the flames are all long gone

[toblameforit]

There's a Stark boy sprawled on the couch at Milliways. Black T-shirt, blue jeans, one bottle of beer in his hand and three of its depleted fellows lined up on the table beside him. His identity is not in question, particularly not to someone who knows the origin of the bruises slowly fading from the side of his neck.

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[be-this-naive.livejournal.com]

In this case, Obadiah can make an exception to his preference for keeping the show they put on downstairs slightly more ambiguous. For a moment or two. His own hand moves around behind Tony, to rest at the small of his back.

[toblameforit]

He makes a contented little sound into the kiss.

'Safe' isn't exactly the first word that comes to mind, but that's okay. It doesn't have to be. Just as long as it's on the list at all.

"So," he murmurs, pulling away just far enough to let the words out, "your place or mine?"

[be-this-naive.livejournal.com]

"I imagine we're less likely to meet with disapproval in mine," Obadiah says, only a little dry this time.

[toblameforit]

"Yeah," he concedes. "I'd figure he'd just go away if we were in there when he got to the door, but—" his hand touches his throat— "I'm not so sure now." He leans in for a quick kiss. "Your place it is."

[be-this-naive.livejournal.com]

That's fine with Obadiah. It isn't the concession it might seem like. He prefers to use his own room for Milliways hookups; Sherlock is providing an excuse to keep to that.

"All right, then," he says, getting up to lead the way.

[toblameforit]

Tony follows only a step behind.

By now, the third time, he barely even thinks about how weird it is. It just makes sense. Tony loves Obie, and as much as he is capable of it, Obie loves him back.