"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.
"Not in a bad way." Well, sometimes in a frustrating way, but Tony's fragile right now, and Steve knows he has to be careful with what he says. Besides, despite the occasional urge to throttle him, Tony's prickly, stubborn nature is one of the things that attracts Steve to him. He likes a challenge, and Tony is every bit of that and more. "Anyway, I think you probably got more out of that than you would from what I'd planned." Steve sounds a little rueful. "We'll save the blindfold for another day."
Tony nods. His arms, bent around the pillow, otherwise lie limp. Briefly he furrows his brow before he asks, "D'you like this?" Simple, base concerns flock free without their normal filter.
"I do," and Steve's a little surprised to hear himself actually utter the words. "Not sure I'm real good at it, though." He chuckles self-deprecatingly. "It's hard, but it's worth it. I'm scared of screwing up or just...not being good enough, not being able to come up with ideas for you." That's probably too many words for Tony to process right now. "But I like the moments like this. I don't care about getting off on the power or anything, I just- I like it when you trust me to take care of you. To help make you better." Steve idly smooths a thumb over the wrinkles in Tony's brow. "Might make you do the next session in the gym," he cracks. "Put you through a real workout."
Something clicks, a connection made. It eases the tightness around Tony's eyes, which lower to Steve's knee. A smile flickers at the joke. "This can work. Righ'? We can make this work."
"It'll work," he assures Tony. "Might not be easy sometimes, but we can do it." Mostly not easy on his emotions, but he'll be damned if he ruins a perfectly nice moment by mentioning that. That's his own problem to work out somehow. "Just gotta communicate."
Obedient, Tony nods again, eyes distant. Gotta communicate, he echoes. "We can talk after?" he suggests slowly. "M'not really with it righ' now. Gimme ... gimme a lil'."
"I didn't mean right now," and there's a certain amused tone to his voice. Steve's seen this enough to know that Tony, normally so eloquent (or at least loquacious), can barely string together a short sentence when he's in subspace. "It's okay, Tony. All you gotta do right now is relax."
"Mmmkay," Tony hums and burrows into the pillow he's loosely hugging, the arm on bottom stretching up and out from beneath it, getting comfy. "Tha' sounds good."
He leans down and tugs a blanket up over Tony, making sure he's tucked in, then reaches over and grabs his tablet from the nightstand to catch up on a bit of paperwork (or maybe play a level or two of Angry Birds). Steve keeps one hand on Tony's head, sometimes stroking, sometimes just a reassuring weight, but always present.
When the clock reads close to nine, over an hour later, Tony breathes in, waking with a reluctant groan. His senses catch up one by one until he freezes, caught between bringing attention to himself and pretending that Steve petting him while he lies in Steve's bed is no big deal. Maybe he can doze and vamoose while Steve is taking a piss or something.
Unfortunately, Steve notices Tony stirring, and he looks down at him over the edge of his tablet. "Enjoy the nap?" he asks casually, letting his hand slip down to Tony's shoulder so it's slightly less weird. "You need anything?"
Tony purses his mouth. So much for that plan. "Uh, my dignity back, please," he replies, voice rough with sleep and a pleasant soreness radiating from his biceps. He remembers exactly why. He always remembers everything. Tony sighs and tries to prepare himself for the talk he knows will soon follow but dreads it all the same.
"Tony, I think you lost your dignity when you walked out of here wearing my Snuggie," he retorts dryly, though his lips curve into a smile at the memory. Steve doesn't think that what Tony does is undignified, although he understands why he might see it that way. If the internet is right, there are a lot more degrading things he could be doing for him (and, wow, he wishes he could forget that search).
Tony's mouth quirks up. The humor helps. "Hey, I thought you of all people would understand a desire to show my patriotism. I wore that Snuggie proudly."
Steve just snorts. "On your - what do the kids call it? Walk of shame." He grins and slides down so he's reclining next to Tony on the bed, propping himself up with an elbow. Sorry, Tony, there's no escape anytime soon.
Tony raises an eyebrow at Steve from across his own arm and the accosted pillow. "Careful, Grandpa, your age is showing. I used to be one of those kids and now I'm past forty."
"You're right, that's practically ancient." His tone is deadpan. "I must look decrepit next to you." Never mind that the bicep that's resting on the bed, flexed slightly from his bent elbow, is about as big around as Tony's head. "Gonna turn to dust and blow away any day now."
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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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