repost from Tumblr: obadiah/tony creepy, sexy non-con haircut (PG, 370 words. Iron Man)
Written on request for 
possibly_thrice, although it's not technically Obadiah/Tony and it's not really sexy or non-con.
370 words, rated PG, Iron Man fic
“Son, what have you gotten yourself into now?” Obadiah blocks the overhead lighting when he steps forward, leaving green orbs floating behind Tony’s eyelids. There must have been a mix-up the last time he had them replaced. Vision impairment is obnoxious and he’s not going to put up with it.
“It’s not a big deal,” says Tony, shifting so that the points and hollows of the machine align more comfortably with his soft human body. His neck is not happy about this. “Time is an issue, though, so if you could stop playing around, that’d be great. Yeah,” he says when Obi finally treads closer. “Fantastic.”
Obi’s thick fingers press into the nape of his neck, investigating the situation at the hairline, behind the ears, and then beyond that, to where the black hairs scraggle through gadgets and gunk. High-strength epoxy, actually, and a nest of fine, interlocking gears. And his hair, again, tangled in the crannies of everything like it’s just another kind of twig the bird picked up.
“It used to be,” says Obidiah in his brassy and ponderous way, “that female factory workers had to pin their hair up.” He tilts Tony’s head to the left and that brings tears to Tony’s eyes, the mixture of warm fingertips with bone beneath like a promise, and the prickling of hairs torn from the root. “If they weren’t careful, their hair would get caught in the machines and scalp ‘em good.”
“Thanks for the history lesson, that’s very helpful,” says Tony. “Next time I’ll be sure to-ow! Ow.”
“Steady,” Obi says, and lays his heavy palm on Tony’s neck. “You’re really in a pickle. How long were you stuck like this before I came downstairs?”
“Can you just cut it, please?” Tony says. “Today?”
He recognizes the knife that Obi pulls from his pocket. It has a magnifying glass, watchface, and voice recorder powered by a lithium-ion battery snugged inside. He made it for Obi one night decades ago, and failed an English test the next day.
The blade is four inches long, tapered and self-sharpening, and makes his skin crawl with every soft snip-snip.
possibly_thrice, although it's not technically Obadiah/Tony and it's not really sexy or non-con.
370 words, rated PG, Iron Man fic
“Son, what have you gotten yourself into now?” Obadiah blocks the overhead lighting when he steps forward, leaving green orbs floating behind Tony’s eyelids. There must have been a mix-up the last time he had them replaced. Vision impairment is obnoxious and he’s not going to put up with it.
“It’s not a big deal,” says Tony, shifting so that the points and hollows of the machine align more comfortably with his soft human body. His neck is not happy about this. “Time is an issue, though, so if you could stop playing around, that’d be great. Yeah,” he says when Obi finally treads closer. “Fantastic.”
Obi’s thick fingers press into the nape of his neck, investigating the situation at the hairline, behind the ears, and then beyond that, to where the black hairs scraggle through gadgets and gunk. High-strength epoxy, actually, and a nest of fine, interlocking gears. And his hair, again, tangled in the crannies of everything like it’s just another kind of twig the bird picked up.
“It used to be,” says Obidiah in his brassy and ponderous way, “that female factory workers had to pin their hair up.” He tilts Tony’s head to the left and that brings tears to Tony’s eyes, the mixture of warm fingertips with bone beneath like a promise, and the prickling of hairs torn from the root. “If they weren’t careful, their hair would get caught in the machines and scalp ‘em good.”
“Thanks for the history lesson, that’s very helpful,” says Tony. “Next time I’ll be sure to-ow! Ow.”
“Steady,” Obi says, and lays his heavy palm on Tony’s neck. “You’re really in a pickle. How long were you stuck like this before I came downstairs?”
“Can you just cut it, please?” Tony says. “Today?”
He recognizes the knife that Obi pulls from his pocket. It has a magnifying glass, watchface, and voice recorder powered by a lithium-ion battery snugged inside. He made it for Obi one night decades ago, and failed an English test the next day.
The blade is four inches long, tapered and self-sharpening, and makes his skin crawl with every soft snip-snip.