distinctly lazy sound, and runs his hand down Tony's side.

"I've got no complaints."

"You fucking well better not," Tony snorts. "'Cause I'd know you were lying."

God, Obie hasn't lied to him in... three hours? At least? Maybe closer to five. Tony wasn't exactly counting. He digests this revelation and happily snuggles a little closer.

He wanted something real? He's got it.

Obadiah just laughs, adjusting the arm he has around Tony to fit with Tony's moving closer.

Tony radiates smug like a smug little furnace. So he's shit at spotting lies in general, fine, yes—but there is no fooling him about how much you're enjoying yourself in bed. And in this case the answer is 'a lot', because he is awesome.

Except for the part where Obadiah did all the work. But he's used to that when it comes to the Starks.

And this time it was exactly what he wanted.

"You're an obnoxious little shit," he tells Tony, with great fondness in his voice.

And Tony held out for three-ish hours. You can't tell him that's not awesome. Because it would be a lie.

"I know," he says, equally fond. "You love me anyway."

It was longer than he'd expected, he'll give Tony that.

"It'll be our little secret," Obadiah says agreeably.

"What," he teases, "that I'm an obnoxious little shit? Because I don't think we're going to have much luck keeping that one under wraps."

But the pleased little smile lurking at the corners of his mouth (and faintly audible in his voice) suggests he understood the real meaning.

Tony doesn't really think Obie loves him the way he thinks of love. Because if he did, the whole assassination thing would never have gotten off the ground. But if Tony didn't believe there was something more going on there than creepy sexual fixation, they wouldn't be here right now. And it's starting to look like he called that one right.

"Well," Obadiah says. "Whose fault is that?"

There's no denying that he's fond of Tony. The fact that his Tony is still alive speaks clearly enough to that.

But that's a problem to be worked around. Or, if he can't find an adequate workaround, to be rectified. Most people see affection as a strength; Obadiah understands it as a weakness. He let it dictate his actions for too long with Howard.

It's not a mistake he'll be making again.

"Definitely mine," he has no problem with admitting.

"You'd better watch it," Obadiah says, "or you'll end up being more trouble than you're worth."

It's something like good-natured teasing.

It's also true.

Tony could take that any number of ways.

He decides on: "I dunno, man, I think I'm worth a lot of trouble right now," and a quick kiss for emphasis.

That's fine by Obadiah. He's not inclined toward another round of arguing at the moment. There are a few new ideas forming in the back of his mind; he'll bring them to light in a little while for closer examination.

"There's a surprise. When don't you?"

"When I'm not just coming down from like four hours of fantastic sex?" he suggests.

His opinion of himself is extra inflated right now! Be afraid.

"I seem to recall I might have had something to do with that."

He'll want that shower soon, now that he's had a few minutes to get his breath back.

Obadiah has never been one for pillow talk.

"Next time," Tony says cheerfully, "you can let me do all the work for a change."

"We'll see."

Something to eat, too. It's a shame Milliways has always seemed to be so conspicuously lacking in room service.

"Now who's taking who for granted?"

Obadiah glances at Tony, then allows his gaze to wander slowly down over Tony's body.

"Hardly," he murmurs.

God help them both

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