Tony grunts as the back leg buckles, the other bending but still on the foot. His knee burns from impacting the carpet. "Wow, hey," he bites out, "look at that. Look at who's taken a shining to their role. Discovered something about yourself recently? This part of your rumored dark side?"
Steve just sighs and reaches for the tie on the bedside table. It takes a moment of fumbling before his fingers close around the silk, but he grabs it and wraps it around Tony's head, the cloth pressing insistently against his lips.
"Open," he snaps. It's probably not a necessary command - god knows Tony'll open his damn mouth soon enough - but he wants him to know who's in charge here. The words are accompanied by a tug at the tie, not quite enough to force it between his jaws, but a promise that he could if Tony's recalcitrant enough.
Tony glares at Steve from the corner of his eye, mouth pressed firmly shut. His whole frame crackles with anger like a live wire: anger at himself for needing this, at Steve for treating him kindly, at everything and nothing in particular for not doling out a punishment for Ultron. The hearings all concluded that, seeing as the situation held no real precedent, the closest being a guardian to a delinquent child, Tony could not be held legally responsible. He should be happy; he even fought for his own freedom. He can do so much more for the world, make up so much more for his mistakes, outside of a prison cell.
But I created him. He had part of me in him. I might as well have killed all those people myself.
So he resists, because the fight is important, to prove to himself and Steve (and his father Howard) that he's not weak, that he doesn't just show his belly at the first sign of dominance -- and to draw out punishments, not the soft reassurances and comforting embraces Steve seems inclined to. He deserves to be hurt. Be controlled.
This is the sort of thing Steve's better at getting out in a sparring ring, and he wishes Tony had given him some sort of indication first, instead of coming in and acting like he was going to submit. But if Tony made things easy, then he wouldn't be Tony, would he?
He might be able to pry Tony's jaws open with effort, but there's an easier way to get him to open his mouth. Steve takes his hand off his back and, without warning, pinches Tony's nose shut. It's less than a minute before Tony opens his mouth to take a breath, and Steve pulls the tie between his teeth - a little roughly - and ties it behind his head.
"I told you," he growls. He leaves Tony there, down on one knee, and crosses over to his dresser. A drawer slides open, and Steve grabs the rest of his tie collection, just in case. He glances back over his shoulder at Tony to see if he's still in the position he left him in.
Tony glowers at Steve's back. He tests the gag. He can still swallow easily, though most of the saliva soaks into the tie. Talking proves more difficult, being unable to close his mouth for some sounds and his tongue restricted by the cloth; any words would come out muffled and unclear. Some part of him settles after being gagged, but when Steve glances back, Tony smiles tightly and teeters into a stand. Steve may have shut him up, but Tony can still push boundaries.
This actually fits well into Steve's plans - it's easier to make him walk than it is to have him walk on his knees, though, admittedly, not as submissive. Steve just smiles at him, one that's full of false sweetness, and knots one of the ties around his throat - not like it would usually be used, but looped around the middle of his neck. It's very obviously a collar and leash. He thinks about it for a moment, then adds a second, just to make it feel more restricting when he pulls.
And pull he does, as he tries to lead Tony toward the bedroom wall. There's no spoken order; he simply expects Tony to obey (or not, as the case may be). If he tries to stay where he is, Steve will pull harder.
Tony holds his ground until the second pull, which causes him to stumble forward, and from there he follows, albeit slowly and at the leash's maximum length. He watches Steve with wary interest.
It's only a few steps, and when they get there, Steve positions him just in front of the wall, almost close enough to touch. "Kneel," he says again, and though there's the weight of his hand on his back again, he doesn't push yet, waiting to see if Tony obeys of his own volition.
His legs wobble on the spot. With his mouth gagged, he lacks the verbal bluster and defiant volume that comes with being Tony Stark, and bit by bit everything else crumbles. Despite his best efforts, the smallest shove from Steve will crash Tony to his knees. He shuts his eyes; he gives in.
Steve mentally sighs with relief once Tony kneels at his push, and since Tony can't see him, he lets the tension in his shoulders ease a little. He leaves him there for a moment to cross the room, returning with a paperback book, which he places in between Tony's forehead and the wall.
"Hold," he says simply, pushing gently at the back of Tony's head until his forehead rests against the book. Once Tony's holding it in place, Steve lets go of the book. Steve watches for a second to make sure he's not going to test him again, and once he's satisfied with that, he goes to the minifridge and gets the bowl of apple cubes and caramel dip and settles down in his chair to watch.
With his arms twisted behind him, the small of Tony's back is arched and accentuates the dip, but he follows the command and leans his head's full weight into the book. The admonishment both irks and soothes him. He tries to follow the bread crumbs down the soothed path. He knows he needs this space to keep optimal function, if the past couple weeks indicated anything, yet he hesitates.
Minutes pass. Tony hears pops from Steve sucking his fingers clean. He frowns and instinctively begins to turn, but the book slips and bumps his nose. With a scoff he nudges it back up and presses his forehead flat against it. How long is he supposed to wait? (Why can't he get his thoughts to shut up?) What is he supposed to expect? After weeks of standing on his own two feet again, using the mental stability that time in subspace provided, the loneliness and desperation that drove him into this have abandoned him. Tony can think again.
He needs to figure out where he and Steve stand. Angry at himself and everything he may be, and as much as he tried to resist, Tony knows he's in this. He needs to know Steve is, too.
With a breath Tony lifts his head and the book skids down the wall. It thuds between his knees. He impassively stares down at it before saying an oops that comes out as "Oo's" through the gag.
Steve frowns slightly when the book hits the floor. He'd thought that this might help Tony find his way into subspace, but it seems that he's still testing him. There's a clink against wood as he sets the bowl down and stands up. Untying the scarf from Tony's wrists, he massages them for a moment to make sure the blood's flowing properly, then takes a step back.
"Twenty-five push-ups," he says smoothly. "It'll be more every time you let it fall." There's no set goal for this exercise, not that he needs to let Tony know that; he doesn't care how long Tony holds the book, just that the activity gets him where he needs to be. Clasping his hands behind his back, Steve watches and waits for Tony to obey.
At first, as Steve unties his hands, Tony thinks he means to give up, or ask if he's really interested in this because golly, you're sure not acting like it, Tony, but Steve just massages Tony's wrists, which coaxes out a quiet groan. Tony squints at him. He tries to gauge Steve's reactions, his state of mind, his motivations behind all this.
When Steve orders him, the corner of Tony's mouth twitches. "Sir, yes, sir," he answers, muffled, and turns from the wall, locks his body and arms straight, and begins.
Steve rolls his eyes at Tony's remark, but doesn't give any other acknowledgement. Instead, he just watches him do the push-ups silently, pleased that he's at least obeying now. It's progress.
"Back against the wall, and keep your hands behind your back." Steve stoops to pick up the book and hold it in place for Tony. "I expect you to keep them there without being tied. Do you understand?" The implication is that if he doesn't, then there will be further punishment.
His arms have developed a fine tremble by the last push-up (slacking off on work-outs and being an inactive combatant), but Tony dutifully resumes his position at the wall. The slightest nod, forehead already pressing the book in place, if Steve requires acknowledgment; then, Tony holds the pose, diligent. Out of the very corner of his eyes he watches for Steve with the same focus he might give complex code. Once long enough passes and Steve might be lulled into a sense of security, Tony slowly, deliberately brings his arms to his front and lifts his head. The book falls.
He raises an eyebrow at Tony's deliberate misbehavior. "Thirty push-ups. Count them off. Five ten-second planks." If Tony thinks he's going to get away with acting out, he's absolutely mistaken. Steve's not the one doing anything physical, and he's definitely more stubborn than Tony.
Picking up the book, he leans against the wall and waits for Tony to come back once he's done. "Make sure your hands are clasped behind your back." He smirks at Tony; if nothing else, it'll be harder for him to keep his hands behind his back even without being a little shit about it. Before long, he'll probably miss having them bound together.
Tony narrows his eyes. He stretches out again and huffs out the "one" through the gag, adding as he goes. Around the twenty mark, he stops, breath heavy and arms trembling beneath him. Glowering at the carpet, the two neck ties dangling, Tony pushes himself as always and finishes to thirty. He soon completes the planks as well with little problem and moments of rest, but the added effort in his biceps causes minute shaking as he clasps his hands as instructed.
He shuts his eyes, concentrating now on the physical burn in his arms. Steve's not getting frustrated, Tony notes distantly. Without realizing it he starts to float. Mind centered on the strain behind him, on Steve, he slumps at the head just enough that the book slips. He startles and tries to catch it with his nose but only bumps it away. This time he stares down at it forlornly, shoulders slumped. Steve's proven he won't let up. "Shi'," Tony says.
"Maybe you should spend more time in the gym," Steve teases him, his voice softening for a moment. That time, at least, wasn't deliberate, and that tells him that Tony's getting closer to what he needs, what he's here for.
"Thirty-five, no planks." Really, he wouldn't add more push-ups - he can tell the strain's getting to Tony - but he can't go back on his word. That's giving up control of the situation, and he's only just managed to assert it.
And when Tony's done, he returns the book to the wall once more. "If you can hold it for five minutes this time, we'll stop." He holds up his phone to show him a timer, already set.
Tony halfheartedly rolls his eyes before he begins. By number thirty, which his voice quivers on, the whole lengths of his arms quake. Finishing, he collapses roughly onto one forearm and rests his cheek on the carpet. Just a few seconds to breathe and then he crawls to the wall. Loose and dazed, he mutters, "Okay," small and sweet, and clasps his hands behind his back. To ensure his hold, he tilts his head up and fits the book spine's edge between his brow and nose. He counts the seconds mentally, but after two minutes, time drifts into obscurity. He's a vessel for Steve's desires. Chemicals blanket his brain and carry his sense of self away.
It's the change of tone in his voice that tells Steve Tony's there, settled into subspace. He watches him from his chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, phone loosely held in one hand. The timer beeps, and he lets it sound for a few seconds before thumbing it off.
He takes the book away first, gently pushing Tony back from the wall by slipping his hand in front of his forehead. "Good job," he murmurs when he crouches down next to him to untie the rest of his bonds. The gag is next, the silk sliding through Tony's lips, then the ties used as a makeshift collar and leash. "Go to the bed and lie down." If nothing else, he needs to rest for a bit and enjoy the feeling of subspace.
Eyes hooded, Tony groans softly and rolls his tongue in his mouth to try and cleanse it of the taste. He nods, then crawls on all fours to the bed, arms trembling each time he leans his weight on them, and pushes himself up the mattress, where at the top he curls on his side and hugs a pillow: not technically in the order, but he still has enough of a presence to want things of his own and the lack of inhibition to take them, as long as they don't conflict with Steve's.
At this point, Steve's not going to correct him; the scene is done, and he's only giving Tony orders because he knows from past experience that it's the only way to get him to do anything. He sits down next to him, the mattress dipping under his weight, and cards his fingers through Tony's hair, lightly stroking his head. He doesn't offer anything else yet, but he keeps an eye out for the signs of subdrop.
Half his face buried in the pillow, Tony sighs contentedly and nuzzles into Steve's strokes. He languishes for a time, floating like the bed beneath him's a cloud, until he raises his eyes to Steve, vulnerable and contrite. "M'sorry," he whispers.
"You don't have to apologize." Steve cups his cheek in his hand. "You were just being you, that's all." And it's true; thinking about it, the first two times had been too easy for the Tony he knows. Testing him and pushing his boundaries seems like the man he's familiar with. It just means that it's not going to be easy for Steve, that's all. And that's pretty much the story of his life, isn't it?
Tony nuzzles into that, too, drawn to the comfort and enough layers peeled back to seek it. "M'diffcult," he agrees, thinking of Pepper, with a twinge of sadness.
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"Open," he snaps. It's probably not a necessary command - god knows Tony'll open his damn mouth soon enough - but he wants him to know who's in charge here. The words are accompanied by a tug at the tie, not quite enough to force it between his jaws, but a promise that he could if Tony's recalcitrant enough.
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But I created him. He had part of me in him. I might as well have killed all those people myself.
So he resists, because the fight is important, to prove to himself and Steve (and his father Howard) that he's not weak, that he doesn't just show his belly at the first sign of dominance -- and to draw out punishments, not the soft reassurances and comforting embraces Steve seems inclined to. He deserves to be hurt. Be controlled.
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He might be able to pry Tony's jaws open with effort, but there's an easier way to get him to open his mouth. Steve takes his hand off his back and, without warning, pinches Tony's nose shut. It's less than a minute before Tony opens his mouth to take a breath, and Steve pulls the tie between his teeth - a little roughly - and ties it behind his head.
"I told you," he growls. He leaves Tony there, down on one knee, and crosses over to his dresser. A drawer slides open, and Steve grabs the rest of his tie collection, just in case. He glances back over his shoulder at Tony to see if he's still in the position he left him in.
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And pull he does, as he tries to lead Tony toward the bedroom wall. There's no spoken order; he simply expects Tony to obey (or not, as the case may be). If he tries to stay where he is, Steve will pull harder.
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"Hold," he says simply, pushing gently at the back of Tony's head until his forehead rests against the book. Once Tony's holding it in place, Steve lets go of the book. Steve watches for a second to make sure he's not going to test him again, and once he's satisfied with that, he goes to the minifridge and gets the bowl of apple cubes and caramel dip and settles down in his chair to watch.
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Minutes pass. Tony hears pops from Steve sucking his fingers clean. He frowns and instinctively begins to turn, but the book slips and bumps his nose. With a scoff he nudges it back up and presses his forehead flat against it. How long is he supposed to wait? (Why can't he get his thoughts to shut up?) What is he supposed to expect? After weeks of standing on his own two feet again, using the mental stability that time in subspace provided, the loneliness and desperation that drove him into this have abandoned him. Tony can think again.
He needs to figure out where he and Steve stand. Angry at himself and everything he may be, and as much as he tried to resist, Tony knows he's in this. He needs to know Steve is, too.
With a breath Tony lifts his head and the book skids down the wall. It thuds between his knees. He impassively stares down at it before saying an oops that comes out as "Oo's" through the gag.
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"Twenty-five push-ups," he says smoothly. "It'll be more every time you let it fall." There's no set goal for this exercise, not that he needs to let Tony know that; he doesn't care how long Tony holds the book, just that the activity gets him where he needs to be. Clasping his hands behind his back, Steve watches and waits for Tony to obey.
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When Steve orders him, the corner of Tony's mouth twitches. "Sir, yes, sir," he answers, muffled, and turns from the wall, locks his body and arms straight, and begins.
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"Back against the wall, and keep your hands behind your back." Steve stoops to pick up the book and hold it in place for Tony. "I expect you to keep them there without being tied. Do you understand?" The implication is that if he doesn't, then there will be further punishment.
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Picking up the book, he leans against the wall and waits for Tony to come back once he's done. "Make sure your hands are clasped behind your back." He smirks at Tony; if nothing else, it'll be harder for him to keep his hands behind his back even without being a little shit about it. Before long, he'll probably miss having them bound together.
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He shuts his eyes, concentrating now on the physical burn in his arms. Steve's not getting frustrated, Tony notes distantly. Without realizing it he starts to float. Mind centered on the strain behind him, on Steve, he slumps at the head just enough that the book slips. He startles and tries to catch it with his nose but only bumps it away. This time he stares down at it forlornly, shoulders slumped. Steve's proven he won't let up. "Shi'," Tony says.
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"Thirty-five, no planks." Really, he wouldn't add more push-ups - he can tell the strain's getting to Tony - but he can't go back on his word. That's giving up control of the situation, and he's only just managed to assert it.
And when Tony's done, he returns the book to the wall once more. "If you can hold it for five minutes this time, we'll stop." He holds up his phone to show him a timer, already set.
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He takes the book away first, gently pushing Tony back from the wall by slipping his hand in front of his forehead. "Good job," he murmurs when he crouches down next to him to untie the rest of his bonds. The gag is next, the silk sliding through Tony's lips, then the ties used as a makeshift collar and leash. "Go to the bed and lie down." If nothing else, he needs to rest for a bit and enjoy the feeling of subspace.
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