Tony had almost dropped comfortably off into an afternoon nap --AKA his only sleep for the day-- when Peter came bursting into the common room like a bat outta hell. His warm brown eyes were wide with fear, hair smooshed from the mask he now wrung in his hands. “Mr. Stark, we have a problem.”
His arrival had automatically brought a smile to Tony’s face, as Peter’s presence always did. His words, however, made that smile vanish just as quickly. “Peter, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Jarvis, scan--”
“I’m fine, it’s just… I think my cover is about to be blown,” Peter explained breathlessly.
Tony closed his eyes, awash with relief. A not-so-secret identity was far from ideal, but it was something he could handle. He wouldn’t let any harm come to Peter. “Okay,” he exhaled, a little shaky still from the burst of adrenaline. “Okay, we can work with that. Tell me what happened, kid.”
Peter wrinkled his nose as he always did when Tony called him that, especially since his recent 18th birthday. Tony didn’t apologize, and Peter didn’t let it slow him down. “MJ confronted me today. See, last Friday we were handing out at the movie theater watching that new horror movie and we were standing in line because I wanted popcorn because I hadn’t eaten in like 3 hours and I heard this siren and at first I thought it was from a movie but it was from outside so I told MJ to hold my spot in line and--”
“Peter,” Tony said with exasperation. “Skip to the important parts, please.”
“Right. Sorry, Mr. Stark. Anyways, I had to run off all of a sudden and ditched MJ, and she brought it up today at school. She asked me why I was always disappearing randomly. Apparently the whole school thinks I’m either Spider-Man or a male escort.”
It was hard to say who was more flustered at the words --Peter, for saying them, or Tony hearing them and picturing them. Tony, at least, tried to cover his reaction with a disapproving face even Steve would be proud of. “Peter, kid, you have to be more careful.”
“It’s not my fault that crises always happen when I’m around my friends,” Peter whined. “I can’t just not go and help people when I know they’re in trouble.”
“Of course not,” Tony said, “but we have to do something about this before the molehill becomes a mountain.”
“I need a cover story,” fretted Peter, pacing now with his hands worrying at the straps of his backpack. “Something I can tell people to explain my weird schedule.”
There had been a multitude of moments in Tony’s life where a thought had occurred to him and he’d known with absolute clarity that he should not say it out loud. He usually ignored that instinct, and he wasn’t about to start listening to his own reason now. “Well, you already sort of have one, don’t you? A good cover story, I mean.”
Peter stopped his frantic movements and stared at Tony in confusion. “Like what?”
“You said your school is half convinced that you’re an escort,” Tony said slowly, swallowing hard. “Sounds like all they need is a little nudge in the right direction to be fully invested in a story like that.”
His words don’t seem to be computing in Peter’s brain, which is understandable. It’s a ridiculous suggestion. Peter is barely legal, still in his senior year of high school, and here was his --supposedly responsible-- adult mentor suggesting he encourage rumors that he was a sex worker. “Are you-- what was that, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, eyes wide.
“Look, I know it sounds insane,” Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair, “but it’s the best option I can think of. It’s like a plea bargain. You plead guilty to the lesser accusation of being an escort, and everyone stops looking at whether there’s something more serious going on. They know something is fishy, that ship has already sailed, you just have to throw them off the trail of the truth.”
“But-- isn’t that illegal?” Peter asked. He was still frozen in his tracks. “Couldn’t I go to jail for that?”
“If they actually had evidence of money being exchanged, sure,” Tony ceded. “But there won’t be any money. No money, no crime. You’re eighteen now, they can’t exactly regulate who you--” Tony tried desperately to keep a straight face, “--have sex with. But it’ll be a juicy enough rumor that people will buy it even if there’s no hard evidence.”
Peter sunk into a seat for the first time of the conversation, perched on the edge of the couch opposite Tony. He was damn near biting a hole through his lower lip. “I don’t know about this, Mr. Stark. Do you think people will really believe that I’m-- that someone would pay me to--”
This time Tony paid attention to the blaring USE YOUR FILTER alarm blaring in his head. On a list of inappropriate things he definitely shouldn’t say to his protege, oh fuck yes and I’d pay the world twice over for half a chance were right at the top.
“I… think it's a believable story,” Tony finally settled on answering diplomatically. “If it wasn't, you’d have already been outed as Spider-Man rather than there still being a debate.”
Peter still didn't seem convinced. “But if I start confirming the rumors, how are people going to treat me? What if I start getting, like, propositioned? There's a lot of shady people out there in the world, and if word got out, they’d probably be all over me if they thought I was… that.”
And again, Tony was forcefully biting his tongue to keep his true feelings on the matter inside. If he were being honest, the idea of some sleazy faceless figure harassing Peter for sex made his blood positively boil. And if such a person were to feel that Peter's refusal was invalid because of what he theoretically did for a living, well, Tony still had enough weapons lying around from his arms dealing days to take care of a problem like that.
But most of the time Tony liked to think that he had grown wiser and stronger since those days, and so he sat back in his chair and tried to think of a way to protect Peter from situations like that which wouldn't involve threatening civilians. He was sure his PR team would appreciate the effort. No, if responding to threats against Peter after the fact wasn't an option, maybe he could head them off somehow.
“You could tell everyone that you're off the market,” Tony said slowly, the idea falling into place in his mind piece by piece. “Maybe you have a... special arrangement, with a particular one-percenter. No one would be bothering you about trying to get your, uh, business if they knew that you were the personal plaything of some rich lady.”
“Some man,” Peter corrected softly.
“What was that?”
“Some rich man,” repeated Peter. “I'm out. As gay. It's kind of-- everyone knows. So I would be the plaything of some rich man.”
Tony sincerely hoped that his face was as impassive as he was aiming for. This was news to him. He had had his suspicions about Peter's preferences, fueled by conversations he'd overheard between Peter and Clint about whether or not Aquaman was only a good movie because of the volume of shirtless Jason Momoa. But this was the first time he had ever heard Peter openly admit that he was attracted to men.
Not that it mattered. Tony definitely wasn't going there. At all. Even in his head. It was just an interesting fact, that's all.
“Okay,” Tony replied, “sure. That's-- that's even better. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that a rich older guy took on a sugar baby. Millionaires love surrounding themselves with pretty young things.”
Peter was playing with a loose string on the hem of his shorts, twisting the thread around his fingertip over and over again until it snapped. “You seem to know an awful lot about this, Mr. Stark.”
Tony was glad that Peter wasn't looking at him so that he couldn't see Tony's wince. He hated being reminded of just how transparent his history of sins was to the world. “Yeah, well, you know my reputation.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Peter look up at him sharply, and he couldn't help but lift his head to meet the boy's gaze. Peter was looking at him with a sudden intensity. “Maybe… I could be your whore, Mr. Stark.”
“You could what?” Tony asked, aghast. He steadfastly ignored the sudden rush of blood to his dick.
Peter was flushed, but it didn’t seem quite like embarrassment. Almost like… excitement? “Well, you said it yourself, I know your reputation. Everyone knows your reputation. People might believe it if I said I belonged to you, and no one would ever try to touch me if I was yours, right?”
Every word dripping from the boy's lips was pure sin. He shouldn't even be listening. He should shut Peter down right away, because such a suggestion was heinous at best and catastrophic at worst.
But instead, Tony found himself swallowing hard and asking, “Is that what you want, Peter? You want to tell everyone that I own you?”
And Peter hardly paused long enough to let Tony finish his sentence before he was blurting out, “Yes! I mean, yeah,” he backtracked, “I think that's a good idea. Just because, like, it would be a really good excuse if anyone ever saw us together doing Avengers stuff. So yeah, we could do that. If you wanted to do... that.”
Oh, did Tony want. He wanted it too much. Fortunately, he had never been one to deny himself much of anything.
“Alright kid,” Tony said, with a feeling much like stepping off a cliff with no safety harness. “It’s official. You belong to me.”
If Peter had been worried about how to go about the process of spreading the rumor that he was Tony Stark’s fucktoy, he needn’t have been. It was only two days later that an opportunity arose to set the rumor mill to churning. His enhanced hearing picked up on a burglary in progress while he was out on the basketball court for PE, and Peter was halfway through the rip in the chain link fence behind the bushes when an arm darted out and grabbed his wrist.
Flash narrowed his eyes and glared down at Peter. “Where are you running off to, dickwad?”
This was the moment. “Can’t keep daddy waiting,” he said smoothly. “I’ve got bills to pay, and Mr. Stark is not a patient man.” And then he was gone, pulling away from Flash’s shock-slackened grasp with ease and slipping off into the alley that butted up against the school.
Peter’s heart was pounding wildly. Not from the fear of almost being caught, or even from the impending fight as he navigated his way to the crime in progress. Rather, it was the sheer thrill that came from his own words.
The truth was, as good of a plan as this whole charade was, it hadn’t been purely strategy that made Peter so eager to give this thing a go. It was self-indulgent, too, Peter living out a small portion of a fantasy he’d been harboring for years now. To belong to Tony, to be welcome in his bed, to know what he felt like on top of and inside of Peter…
Peter wanted that, all of that, so much that even thinking about it made him feel dizzy. Saying it to Flash, even if it wasn’t true, made his blood sing.
And yet, there was a small part of Peter that still held out hope that maybe it wouldn’t always be merely talk. He had seen the way Tony’s pupils dilated when Peter offered himself to him, had heard the pounding of Tony’s pulse… It was crazy, absolutely insane for Peter to even entertain the idea, but Peter could have sworn that the concept made Tony just as wild as it had Peter.
If Peter’s suspicions were correct, Tony was one well-aimed nudge away from cracking and giving Peter everything he’d been craving. And Peter knew how to pack a punch.
By the next day, the school was positively buzzing. Walking down the hallway, Peter could feel all eyes on him. Every student was looking him over, and most of the teachers, too. Not every look was simple curiosity. Some were expressions of disgust, of jealousy, of lust. But at least none of them were looks of suspicion.
He texted Tony during his lunch period.
[Image description: a screenshot of a text exchange between Peter and “Mr. Stark” where Peter asks Tony to pick him up from school that afternoon in his coolest car and Tony agrees.]
And boy, did Tony deliver. When Peter made his way down the steps in front of the school after the final bell had rung, there was a sleek black Bugatti parked out front with Tony Stark leaning against it. He looked every inch the sugar daddy he supposedly was, dressed in a sharp suit with the tie dangling around his neck and the first few buttons of his crisp dress shirt unbuttoned.
One of Peter's classmates was gawking openly at the car. “Is this the La Voiture Noire?” he asked Tony breathlessly.
A look of annoyance flickered across Tony's face as he was forced to look away from Peter to answer the question. “I think so, that sounds right. I just bought it on the way over. Needs some red and gold on the upholstery.”
“There's only one of these cars in the entire world!”
“That explains why I paid $25 million for it. Do you mind?”
Tony made a shooing gesture and the kid took off, no doubt to go find his friends so they, too, could be impressed. Peter, however, was not. “You bought a car on the way here?” he asked Tony as he stepped slowly closer.
He was barely two feet away, close enough to smell peppermint on Tony's breath as he laughed. “You requested --and I quote-- ‘the coolest car.’ Google said this was it.”
It had to be a joke. Tony hadn't really spent $25 million on a whim for Peter's sake… had he? “I meant the coolest car you already had in your garage,” he mumbled.
“I'm Tony Stark. The world is my garage.”
Peter felt heat crawl up his neck until he knew a blush was all over his cheeks. He closed the gap between them until their chests were flush, relishing Tony's little gasp of surprise.
“They're watching, Mr. Stark. Touch me.”
There was a breath of hesitation, and then Tony's hands were on him. One hand was cupping the back of his neck, somewhere between tender and possessive, ready to put Peter wherever he was wanted. The other rested low on Peter's back, just above the curve of his ass, like it was only the eyes on them that kept Tony from taking a handful.
Just two well-placed hands, and Peter was toast. His breath caught, pulse thundering in his ears, hands finding Tony's shirt naturally and grabbing two fistfuls to hang on for dear life. Tony chuckled once. “Touch you like this, Peter?” he asked in Peter’s ear.
All he'd have to do would be give the tiniest push down on Peter's neck and he’d drop to his knees right there. It took Peter a few seconds to swallow back the rush of pure arousal coursing through his body enough to answer. “Never knew you to be so delicate with the things that belong to you,” he breathed at last.
“You're not like anything I've ever owned before,” Tony replied with a nip to Peter's ear. “Now come on, that's enough of a show for today. Let's go.”
Peter wondered if anyone in the crowd saw the way his knees half buckled when Tony pushed him back a step so he could open the passenger door and hold it for Peter. He wondered if Tony saw. If not, Tony definitely noticed the sharp intake of Peter's breath when Tony reached across to buckle him in. “Safety first, kid.”
If Peter's reaction to two gentle hands was any indication, this whole situation was as far from safe as they could get. Not that this fact changed his mind about anything. He was Spider-Man, after all. He never backed down from a fight.
Now that the whole school had seen for themselves that the rumors weren’t wrong and there actually was something going on between Midtown High’s own Peter Parker and the infamous Tony Stark, Peter's life had become a constant barrage of questions from every direction. In the hallway, scrawled on notes passed to him in class, via texts and DMs and every form of electronic contact Peter had.
Is it true?
Is he kinky?
Is it like, a money thing?
Has he ever fucked you in the suit?
How long has he been with you?
Is he good in bed?
Does your aunt know?
The last question was Peter's least favorite. He had to let Aunt May into the loop, of course. She had long since found out about Peter's secret identity as Spider-Man, so he had been able to tell her the truth at least in part. All he'd said on the matter was that there were some rumors spreading about a relationship between him and Tony, but that it was preferable to people knowing the truth about who Peter was.
May had been less than pleased, but she trusted Peter’s judgment and simply told him to be careful. Her understanding only made Peter feel worse. He wished he could have kept her out of it entirely, but if someone had decided to gossip to May about what her nephew was getting up to in his spare time, he didn't want the rumors to come as a shock.
When Peter told Tony that he'd given May a heads up, Tony had merely winced, nodded, and instructed Jarvis to send her an obscenely large bouquet of flowers.
“Are you still getting hate mail?” Tony asked from the other side of the workshop, looking up from the engine he was tinkering with to glance at where Peter was sitting on a workbench scrolling instagram on his phone.
“I don’t think it’s still called hate mail,” Peter said absently, scanning through comments on a selfie he’d posted a year ago. Notifications on all of his pictures had blown up since this whole thing had started a week ago. “No one actually sends mail anymore.”
“What’s it called, then?”
“Anon hate. Antis. Trolls.”
“Right. Well, are you still getting --trolls?”
“Sure,” Peter shrugged, replying to a comment calling him an ugly slut with a sparkly heart emoji. “There are always going to be antis out there trying to get you down. But it’s whatever. Doesn’t mean I’m going to take it to heart every time someone tells me I’m worth nothing more than what can fit in my holes.”
Tony’s head whipped up, eyes furious. “Someone online said that to you?”
Actually it had been a kid in his physics class who Peter had known since fifth grade, but Peter wasn’t going to tell him that and make him even madder. Instead he just shrugged again. “Most of the things people say aren’t like that. Mostly people are just curious. About you, and us, and what it’s like.”
“And what do you tell them?”
Peter let a smile creep across his face. “Oh I feed them all sorts of sordid details.”
If he didn’t have Tony’s absolute attention before, he did now. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
“I told one girl about the time I got beard burn from you eating me out all night,” Peter began carelessly. He heard Tony’s sharp intake of breath. He didn’t stop. “Told some other guy about how you get impatient sometimes and fuck me in the elevator on the way up to the penthouse. And then there was some anon on tumblr who called me vanilla, so of course I had to set them straight. I told them about the time you handcuffed me to the headboard and held me by the throat while you fucked me senseless, and didn’t let me up until your come was running down my thighs. That sure did shut them up.”
Ever since becoming Spider-Man, Peter’s senses were excellent. He could see, even from across the room, the way that the usual warm brown of Tony’s eyes was lost beneath his pupils’ dilation. He could see the white skin of his fingers as he gripped the edges of the tabletops he leaned against. He could even hear the irregular staccato of Tony’s pulse and the hitch of his breath as Peter’s words hit home and he no doubt visualized exactly what Peter was describing.
Peter didn’t say a word. He just watched and listened and waited, giving Tony time to make his choice about how to respond to the unspoken challenge.
He was achingly disappointed when Tony turned his back, shoulders hunched a little defensively like he was expecting more blows from Peter’s words. “That’s some mouth you got on you,” Tony simply grumbled. “I’m sure you’ve got everyone all riled up, talking like that.”
“I’ve got a good imagination,” Peter cheerfully replied, like he wasn’t put out by the fact that his impressive mouth wasn’t on Tony’s cock right then. He could process that failure later. For the moment, he had more important things to do --like going in for the kill. “It’s not that hard to feed them stories. I just tell them all my fantasies and pretend you actually made them come true, Mr. Stark.”
There was a metallic clang and a string of swear words from Tony’s side of the room as whatever delicate component Tony was working on got horribly mangled in his shock. Peter, being the kind and compassionate thing that he was, didn’t even comment.
By the time November rolled around, two months on the rumor mill had cooled some of the fevered curiosity around Peter’s love life. There was still a buzz about him, but fewer people were brave enough to ask him about it to his face anymore. They confined their curiosity to conversations whispered behind hands and glances half hidden behind walls of long hair.
There hadn’t been another public display since the first time Tony had picked him up after school. Not for lack of trying on Peter’s part, though. He’d been attempting to goad Tony into touching him again ever since with no success. It was obvious that Tony was making a concentrated effort to keep distance between Peter and himself wherever possible.
That’s how Peter knew his plan was working.
It was a long game, seducing Tony Stark, but Peter wasn’t stupid. He knew when to play a card and when to be patient. He knew exactly how to throw around tight fitting tee shirts and fluttering eyelashes and casual mentions of sex as if they were so many hand grenades. He could sense Tony being reeled in ever closer, even as he could see him struggling to keep himself away.
But Peter could be patient if that’s what it took. He would just keep making it perfectly clear what he wanted from Tony, and wait for the man to give up and give in. It’d be worth it in the end.
It wasn’t very hard to get Tony to agree to hosting a little party for the academic decathlon team when they won their competition for the fall. Nothing extravagant, just the team members and their close friends, eating food and dancing in the coolest high rise in Manhattan. Given how many donations Tony had made to Midtown in the last few years, he was practically their team sponsor anyways. He was more than happy to put on a little shindig to celebrate a group of young brainiacs getting the recognition they deserved.
“Thanks again for the party, Mr. Stark,” Peter said as he sidled up next to Tony. The man was leaning up against the bar sipping a drink --soda, of course, since he was the only person in the room legal to drink-- and attempting to be inconspicuous. He wasn’t very successful, given that he was rich and powerful and gorgeous and a superhero, but he tried.
He hadn’t wanted to come at all. According to Tony, this gathering was supposed to be about the team, about their success, not about him. It was only after Peter pointed out that it would be weird for Peter to throw a party in his sugardaddy’s house without said sugardaddy being present that Tony reluctantly agreed to attend. Besides, this was a party full of nerds. Being in the presence of the world’s best known genius was a prize, not a distraction.
“Of course,” Tony said, giving Peter a quick but careful once-over. Peter wondered if he liked the skinny jeans and simple dark blue tee shirt he’d picked out for the night. If he did, Tony didn’t mention it or let his eyes linger anywhere but Peter’s face. “You kids deserve it. You’ve been working hard all school year.”
“Yeah? Are you proud of me, Mr. Stark?”
Tony may have been capable of dismantling Peter with the merest of touches, but Peter had perfected ruining Tony with words alone. The man’s eyes were darker and hungrier than they were a moment ago. “I’m very proud of you, Peter,” he said heavily.
“Proud enough that if I was yours, you’d probably give me a kiss to show me I’d been good,” Peter mused, playing with the end of Tony’s tie as if he were brave enough to pull Tony closer by it. “I mean, you’re all the way over here, not paying me any attention, which probably makes all my friends think you aren’t pleased with me. And isn’t that supposed to be my job, to please you?”
His words freeze Tony mid sip, the glass poised halfway to his mouth. Tony swallows hard and sets it down on the bar, looking at Peter sharp and searching. “So you want me to kiss you, is that it?” he asked Peter quietly, voice low and a little rough. “Show off to all your friends just how good you are for me?”
And holy god in heaven did Peter wish this was real, that he was really Tony’s good boy, that he was actually earning the heat in Tony’s gaze. “I am, aren’t I?” he asked in a whisper. “Aren’t I good for you, Mr. Stark?”
“You’re perfect,” Tony breathed as if on accident, and then he was kissing Peter.
It wasn’t Peter’s first kiss, not by a long shot, but he still was shocked into stillness for the first few seconds. Tony didn’t kiss like any of the fumbling teenaged boys Peter had ever kissed before, all slimy tongue and too much spit and hands that tried to stray too far from where they ought to stay. Those boys had kissed like there was something they were trying to take from Peter. But Tony, he held Peter’s jaw in one hand and kept him steady and kissed him like there was something he was trying to give away.
The hand that wasn't holding Peter's face was on his hip, palm hot against the soft skin of Peter's belly beneath his tee shirt. Tony wasn't gripping him or pulling him the way that other boys had in the past, he was just... holding Peter. Keeping him close, steadying him as Tony melded their thighs and hips and torsos together. It wasn't restraining, just reassuring.
Peter exhaled his nerves against Tony's lips and let himself be pulled right along.
He tried to give as good as he was getting, but that was a useless endeavor. Tony was already firmly in control, moving himself and Peter exactly how he wanted, leading the both of them through the kiss like he didn't have a care in the world. He probably didn't. This was earth shattering to Peter, but to Tony it was probably nothing, just a kiss, nothing to get excited about--
But then Tony groaned against Peter's mouth and pressed forward against him, and Peter could feel through his jeans and Tony's perfectly tailored suit pants that Tony was definitely not as uninterested in the kiss as Peter feared. He was hard, the length of his cock pressed up against Peter's thigh, not quite grinding but definitely there. Peter would be lying if he said the feel of it didn't make him gasp.
Tony pulled back like the noise had burned him, even if he didn't go far, turning back to his abandoned drink and downing the rest of it like it had alcohol in it that was going to ease his shame. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate," Tony winced, not meeting Peter's eye. "I shouldn't have-- I'm getting carried away."
"Well at least I'm not the only one," Peter laughed weakly, and Tony did that thing again where he closed his eyes for a second and looked like he was praying for strength. "You think anyone saw?"
"Wasn't exactly subtle," Tony grumbled, but he opened his eyes and scanned the room around them anyways. "Oh yeah, they noticed. I think your friend Ned is about to have a heart attack."
I know the feeling, thought Peter, trying to adjust himself discreetly in his jeans. There was probably no hiding the boner, to be honest. Tony's certainly was obvious, now that Peter was looking, and he blushed in Tony's direction. "Are you, uh, okay?"
Tony didn't ask him what he meant. One look at the blush on Peter's face probably filled in all the details he was missing just fine. "There are worse problems to have," he said soothingly, winking at Peter. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, picking at some imaginary lint on his lapel, before his voice dropped to an even quieter volume and he murmured, "You know, all your friends that are watching probably expect you to take care of this for me."
Heat seared right through Peter from head to toe and everywhere in between, specifically in the bits right beneath his zipper. He could picture it suddenly, clearly, viscerally: him on his knees in front of Tony making amends with his mouth, or else on his back on Tony's bed, or maybe sitting on his lap, or--
"Is that what you want, Mr. Stark?" Peter whispered, his voice a little shaky. He remembered Tony asking him much the same question, when this idea had first been born between them. "You want to drag me off somewhere and make me finish what I started?"
This time Tony didn't close his eyes, he just looked at the ceiling somewhere over Peter's head, like he was literally searching for deliverance from up above. "It doesn't matter what I want," he said huskily a moment later.
He was so close to breaking. Peter could feel it, like a tangible thing in the air between them, thin though that space may be. "And what about what I want? Does that matter to you? Does it matter at all if I say that I'd drop right here and take care of that for you if you'd let me?"
And if Peter had thought Tony was close to a breaking point, he was right. He'd barely gotten the words out before Tony was slamming his empty glass down on the bar and gripping Peter by the upper arm and dragging him forcefully towards an exit. Peter could have pulled away, if he'd had room in his mind to work past the shock and use his superior strength, or if he had even a glimmer of inclination to do so. He had neither. He just let Tony lead him away, stumbling over his own feet, feeling the weight of many surprised gazes on his skin as they disappeared into the hallway.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter began nervously, his stomach twisting a little with anxiety. "Was that too much? I didn't mean to-- I won't do it again if you don't want me to--"
"Hush, Peter," Tony exhaled, jamming an elevator button and pulling Peter inside as soon as the doors opened. "Jarvis, penthouse, break the sound barrier."
"Physically impossible, sir, but I shall do my best, the AI replied."
Peter barely had enough time to process what the destination might mean before Tony was on him, crowding him up against the walls of the elevator, kissing him more hungrily than before. "Mr. Stark? I-- are you-- are we?"
"This is your last chance," Tony breathed, moving his mouth to Peter's neck to nibble at the smooth skin there while he spoke. "If you don't want this... If that was all just an act out there, or a game, or a tease, tell me now. I'll back off and I'll go to my room and leave you alone to enjoy the rest of your party, no hard feelings. But tell me now because fuck, Peter, you're driving me crazy with how much I want you."
"It's not an act," Peter said, fingers scrabbling for purchase in Tony's short hair so he could keep him right where he was because holy fuck Tony's beard felt good on his skin. "I mean it. I want you. I've always wanted you. God, every time someone called me yours I'd get hard just thinking about it. Please, Mr. Stark, I want it, I'll do anything, I swear--"
"Shh, shh, take it easy, kiddo," Tony soothed, rolling his hips against Peter's like that was going to calm the boy down. "I hear you, I believe you. I thought as much. You're not exactly subtle, you know that? Always looking at me so warm and easy. You always look like you're one sweet word away from spreading your legs for me."
Peter's thighs spread as if on instinct, and Tony had the nerve to laugh into their next kiss. "I'm not easy," Peter protested, but his words were contradicted by the squirm of his hips as he searched for friction against Tony's body and found it with a moan. "I've never even-- I mean, I've messed around before, but I haven't... you know."
Tony pulled back, which was the last thing that Peter wanted, but Tony was searching Peter's face seriously. "This would be your first time?"
Would be. As opposed to will be. Implying that there was still a chance that Peter wasn't about to get what he'd been angling for for months now. "I can still be good for you, though," he said nervously, even if he had no evidence that such a claim might be true. He'd never done more than a quick handjob or two, he might be terrible at sex. And certainly he wasn't up to Tony's standards, considering that the man was so much more experienced and used to sleeping with supermodels and athletes rather than awkward high school nerds.
But Tony cut off that spiral of thought like he could hear it out loud, pressing a gentle kiss to Peter's jaw. "I'm not worried about you not being good, Peter," he murmured, and god did Peter want to hear his name in that tone of voice a thousand more times. "You're always so good for me. I know you'd be perfect for me."
"But?" Peter asked, because he sensed one coming.
"But your first time is a big deal," Tony sighed, "and I don't want you rushing into anything in the heat of the moment and then regretting it later. It'd kill me to take that moment from you if you weren't a hundred percent sure."
The elevator had stopped and the doors opened, but neither of them made a move. Peter because it wasn't his home to enter. Tony because, conceivably, he still hadn't decided whether taking Peter to his bed was the right choice. They stared at each other for a moment, breathless, and then Peter lowered his eyes in a way that he knew would make his eyelashes look irresistibly delicate.
"Would it help my case any if I told you that I came here tonight with a plan?" he said as sweetly as he could muster. Time to go in for the kill. "Got myself all ready for you, so you could take me however you wanted. I know what I want, Mr. Stark. I want you."
Tony blinked at him for a long moment and then pushed himself back off of Peter, pointing into the penthouse a little dazedly. "Bedroom. Now."
He didn't have to tell Peter twice. Peter took off into the apartment, not caring that he had no idea where the bedroom was. He'd figure it out along the way. Tony was right behind him though, a hand on the small of Peter's back, guiding him down a hallway that automatically illuminated with soft light as they went. "Second door on the left," Tony told him, pointing it out so that Peter could twist the doorknob and fall through eagerly.
If it had been a normal sized bedroom, the entire space probably would have been taken up by the massive king-sized bed in the middle of it. As it was, this was Tony Stark's bedroom, so Peter still had to journey quite a ways before he crawled up onto the mattress. Presumptuous, maybe --Tony hadn't specifically instructed him to get on the bed, after all-- but he doubted Tony ordered him to the bedroom for anything else.
Tony didn't seem to mind, at least, looking Peter over with a little grin as he stood by the edge of the mattress and started working his way out of the suit. "I like the look of you on my pillows," Tony told him, and Peter knew there was a scandalized blush on his cheeks. "I've pictured it, before. A lot. More than I should have. For longer than I should have."
Peter looked at him curiously, skin tingling under Tony's gaze. He wondered if he should be taking his clothes off, too, but then relaxed back into the pillows and figured that if he was supposed to be doing something different, Tony would tell him. Right? "I wasn't sure if you saw me that way," he confided softly. "I thought you might. Hoped you might. But you never made a move, so..."
"Because you're a goddamn teenager," Tony sighed, down to just his boxer briefs now, "and you're someone I'm supposed to be a mentor to. It's wrong on every level." He must have seen Peter's face fall or sensed the sudden twist in Peter's stomach, because Tony climbed onto the bed and cupped Peter's cheek gently. "Hey, don't look like that," Tony murmured, thumbing at Peter's frowning lips. "I said it was wrong, not that I was above doing wrong things. I think I've been very noble, keeping my hands off of you for as long as I have. The universe didn't expect me to be a saint forever, did it?"
That made Peter smile, just a little. "So you're done being a saint now, is that what you're saying? Are you going to touch me now, Mr. Stark?"
"Everywhere you'll let me," Tony said simply, promptly, leaning in for a hot kiss at the same time as his hand skimmed down Peter's chest to rub at his cock through his jeans.
Peter arched up into the touch immediately, hips bucking up in search of friction, and Tony kissed the gasp right out of his mouth this time. He had big hands, strong hands, confident in the way that they caressed Peter's length and dragged a moan right out of him. They felt like absolute heaven, and that was just through the denim. Peter found himself wondering what Tony's mechanic's calluses would feel like on the soft skin of Peter's cock, just a little bit rough. Peter found himself thrilling at the thought that he might be about to find out.
But Tony appeared to be in no hurry, not moving to get Peter out of his clothes as he continued getting the feel of his body. It felt like ages before Tony pulled the shirt off of him so that he could shift his position on the bed and get his mouth on Peter's nipples to suck lazily while he rubbed between Peter's legs.
And that was a new sensation, rough beard and soft tongue both on his chest, making Peter writhe like his body wasn't sure whether it wanted to arch into or away from the stimulation. His dick, at least, seemed to be on board, and Peter could feel his boxers getting damp with precome. "Mr. Stark-- Tony-- please, can I have--?"
"Have what, Peter? Go ahead, sweetheart, tell me what you need," Tony answered, blowing cool air across Peter's wet nipple to make him whimper before he switched to the other one.
"More," panted Peter, "anything, please. That feels so good. I want more."
"Impatient," Tony admonished, but he pulled back anyways and undid the zipper and button of Peter's jeans, pulling the clothing off of Peter and leaving him in just his boxers. Peter wondered if Tony could feel Peter's pulse in his cock. Peter certainly could, as close as he felt to losing it in that moment. If Tony was aware, he didn't indicate it. "There's no rush, you know. I intend to take my time with you. I'm not just going to fuck you hard and fast and send you on your way."
It... didn't sound like the worst thing in the world, honestly, the idea of Tony using him to get off like some sort of glorified sex toy. But that was a fantasy for another time. If Tony wanted to take him apart molecule by molecule, Peter would let him. Anything to keep Tony looking at him and touching him like that.
"Whatever you want," Peter breathed, knowing exactly how desperate he sounded. He couldn't help his hips from bucking up off the mattress just a little, searching for friction in empty air.
Tony took the bait, leaning in to nuzzle at the soft skin of Peter's thigh, trailing kisses upwards from the inside of Peter's knee. "That's exactly the problem," he said against Peter's skin. "There's so many things I want to do to you. With you. For you. I'm having trouble deciding where to start. I think," he continued as he nuzzled against the base of Peter's cock through the thin cotton, "I'd like to start here, though. You always look so sweet. I've been dying for a taste.
Maybe it was the warm breath, or the teasing friction of Tony's mouth on his clothed cock, or the sheer punch of arousal that his words delivered, but Peter found himself suddenly teetering on the edge. All it took was one little caress of Tony's fingertips over Peter's length and Peter felt his thighs jerk embarrassingly as his cock twitched and he came right there in his boxers, hips pushing up into Tony's mouth as the fabric grew dark with his release.
"Oh, fuck," Peter said, covering his face before he could accidentally catch a glimpse of what he assumed was an annoyed expression on Tony's face. "Oh my god, I'm so-- I am so sorry, I didn't mean to-- I didn't know I was-- fuck."
"Hey, relax, it's alright," Tony soothed, and then his hands were pulling Peter's away from his face so he could kiss him. "Don't apologize. That means you're feeling good. That's what I want. Jesus Christ, kid, that's all I want."
"But you said you wanted to take your time, and I just--" Peter was still burning with embarrassment, even as Tony kissed at his heated face. "I'm sorry. I can go again, though, it just takes a few minutes, I swear."
"A few minutes?" Now Tony did pull back, a bemused look on his face. "What, is that a teenager thing or a Spider-Man thing?"
Peter shrugged. "I don't know, I've never been a teenager that wasn't Spider-Man. But... is it a good thing?"
"Oh we're going to have a lot of fun with that," Tony said immediately, then back tracked a little. "If you decide you want that, I mean. I'd love to see how many times I can take you apart and put you back together."
"I do want that," Peter replied at once, spreading his thighs wider where they were already bracketing Tony's hips. "I can take you, I know I can. You can still fuck me, please?"
But Tony was shaking his head, giving Peter a warm smile that bordered on a smirk. "Not tonight, Peter," he said, and had the nerve to shuck Peter's chin as he said it. "Next time, maybe. But I'm not going to fuck you for the first time when you're already oversensitive. I want you to feel nothing but good things when I'm inside you that first time." And then he was moving from on top of Peter, shifting to lay beside him on the pillows, like a twist of the knife. "We're done for tonight, okay?"
It felt a little like being crushed under a building, finding out he had been this close to having Tony's cock inside of him and then being denied. Peter knew that because he had experienced both of those horrors. He decided to pull out the big guns.
"But Tony," he said tremulously, and the name still felt foreign on his tongue after years of Mr. Stark, "I wanted to make you come. Please, can I?"
Tony gulped visibly, his eyes dark with want despite having been determined just moments before. "Well," he said, a little shakily, "how can I say no to that?"
That had been exactly what Peter had been banking on, and he hurried to swing his leg over Tony's lap to straddle him before the man could change his mind. "Could I.... I could blow you, maybe?" he offered shyly, running his hands over Tony's chest. The flesh was warm and just a little bit sweaty, like Tony had gotten as worked up as Peter just from making him get off. The arc reactor was downright hot when Peter trailed his fingertips over it, but the touch made Tony shiver. "I never have before, but I want to. For you."
"Tempting," Tony licked his lips. "You've got a gorgeous mouth, you know that? I can't tell if it just looks good or if it's the things that come out of it that drive me so wild. Maybe both. Makes a man think all kinds of things about what a mouth like that can do."
They were filthy words, and Peter felt his cock twitch valiantly at them. "Wanna find out?" he asked boldly.
He didn't even wait for Tony to say yes. The dazed look on Tony's face said it all. Peter shimmied a little awkwardly down Tony's legs and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Tony's boxer-briefs, waiting for Tony to lift his hips just a smidge so Peter could pull them off. Once they were gone and Tony was laid bare before Peter, there was just a hint of hesitation, a flash of nerves, that halted Peter's hand before he reached out to take hold of Tony. "Don't laugh, okay?" he couldn't stop himself from saying.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Tony said seriously, and Peter ducked down to take Tony in his mouth.
It felt... different than Peter thought it would. Fuller. Tony's cock had looked pretty sizeable but it felt even bigger as Peter had to open his mouth wide to take it inside. It was big and it was heavy, a simultaneously threatening and comforting weight on Peter's tongue. He closed his lips around it and sucked a little on instinct, not exactly sure what he was doing.
It must have worked at least somewhat, because Tony groaned somewhere above him and petted at Peter's hair. "You feel good, sweetheart," Tony said reassuringly, not pushing or pulling, just letting Peter give an awkward bob on Tony's length. "Don't try to take too much, I don't need a superstar here, Peter, just want you."
Which of course Peter only heard as a challenge. He tried to relax his mouth the next time he went down, to let Tony's tip slide deeper, only to have his throat start quivering in the start of a gag disappointingly soon. It made Tony swear, though, his fingers digging into Peter's scalp just a bit, and Peter felt a rush of pride that he didn't know he was craving until that moment.
He tried again, more confident this time, even if he didn't get any further down Tony's length before he started to gag again. He was less scared of the sensation, though, more eager to push into it, to make Tony make those kinds of noises again. It was a weird sort of power rush, almost, to know that he was able to make Tony feel good with only his mouth. It was a sensation Peter could get used to.
It had only taken one accidental yank of Peter's hair for him to be all the way hard again, and Peter found himself rutting into the mattress as he continued to work on Tony's length. It felt filthy and messy, his own come slick inside of his boxers, but Peter couldn't bring himself to care. It all felt too good, from the sensation of Tony's hand in his hair, Tony's cock in his mouth, his legs warm and solid around Peter's body--
"Peter, baby, come here," Tony said breathlessly, and Peter was helpless to comply. He let Tony guide him gently by the hair until they were face to face again, but Tony wasn't looking at Peter's face. He was pushing Peter's boxers down and looking at his flushed cock, messy with his first orgasm and with fresh precome leaking from the tip once more. "Oh, sweet thing, you weren't kidding about getting hard again, were you? That first one didn't slow you down a bit."
It was hard to tell whether Peter should be proud or embarrassed by how true that was. He settled on nodding a little sheepishly. "You feel really good," he confessed. "You... make me feel really good."
Tony searched his face, considering, then reached between Peter's legs. Peter inhaled sharply, bracing for the feeling of Tony's hand on his cock, only to have all the breath rush right back out when those warm fingers found his hole instead. Oh.
"You weren't kidding about coming with a plan," Tony mused, grin spreading across his face. "Look at you, all wet and open. How'd you do it, hmm? Your fingers? A toy? Did you think of me while you were doing it?"
"Y-yes," Peter stammered as two fingertips pushed into him, rocking back onto them without thinking. Tony was ready for that though, and moved his hand along with Peter so he didn't get any more than Tony was willing to give him. The bastard. "I... my fingers first. Then a toy. I don't have a plug or anything, or else I would have-- fuck, I would have worn that for you, too."
"You did perfect for me, sweetheart," Tony assured him, his two fingers pressed all the way in now, rubbing at Peter's insides in a way that was like scratching the area right around a bug bite-- almost what Peter wanted, but not quite. "You want a plug? I'll buy you one. I'll make it hot rod red to match my suit. Would you like that?"
Peter was feeling just desperate enough as Tony worked a third finger into him that he dared to sass, "What I'd like is for you to fuck me, please, sir."
The fingers were gone in a flash, but Tony was rolling them over so that Peter was flat on his back so quickly that Peter didn't even have time to worry if he'd done something wrong. "I can't decide if you're an angel or my own personal demon," Tony muttered, leaning over to the bedside drawer and pulling something out. A condom, Peter registered with a thrill as it hit his chest, with a bottle of lube coming right after. Tony sat back on his haunches and picked the condom up again, tearing it open carefully with his teeth and his clean hand. "Not that it matters much. I'm well documented as having zero self control, so either way I'm helpless. Like I could ever resist this."
He said it with a tone of reverence that made Peter's stomach flutter, made him wonder what exactly this was. He decided not to ask. He decided it didn't matter. He was getting what he'd been waiting for and the rest could get sorted out in the morning. "I'm glad you stopped trying," he said breathlessly. "I was running out of tricks to wear you down."
Tony laughed as he finished rolling the condom onto his length and added lube with a few easy strokes. "I was wondering if you were aware of how enticing you were being. I should have known. You're too clever not to know what you were doing to me."
Peter was going to say something sassy --like #sorrynotsorry-- but clammed right up when he felt the tip of Tony's cock rubbing across his hole. He tried desperately not to flinch, to relax into it, but he didn't quite manage until Tony ran a soothing hand up and down his thigh.
"Hey, it's alright. Relax, baby," Tony said easily, continuing to tease Peter's entrance with his cock as the tension ebbed out of Peter bit by bit. "You said you have toys, so I'm sure you know what it feels like to be full, right?" Peter nodded. "Good, so it won't be too much of a surprise to you. It's different when it's someone else doing it, though, and not you handling the toy. I need you to tell me if something feels off to you, or if you need something from me. Okay? You tell me to stop or wait or change what I'm doing and that's what happens, no questions asked."
The words shouldn't come as such a relief. It's not like he thought any differently, expected any treatment less gentle from Tony, but still. It made the last little knot of anxiety in Peter's stomach unfurl so he could be putty in Tony's hands. "Okay," he said with an exhale. I promise."
And then Tony was pushing into him, slowly, gently, relentlessly, until his hips were flush against Peter's. He peppered Peter's face and neck with kisses as he went, murmuring assurances into the curve of Peter's throat, biting gently at the place where Peter's pulse pounded. "Tell me when," Tony panted, and Peter was gratified --in the small part of his brain still capable of higher function-- to hear that he sounded at least half as wrecked as Peter felt already.
"When," he groaned, and Tony started moving.
Peter was suddenly, intensely glad that he'd already come once tonight, because if this had been his first orgasm things would have been over the first time Tony's cock dragged over his prostate with a proper thrust. As it was, Peter just groaned from somewhere deep in his gut at the sensation and moved his hands from their white-knuckled grip on the bedsheets to digging into Tony's back instead. That seemed to spur Tony on, and his rhythm sped up into something that was half torture and half heaven.
He tried not to wiggle too much, doing his best to relax into the mattress and let Tony take the lead. Tony was the one who knew what he was doing here, and Peter trusted him to make it good for him. Hell, it was already spectacular for him. Even still, he couldn't help but try to push his hips back into the contact a little, chasing those little match strikes of pleasure that kept lighting inside of him.
"God, you feel gorgeous," Tony groaned into Peter's ear. It was kind of a nonsense thing to say, but it made Peter whimper anyways as squirm his hips around Tony's cock. "Are you getting close, sweet thing? You gonna come for me again, let me feel it this time?"
"Yes, fuck yes, please," Peter said, scratching at Tony's sides. "You feel really-- really good, and I just-- I just wanna--"
Tony shushed him with a kiss and shifted his weight onto one hand so that he could reach the other down between their torsos and take hold of Peter's cock. "Go ahead, Peter, let go for me. Let me feel you, perfect boy."
Peter came almost without recognizing that it was imminent, his body responding to Tony's words before his brain even had time to properly process them. His cock jerked in Tony's fist and added to the already crusted mess on Peter's stomach, and Peter lifted his head to drink in the sight of his come running down Tony's knuckles and dripping onto his skin. It was enough to make him dizzy. Peter laid his head back down and just gripped Tony tighter, as if for dear life.
"You're so good for me," Tony panted, his rhythm fast and hard now, chasing his release inside of Peter. "Gave me just what I wanted, just the way I asked for it. You're perfect. Swear to god you're perfect for me, Peter, gonna be the death of me--"
Peter wondered if Tony was even aware he was speaking out loud, the stream of near-gibberish was so unlike him. Then again, he supposed, everyone was prone to being a little ridiculous when they were that close to orgasm. Tony thrust home a few more times deep inside of Peter and then stilled, hands gripping bruisingly on Peter's hips as he came. He bit into Peter's throat as he did, and if Peter flinched at the sudden sensation, it melted into a satisfied shiver in the very next breath.
A few long moments passed where they clutched at each other and attempted to catch their breath, hands pawing uselessly at skin and mouths too lazy to properly kiss whatever part of each other they found. Eventually Tony rocked back with a quiet oof, working the condom off of his softening cock and tying it before tossing it aside. He probably meant to aim for the trash can, but it hit the nightstand instead with an unattractive slap.
"You're gross," Peter commented lazily, unable to muster any venom behind it.
"Says the one with two loads of come on his stomach," Tony fired back, not to be outdone. "Look at you, what a mess. You're indecent."
Peter felt his face get hot, imagining at once what he must look like laid out like this and covered in filth. "Yeah, sorry, I'll just--"
Tony caught his hip as he tried to roll over and leave the bed, pressing him back into the mattress with a look of concern. "Whoa there, tiger, steady, I was just kidding," he said hurriedly, cupping Peter's face with one gentle --and slightly sticky, gross -- hand. "You look gorgeous. I mean you do look indecent, but the kind of indecent that makes me want to wreck you over and over again as many times as you'll let me. If you want that, I mean," he adds after a second, jaw clenching as he looked away from Peter. "Guess we never really talked about that, whether this was just a one time thing, but if you did want this more than once, then..."
Either Tony didn't know what the second half of that sentence entailed or he didn't feel inclined to share. Peter didn't need to hear it anyways. He sat up, the minimal strength he had left in his jellified limbs making the movement shaky, and pressed a kiss to Tony's mouth. "I want more," he said quietly. "I want that too. I'm-- I'm not really good at any of this kind of stuff, I haven't really had a proper boyfriend or anything, but I really like you and I want to spend time with you and get to know you better and have more sex with you, so if we could maybe do that, that would be cool."
It was an undignified, clumsy sort of admission, but it made Tony laugh and kiss Peter back, and that was all that mattered. "I think we can work with that," he murmured against Peter's lips a few moments later when they pulled back for air.
They would probably have to talk about a lot of things here soon. Like how they were going to explain to people that Peter wasn’t Tony’s plaything anymore but something more than that, or what exactly that would mean for Peter’s cover as Spider-Man. There were complications, and they’d have to iron all of that out sooner or later. But for now, they were both here and happy and wanted. And that? They could work with that.