Title: Teach Me
Pairing: Henry/Tony Rating: PG-13 for mentions of sex (maybe a light R, I suck at rating stuff.) Summary: Had Henry not been his teacher, he wouldn't have ever learned (or have wanted to learn) anything he didn't already know. Notes: This is one of lj usermaliciastarling 's prompts. I know you said you enjoy my drabbles, so I hope this one-shot lives up to those! Also, that's to lj userharachan5 for the beta! You never fail to catch my mistakes and honest feedback!
Tony learned to fight the first week he lived on the streets. It was necessary to survive, to keep some creep away from your things or from molesting you in the middle of the night to prove he was bigger and badder.
But for all the necessary reasons to learn to fight, he wouldn't deny that he got a thrill from it. Having the power to beat up some shit that thought he could take his jacket, or something like that, made him feel powerful. Not to mention being able to outrun the police (more than once) gave him some street cred and the dignified title as one of the best shop lifters in the area.
All of it came pretty naturally, actually. That was why he figured he was meant to be there. It wasn't all that bad, anyway. It gave him freedom and a network of people that made fun of traditional things like jobs and talked about stuff that truly mattered like sex and drugs. Besides, if he hadn't been so good on the street, he wouldn't have met Vicki, and if he hadn't met Vicki, he wouldn't have met Henry.
Henry was definitely not natural-in more than one way. Regardless of the undead, living forever part, Henry made him feel safe, which was a damn bad sign. Guys on the street, as a rule, didn't let themselves feel completely safe because it'd get them in some deep shit. Never let your guard down. With Henry, it was near impossible to not feel safe. Maybe the super strength had something to do with it, but there was something else.
Something else. Like the way he could talk to Henry and he'd reserve his judgments. Unless, of course, he was being a complete idiot, in which case, Henry'd tell you straight up(Which damn well better be the case, especially since he didn't judge Henry's need for blood.). But it could be the way Henry could tell when he was lying and would unconsciously let him know with some indistinguishable gesture or subtle move in his posture. It was almost creepy how it made him tell the truth, but then again, it was kinda nice to not have to lie.
But seriously, it wasn't natural. Nothing about it was, and it took him a long time to drop the attitude he'd assumed. First, all he did was tell the truth, which was no small feat since Henry didn't force him with those super vampire powers or some shit like that. It's not like he trusted Henry yet, sure he let him suck his life juices or whatever, but that wasn't trust, not really. It felt damn good and he'd risk his life to feel it.
It took a lot of convincing on Henry's part to get him to take the job and apartment-like room. But that still wasn't trust. It was more Henry threatening to cut him off unless he took the job. That was an agreement- he worked and he could continue to risk his life for the mind-blowing pleasure Henry offered. It was a small price.
What took the longest was getting to let go, completely around Henry. It took coaching and teaching from Henry to let go, little by little[not sure bout these commas, nice for effect though and lose himself in the pleasure Henry offered. It was alright to close his eyes when he came, to make noise and not bite his lip to keep quiet.
Then it was how to receive pleasure and not worry about giving it back right away. To lean into the touches all over his body and beg. Damn, he stopped begging for anything the same week he learned to fight and took it upon himself to get it on his own. Henry wouldn't have it. Beg or nothing.
After that, things should have gotten easier. On the street, you learn the basics and it can only get better.
Except he wasn't on the streets anymore, he had a home, a roof. And despite everything he learned the last few years of his life, nothing got easier. Soon, Henry taught him to just be. To sit and be. He didn't need a reason to come over. He just could and sit on the couch, watch Henry work. Or if Henry came over to his place, they'd just lay on the bed; Henry'd listen to his heartbeat and he'd listen to Henry's lack of one.
It took him longer than a lousy week to learn how to be with Henry but hell, what fun is it if you don't have to work for it?