YOU CANNOT BAIL ON ME NOW OKAY. YOU CANNOT. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK THE LITTLE PARALYSIS THING MADE THE JUMP OVER FROM PAM'S TO HERE? IT WAS YOUR BRILLIANCE. FUCK YOU.
Obadiah makes a noise in his throat, and surprisingly, so does Tony. He's got that much motor control now, but having motor control and being able to say something intelligible or stop himself from making entirely different things. Obadiah had back and pulled out Tony's shirt. Obadiah had reached under and undid first Tony's belt, then the button on top, then the zip fly. He pulled Tony's wallet out of the back pocket and Tony's cell phone out of one of the front pockets and settled them on the bed, above Tony's head. If Tony rolled his eyes all the way up, he could just see them. Then the pants, down to the knees. Then, the boxers.
Obadiah steps away again, and Tony, if he could, would close his eyes. There are footsteps; most of the suite is carpeted, but there's some marble. Some hardwood. He can hear Obadiah's footsteps on those.
"Where do you keep the lube, Tony? You, of all people, have to travel with some."
Tony tries to struggle into an upright position or say something, anything, but mostly ends up making noises in his throat again, and after circling the room -- Tony follows Obadiah as much as he can with his eyes -- Obadiah comes back, sits on the edge of the bed, and picks up Tony's wallet. Tony watches; Obadiah flips it open and goes to the bill section in the middle and pulls out a condom. Lubricated. Tony's eyes don't focus quickly enough to read it, but he's pretty sure it's lubricated, please, God, let it be lubricated because that would just be the worst joke in the history of -- of his life.
Small mercies, though. It is lubricated. He couldn't remember which one was left after the waitress at dinner, and it's cool, a little watery, on his ass. Obadiah goes in only a little past the first knuckle, and then he touches Tony, first on his back, under the shirt, and then at the wrist. He swings his body around so that he's over Tony, but not lying on top of him, and Tony watches Obadiah take his wrist in hand and put two fingers over the pulse there.
"Your heart starts beating too fast, I stop, all right?"
Tony doesn't make a noise in his throat in response. He just looks at his wrist with Obadiah's fingers on it, and then Obadiah shifts over him; the bed moves a little. Obadiah is getting comfortable, so he moves Tony's hand down, and Tony can't see it anymore his wrist anymore, and Obadiah reached back with his other hand to put his cock in, and Tony can't say yes, can't say no, can't even think about the fact that he's finally underneath Obadiah. He can't even see his hand any more; it's just his wallet and the cell phone and the stupid little device, and all Tony can do is lie there and concentrate on making his heart beat, slow and steady. In time to Obie. Slower than Obie.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2008-06-26 03:45 am (UTC)Obadiah makes a noise in his throat, and surprisingly, so does Tony. He's got that much motor control now, but having motor control and being able to say something intelligible or stop himself from making entirely different things. Obadiah had back and pulled out Tony's shirt. Obadiah had reached under and undid first Tony's belt, then the button on top, then the zip fly. He pulled Tony's wallet out of the back pocket and Tony's cell phone out of one of the front pockets and settled them on the bed, above Tony's head. If Tony rolled his eyes all the way up, he could just see them. Then the pants, down to the knees. Then, the boxers.
Obadiah steps away again, and Tony, if he could, would close his eyes. There are footsteps; most of the suite is carpeted, but there's some marble. Some hardwood. He can hear Obadiah's footsteps on those.
"Where do you keep the lube, Tony? You, of all people, have to travel with some."
Tony tries to struggle into an upright position or say something, anything, but mostly ends up making noises in his throat again, and after circling the room -- Tony follows Obadiah as much as he can with his eyes -- Obadiah comes back, sits on the edge of the bed, and picks up Tony's wallet. Tony watches; Obadiah flips it open and goes to the bill section in the middle and pulls out a condom. Lubricated. Tony's eyes don't focus quickly enough to read it, but he's pretty sure it's lubricated, please, God, let it be lubricated because that would just be the worst joke in the history of -- of his life.
Small mercies, though. It is lubricated. He couldn't remember which one was left after the waitress at dinner, and it's cool, a little watery, on his ass. Obadiah goes in only a little past the first knuckle, and then he touches Tony, first on his back, under the shirt, and then at the wrist. He swings his body around so that he's over Tony, but not lying on top of him, and Tony watches Obadiah take his wrist in hand and put two fingers over the pulse there.
"Your heart starts beating too fast, I stop, all right?"
Tony doesn't make a noise in his throat in response. He just looks at his wrist with Obadiah's fingers on it, and then Obadiah shifts over him; the bed moves a little. Obadiah is getting comfortable, so he moves Tony's hand down, and Tony can't see it anymore his wrist anymore, and Obadiah reached back with his other hand to put his cock in, and Tony can't say yes, can't say no, can't even think about the fact that he's finally underneath Obadiah. He can't even see his hand any more; it's just his wallet and the cell phone and the stupid little device, and all Tony can do is lie there and concentrate on making his heart beat, slow and steady. In time to Obie. Slower than Obie.
Slow. Steady.
And breathe.
COME AND PLAY WITH ME