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another-stark-sub · 2 years

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Professor Stark - Tony Stark Imagine

Summary: You were there to pass a class to earn a degree. Having an attractive professor was just a bonus.

Warnings: Explicit smut, minors DNI, age gap, oral sex (M and F receiving), PIV sex, “babygirl,” “sweetheart,” “sir,” “Professor”

Word Count: 8242

Notes: ... I have no excuse, but I hope it’s at least a little worth the wait, also! Thank you @patheticallysentimental for helping me edit and teaching me the amazingness of italics, love you babe

When taking an engineering class, or any college class in general, the professor was always the key to success. The most boring subject could easily turn into the most dynamic with the right professor. So, when you were asking around about which professor to take for your next engineering class, most signs pointed to Professor Stark.

There was also a Dr. Banner and a suggestion to go to Dr. Lang, but most students pointed you to Stark’s class. He was supposedly more energetic than Banner and more organized than Lang. There were other rumors though. They weren’t prominent. (Most girls fawned over Professor Barnes in the Political Science department and Professor Laufeyson in the Queer Studies department, after all.) Still, that didn’t stop the whispers about Professor Stark.

“There’s a video of him bending down to pick up something. I died.”

“Doesn’t hurt that Professor Stark’s easy on the eyes.”

“Knew a girl who said he came into class with disheveled hair, said it changed her life.”

A whisper, but you didn’t think much of it. There were such things as attractive professors, sure, but attractive enough to drool over and obsess over? You were in college to study, graduate, become an engineer, not to fawn over men who were out of a reasonable age range and probably married.

First day of class wasn’t that interesting. Honest. Professor Star was good-looking, handsome even. Fully trimmed and detailed 5-o’clock shadow. Expressive, deep brown eyes. Tailored professional clothing with a pair of sunglasses clipped on his collar. He even cracked a few sarcastic remarks at his own expense.

He was a good professor. A great one. It was easy to be a good student in his class.

“It would be unstable, Professor. Not enough force to counteract gravity.”

“Correct again! Every force needs to be countered, right? Right. So add this here, and just like that, nothing falls. Nice job.”

You raised your hand at least five times per class.

“Take that derivative, and double-check that the answer is sufficient?”

“Exactly. Everyone, write that down. There may or may not be something like this during lab.”

And you got called on at least three times per class.

“Yes! Girl with the moon necklace.”

“Very funny, Professor, but the answer isn’t any of those choices. I think you forgot to define your axes.”

Eventually, he started to joke with you.

“Well, are you sure that’s right?”

“Uh… maybe. I’m not sure. I’m sorry-”

“Relax, you got it. I just like messing with you.”

You might have started joking with him.

“Any more questions before the midterm? Yes! New moon, what’s your question?”

“How was your weekend, Professor?”

And, eventually, you could see why so many people had a bit of a crush on him.

“Any more questions? Yes, Claire de lune?”

“Favorite donut?”

The class laughed, and Professor Stark bit his lip and smiled at you. Just at you. “And why do you need to know?”

“I might be planning on swinging by Krispy Kreme before office hours. If you’re lucky.”

Class was over. People were packing their things and rushing to get to their next class, but you stayed. You waited patiently for his answer, a stupid smile on your face.

He nodded. “Double Dark Chocolate.”

You copied his curt nod. “Consider it done.”

You arrived to office hours with a dozen donuts. Six were Double Dark Chocolate, three were your favorite, and the other three were random. Your classmates in office hours were ecstatic, gobbling up the free food. You, however, were more focused on Professor Stark’s reaction. He lifted his donut in the air to you, a toast. You followed suit with yours, truly enjoying the moment in the crowded space of his office.

The chatter of your classmates faded out as Professor opened his mouth. His outstretched tongue pressed into the donut first before he bit into it, and he moaned. The way he was holding his treat caused some of the sticky, sweet icing to stick to his fingers. So, when he pulled his mouth away to chew, he examined the hand that held his donut. With a shrug, he put the donut down and, again tongue fucking first, licked the sweetness off two of his fingers.

He didn’t mean it. He was just eating a donut, a free treat that one of his students brought him. That’s all it meant for him.

But for you?

No, you were a goner.

It took you at least 48 hours to process that you were head over heels in love with your professor. He was forty-four years old. Much more than a decade older than you. He wasn’t married, at least. But still, he was older and your professor. It was ridiculous - the kind of thing that only happened in porn and the occasional alternate universe fanfiction, not in real life, and certainly not your life.

But god, what were you supposed to do?

Not only was he a genius, but he was also funny, kind, caring, put together, confident… No guy your age had all of that. But Professor Tony Stark, he did. And you wanted him. In any what you could have him.

“Just fuck him.”

You shut your eyes and fell back onto your crappy dorm bed. “MJ,” you groaned.

“Look, I get it. Crushes suck. They bring feelings and shit, so you just have your crush fuck it out of you.”

You glared at her. “And did that work with you and Peter?”

She only stared at you.

“Didn’t think so.”

“Then just fuck, well, someone. Anyone.”

“I don’t want to fuck anyone.” You covered your eyes. “I just want to fuck him.”

“How romantic,” she said in her dry tone. “Why can’t you just fuck him?”

You didn’t tell her your crush was a professor. “Because I don’t think he would fuck me.”

She laughed. “Oh, please, everyone wants sex. Those who say differently are lying to themselves.”

“Ok? And you’re suggesting?”

“Tempt him.” She shrugged. “Low cut shirts, short skirts, bite those lips. He’ll break. If he doesn’t, find a frat guy who looks like him.”

Usually, you wouldn’t take MJ’s advice. She was a tad blunt. And if you were crushing on a guy your age, maybe you’d do it differently.

So, during your lab class, you wore a tank top that might have been a tad too tight around your chest and a little lower than the usual clothes you wore. You had nothing to lose. He would either notice or not notice.

“How’s the dry lab?” Professor Stark asked.

You smiled up at him. “Ok, worksheets aren’t my cup of tea.” With a shrug, you told him, “More of a hands-on type.”

“You having trouble?” He looked over your shoulder. And after skimming your work, his eyes widened.

You bit your lip to hold in your smile. You knew all your work was correct. He could only be surprised about one thing.

A second too long passed. Professor Stark cleared his throat. He didn’t step back, though, and his attention briefly flickered to your chest before smiling at you. “Looks good.”

You looked down at your outfit. Purposefully, you brought your arms closer together and stated with a certain innocence, “Oh, yeah, the shirt’s new. You like it?” You knew he wasn’t talking about your new taste in fashion, but you couldn’t help it. Professor Stark was always so well composed. Even when he was late to class, his confidence and nonchalant demeanor never wavered.

Seeing him stare a bit too long and hearing him have to clear his throat, it was almost intoxicating.

“Yes, but I wasn’t talking about that.” His jaw twitched. “I meant your work.”

“Oh.” You took your time to breathe, both to show off your outfit more and to catch your own breath. With a smile, you said, “All thanks to you, Professor Stark.”

His eyes met yours. Breathing wasn’t coming to you easily. He was so close to you, and if you just leaned in a little, your lips could brush against his. His chest was inches from your back. You could feel his chest rise and fall with every breath.

“You’re a good student.”

It was like his words were on your lips. Your smile trembled, nervous and excited to be so close. You never thought MJ’s plan would work this well.

Desperate to say something flirty, to say something that would be right out of porn or the occasional fanfiction, you wanted to say something about how you enjoyed being a good girl. Instead, it came out as a shaky, “I like being good, Professor.”

Despite your poor delivery, Professor Stark’s eyes widened, and the hand that was on your desk clenched into a fist. He opened his mouth, and you expected some witty comeback, but none came. He closed his mouth and pursed his lips, and while that alone would make you feel guilty, the shine in his eyes as he looked at you only made you feel proud.

How was just talking to someone so exhilarating? The two of you didn’t even touch. No brush of his chest against your back, no gentle press of his hand against yours. Just words. If only words could reduce the usually laid-back professor into this, what would a gentle brush of your fingers do? What if you really did lean forward and press your lips against-

“Professor!”

Quickly, he shook his head, stepped back, and cleared his throat. “Yes, coming!” He ran a hand through his hair as he walked to the student with a question, and later in class, you were able to catch a glance at him again. A loosened tie around his neck and tousled hair. When his eyes met yours, you immediately looked away, but the image of his dark eyes and stern expression wouldn’t leave your mind anytime soon.

At the next lecture, you wore a short skirt and, knowing you could easily catch up, were purposefully late. You rushed into lecture, books pressed against your chest and out of breath. Usually, if someone came late, the professor would ignore them and continue the lecture. But when you rushed in, you stopped by the doors to catch your breath.

And Professor Stark paused. He never paused. His mind moved too fast to pause, but when you arrived, he paused.

You looked up to find him gazing at you, jaw clenched and pupils blown. There was a smirk hidden in his stare.

God, you wanted to kiss him.

He took a deep breath and continued the lecture.

Since you were late, the only seats available were in the front. When you sat down and got your notebook out, you made a point to press the end of your pencil to your lip.

And the professor stuttered.

You couldn’t help but look up at him to see why he stuttered. His eyes were on you. Pupils still blown. He loosened his tie before looking away and continuing. It took your breath away. Maybe you should’ve pulled that move near the end of class, because god, you suddenly felt empty.

You didn’t raise your hand the entire lecture.

Despite your lack of participation, you could feel Professor Stark’s gaze whenever it wandered in your direction.

And so it continued. Every class for two weeks, you dressed up with him in mind. Short skirts. Low cut tops. Red lipstick. Thigh-high stockings. And while he did look at you, nothing actually happened. Only long stares and bitten lips. Maybe a few whispered words that could be suggestive.

“Good work today, Luna.”

“New, uh, heels?”

“Will you be in my office today?”

A shared breath from being too close at the right time.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were there, Professor.”

“Is my work correct?”

“Did I do a good job today?”

No physical contact. Nothing.

And after two weeks, midterms hit. Being sexy took a lot of fucking effort, and midterms were, unfortunately, your first priority. So, it was back to sweatpants, hoodies, and messy hair. You couldn��t pay extra attention to your favorite professor for a while.

You still raised your hand more than five times per lecture.

“How was your weekend, Professor?”

“Professor, if friction was applicable, wouldn’t the second part be irrelevant?”

“So, does this mean that if I bring you Krispy Kreme, you’ll be in a better mood?”

And during labs, he stood a tad too close behind you as your reviewed problems at the whiteboard.

“Stressful, but I’m with one of my best students now, right?”

“Redraw the free body diagram and find out.”

“As long as I can pay for half of the donuts.”

And after midterms, you weren’t sure what to do. Things were back to the way they were, back to before you realized you were in love with your professor, and hypothetically, you should be okay with that. But every time you saw him, your chest felt tight, making it hard to breathe, and you knew the only way to get rid of that was to tell him. Or fuck him. Or do something!

Maybe you could go back to heels and thigh-highs, but what was the point if both of you were too scared or nervous to do anything? You might as well do to some frat party and hook up with a guy your age. It wouldn’t be Professor Stark, but at least you wouldn’t be so frustrated, and maybe that feeling would go away.

Then again, it was nice to see him riled up. Maybe you could just learn to live admiring him from afar. His smile, his wit, his confidence. Maybe you could sit back and hope that when you finished his class, he thought of you as more than just one of his students. Maybe that would be enough. And that pull on your chest, maybe you would just learn to live with it.

“I still say you go out and get laid,” MJ said. “You’ve been pining over this guy since the beginning of the year.”

“Not since then!”

Shuri laughed. “She has a point.” Your other roommate abandoned her work to look at you with a mischievous smile. “You had a crush on Stark at the beginning of the year.”

Your stomach dropped. “I did not!” You had never told anyone who your crush was. “I just like how he teaches. He’s a great professor.”

MJ, ever so casually, lifted her mug to her lips and sipped her tea.

You repeated, “I’ve never had a crush on Stark.”

MJ asked, “Then who is it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

MJ hummed and said to Shuri, “It’s Stark.”

You groaned as MJ explained, “If it was literally anyone else she would tell us.”

You argued, “If it was Peter, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“But you don’t have a crush on Peter,” MJ said.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait.” Shuri got up and stood in front of you. She held your shoulders and asked, “You’ve only had one crush this year?”

“Yes.”

Shuri’s expression turned giddy. “Oh my god. You do like Stark!”

You pulled away from her. “I do not!”

“You do! You had a very obvious crush on Stark at the beginning of the year, and if you only had one crush the entire year, it means you’ve had a crush on Stark for months and months on end!” Shuri was gaping at you. “Wow.” She looked to MJ who only said, “See,” before turning back to you and shaking her head with an amused smile.

Shuri continued, “I mean, I can’t shame you for that, cause Stark is hot and all, but really?”

You reached back to the couch behind you and threw a pillow at her. Shuri responded by laughing and hitting you with the pillow you threw at her.

“You know, Peter says he talked about you a lot.”

Both Shuri and you paused. “I’m sorry,” you laughed. “What?”

MJ only shrugged. “Peter volunteers at his lab. Says Stark gushes over many of his students.”

You scoffed. “Well, he cares about his students. It makes sense.”

“Yeah, but Peter says he talks about a little miss ‘Claire de lune’ the most.” MJ looked past her sketchbook and right at your necklace. “Funny how all of a sudden a useless necklace from one of those lame college events has become your favorite piece of jewelry.”

Shuri gasped. “That’s why you wore that thing?!” She held your charm necklace between her fingers and examined it as if it wasn’t around your neck. “I always thought it had sentimental value, since it’s obviously very cheaply made.” Shuri talked some more about the cheap combination of metal and plastic, discoloration, its physical properties, and how it would look completely different in a month.

You groaned and plucked your necklace from Shuri’s grip. “Stop it, both of you.” With the truth out in the open to your friends, a part of you did feel relieved. With a tired sigh, you sat down on the couch and said, “Nothing is going to happen anyway. There’s no use talking about it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“So, frat boy plan,” MJ suggested.

“No,” you said.

“And why not?” Shuri opened MJ’s closet and looked through her wardrobe. “Frat row’s gonna have parties all night since midterms are over.” She pulled out a bandeau and held it in front of her. “I mean imagine it. You see a guy from across the kitchen.” She held out her hand to you.

You cracked a smile and let your friend pull you off the couch.

Shuri shoved the top to you and described in detail, “The guy’s got a great five o’clock shadow, dark hair, dark eyes, says a horrible pick up line, and after some banter and some gazes-”

“You fuck.”

“I was going for a more romantic tone, MJ.”

“A good fuck is all she needs.”

“She needs to find a nice guy, and maybe if it was in the cards-”

“Guys!” When your friends were quiet, you sighed. Maybe this was the best option. Admiring from afar and sharing a breath here or there was agonizing. It could never happen anyways. You might as well get over it as soon as possible.

You tilted your head and smiled a little. “So, who’s coming with me to frat row?”

A few hours later, you had your make-up done, cheap shoes on, and an outfit that showed just the right amount of skin for a frat party. With Shuri as the designated sober friend for the night and an agreement to meet up with a few more girls there, you were prepared for anything.

And the night seemed to be in your favor. After only one shot, a guy caught your interest. He did look a little like Professor Stark in the dim lighting. Unfocused eyes, but they were a similar shade of brown, and while the professor’s beard was well-trimmed, his was not. No sunglasses hung on his collar but he had a pair perched on top of his messy hair. He even commented on your necklace.

“Mini Moon,” he called you. It wasn’t clever, and he wasn’t as smart as you, but a frat boy was a frat boy, and you were willing to do anything to get over your hopeless crush. Including kissing him. He didn’t care that you cut him off from his small talk about how many shots he could take. No, once your lips touched his, he moaned a high-pitched moan and kissed you back.

Your lips burned. Whether it was from the strong liquor or the scratchy beard, you weren’t sure. It wasn’t a bad kiss, either. It just wasn’t exciting. Not like toasting donuts in a crowded office. Not like feeling him lean over you to check your work. Not like catching him gazing at you.

“Live here?” you asked before kissing him again.

He shook his head. “Apartment.”

“How far?”

His lips trailed down your neck and his beard scratched you almost painfully. “Ten minutes tops.”

“Good with me.”

He smiled at you and lead you to the door. You had the time to tap Shuri’s shoulder and see her give a thumbs-up to you before you were out the door. His apartment was across campus he told you, and he stopped you a few times to kiss you against a building wall, saying how lucky he was. Every time he did, you hoped he wouldn’t talk, because your mind would wander to Stark, and how he said your name.

The third time he did it, you weren’t sure where you were. All you knew was that his lips were on yours, and you needed some satisfaction. And if you thought hard enough, you could imagine rougher hands and a softer, well-kept beard, and a groan of a clever nickname.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. You were still pinned against brick and-

“Sorry, ignore us.”

With a deep breath, you looked to your side.

Did thinking about Stark that much make you hallucinate? You shook your head and blinked several times. But no. It wasn’t a dream. It was him. He was the one gaping at you and some frat boy you just met. And the disappointment and shock in his eyes were like dunking your entire body in ice water.

“No,” he said softly. His lips twitched. “I’m sorry for interrupting.” His eyes met yours, and with a tight smile, he left.

Even before he was out of sight, the boy’s lips were back on your neck. Instead of feeling somewhat satisfied, it only felt wrong.

Your breath shuddered. “Wait, wait.” You gulped for air.

“What?” He pulled away so quickly like you had burned him. “What’s wrong?”

There was worry in his eyes. You felt horrible. A mix of messy emotions, of guilt, of want, of longing, settled in your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you said as tears pricked your eyes. “I’m sorry, I just, I can’t.” You tried to formulate an excuse, but words were hard to come by. Especially when the only thing you could see was Professor Stark’s disappointed gaze.

“Hey, it’s ok.” The boy slipped his hands into yours, and when you didn’t pull away, he gripped your hands tightly. “Are you ok?”

You laughed. He was nice. “I was trying to get over someone.”

He nodded. “And you’re not?”

Hooking up with someone else, no matter how similar he was to Stark, it wasn’t going to make you forget him. You didn’t think anything would.

“No. I’m not.”

He nodded with understanding. “Can I walk you home?” He looked at his phone. “It’s nearly eleven.”

“I’ll be fine.” You glanced at the spot Professor Stark was once at. You had to tell him. Maybe explain yourself. Maybe confess. You didn’t know what you wanted to say to him, but you knew you wanted to talk to him.

You blinked a few times and sighed. You pressed a kiss on the boy’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“Ok. If you’re sure.”

You nodded. “I have a friend near here.”

So he left, and you followed Professor Stark. You were near the labs, and he wasn’t heading outside of campus. His office then. It was a blur getting there, but soon enough, you were inside the engineering building, outside his office. It was a little ridiculous out of context. A student in obvious frat row attire standing outside a professor’s office at night.

But that wasn’t going to stop you.

Thanks to the open blinds, you could see him inside. He wasn’t at his desk. In fact, the entire room was filled with the blue light of his holograms. He was adjusting and readjusting something that looked like a laser. His back was to you, but you could see the tightness in his shoulders. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists as he changed little things in the schematic.

You knocked on the door.

He didn’t seem to hear it, so you knocked again. He froze and looked over his shoulder and right at you.

You waved shyly.

He sighed and opened the door. He didn’t let you in. “Can I help you?

The professor’s harsh glare almost scared you. Almost. Almost, because even though he seemed mad, the way he had to tilt his head to look down on you did something to you that you couldn’t quite explain.

Was it weird that even though he was obviously not happy with you, he and you were still so close? It was another one of those moments where if he leaned down or if you leaned in close, you’d be touching.

With a deep breath, you managed to say, “You’re tense.”

His eyes narrowed. “Not tense. Why would I be tense?”

You frantically tried to find another tell-tale sign of his stress besides the clenched fists, locked shoulders, and stiff neck. The hologram behind him caught your attention. “You don’t have enough power there.” You nodded at the schematic. “What are they in parallel? Should be in series.”

Suddenly, his glare turned into shock. He looked over his shoulder and did the calculations in his head. “Hm.” He walked over to the hologram and adjusted it. “You’re right.” Silently, Professor Stark corrected his mistake.

With more room to move, you sat in the chair by his desk and watched him work. The silence was tense, and if you had done this days ago, it would’ve stayed silent.

You couldn’t stay quiet, though. You went here to talk to him. You had to talk to him.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He still didn’t look at you. “Being caught playing tonsil tennis with some Chad character?” He shook his head and scoffed. “None of my business.”

A bubbly sort of laughter left your lips. “Are you jealous, Professor?”

“You misheard me.” He finally turned to you, his face pinched and his hands still throwing a hologram part back and forth. “I’m simply worried about my star pupil’s taste in romantic partners.”

You pressed your lips into a firm line. “He actually wasn’t my type.”

The professor caught the hologram part. He blinked once, tilted his head, and tossed the hologram part back to the main schematic. With a click of his tongue, he concluded, “So, my star pupil wanted to get over someone?”

“Maybe,” you said. Words were on your tongue, in your mind, clawing up your throat, but there were so many ways to say it. ‘Getting over you.’ ‘It’s you I’ve been trying to get over.’ ‘Just kiss me already.’ ‘The guy I’m getting over is looking at me right now.’

None of them were how you wanted it to come out. You knew what you had to say, but how? How could you say it? How could you say it so that the words that left your mouth were perfect? Respectful? Dignified?

Then, Stark was on his knees in front of you. The holograms above and behind him lit up his skin in an almost ethereal way. So much so that you rubbed your eyes to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Why was Professor Stark, the man you had a crush on and possibly were hopelessly in love with, kneeling at your feet? And why did he look so… sad? Not sad because he was pitying you. Sad because you were sad.

“You’re too good for him,” He stated as if it were true.

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. “I doubt it.” Because he was too good for you. Professor Stark was a genius, kind, confident. He had so much more experience under his belt than you could ever hope to have, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot about you as soon as you left his sight.

He made a face, disgusted at your own words. “Are you saying I’m wrong?” He glared at you. “You are amazing.”

You shook your head.

Nonetheless, he continued, “You’re smart and capable. More than I was at your age.”

“Please, you graduated MIT early and got three Ph.D.’s.”

“I was also an alcoholic and severely depressed.” He smiled a little. “I dug myself into a deep, dark, shitty hole. You haven’t.” He gently placed his hands on top of yours, and suddenly, you were looking into his eyes as he genuinely stated with an adoration and shine in his eyes, “You deserve everything.”

You don’t know who moved.

But somebody moved.

Because whoever moved, you or the professor, somebody leaned forward just enough.

And when you were kissing him, it felt so much better than anything else. Better than a toast with donuts. Better than catching his wandering gaze. Better than a several-minute tipsy makeout session

The kiss was gentle, and it wasn’t fireworks or butterflies or anything like that. It was light, soft, and you were fucking hooked.

He pulled away first, and there was quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t tense or electric. It was something else. Something like relief or contentment. Comfortable. Like it was meant to be.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he whispered. There was little distance between you, and his words weren’t convincing.

You kept up the act. “You’re my professor.”

“I’m probably twice your age,” he laughed.

“Still look good though.”

“Careful.” His laugh feathered across your lips, and it was teasing you to kiss him again. “My ego’s already big.”

“For good reason.”

“You’re trying to get over someone.”

“I was.” You looked directly at him and smiled. “You.”

Surprised, he leaned backward, but you only followed and kissed him again.

Stark didn’t pull away. In fact, he moaned against your mouth, and his hands finally came to cradle your cheeks. One moved to hold your neck, and you couldn’t help but tug onto his collar and make sure he stayed there.

So excited to finally be kissing your professor and to feel his moan against your mouth, you leaned forward until you were on the edge of your seat. The pressure of his lips against yours forced an arch in your back and there was a delicious press of his chest against yours. Instead of a tightness in your chest, you could only feel heat. A delicious, searing heat.

His beard scratched against cheeks and the slight tickle prompted a laugh from you. You continued to press kisses on his beard, silently thanking him for letting you have the pleasure of making out with him. And as he caught his breath, you began to trail kisses down his neck.

Professor Stark leaned to the other side, exposing more of his neck for you to kiss. He cradled the back of your head and let out some sort of laugh, airy and beautiful. “Moonlight, darling, you’ve gotta stop.”

You paused kissing his neck to look at him and ask, “We talked about this already.” You kissed him again, a light peck.

A low hum vibrated against your lips. “No, no that.” He rested his forehead against yours and fiddled with your necklace. “I’d just, well, I’d rather not have our first fuck be while you’re tipsy.”

It took you a moment to process his words. You could understand all the words individually, and if your professor’s lips weren’t so close by and so red from being kissed, then maybe you’d be able to comprehend him. After you fully understood, your eyes widened, and you smiled. “So you’re saying you wanna fuck me?”

“Maybe.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, and he laughed at your expression. “Cute,” he whispered. He traced your lips with his thumb, his eyes mesmerized, and with the gentle tug at your chin, he kissed you again.

Taking that opportunity, you moaned against his lips, and he responded with a delicious growl. You gladly let the sound of need settle in your gut and ignite something hot inside of you. Because knowing Professor Tony Stark wanted to fuck you, needed to fuck you, and thought your slightly annoyed expression was cute was the biggest turn-on you’d ever get.

He had a point. You were tipsy. But that one shot wasn’t what was clouding your judgment. It was him.

It was all him.

Your hands traveled from his hair to his waist, trying to pull his entire body so it pressed into yours. When you had enough momentum, you grabbed him and flipped the two of you over so he was sitting in the chair. He made a satisfying ‘oof’ sound as his back hit the back of the chair. You only pulled away for a second, so you could readjust your position. You perched yourself on his lap and let yourself take in the view.

Stark was fully relaxed into the chair. His sleeves were already pushed up, exposing the veins in his arms and the surprisingly toned muscles. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, giving you a small peek of his chest. With every breath he took, his chest rose and fell, and it just made it more tempting.

His lips, too, were tempting. Pink, freshly kissed, and soon to be kissed again.

Just as you were about to lean forward, you felt something nudging the inside of your thigh. You tried not to let it get to your head. Tried. You failed.

With a smug grin that Tony appreciated more than he’d like to admit, you asked, “Still wanna wait, Professor?”

He opened his mouth to say something, and since you were watching him as closely as you could, you could see the awe-inspired look in his eyes turn into amusement. But, you put a stop to that immediately. Because right after the last word rolled off your tongue, you got out of his lap, knelt on the floor before him, and spread his legs.

Yes, Professor Stark was above you, literally and figuratively. But the way his eyes were wide, trained on you. Well, it seemed like you gained control of the situation, and fuck, did that do something to you.

There was a prominent bulge in his slacks, so obvious and tempting. You couldn’t wait. You had waited over a semester. Quicker than you thought possible, you undid the zipper, pulled on his boxers, and let his cock out.

Many people bragged about how big their boyfriend’s were, but god, they were nothing compared to him. You gazed up at him. “Are we waiting?” you asked, somehow already out of breath.

“Fuck.” Professor Stark gulped and shook his head. “No.” The soft, innocent look sharpened, and you could feel your heart drop to your stomach.

He nodded at you to continue. “Go on, babygirl.” His voice was deep, and his gaze was intense. Those three words demanded action.

And you, yeah, you were never in control.

Your hand went to hold the base of his cock. Your hand was so small in comparison. You didn’t realize how small they would be. Trying to gauge his reaction, you lapped at the tip of it.

Stark’s fingers twitched just like his dick, but his face showed no emotional change. Determined to get some sort of reaction, you took your time giving his entire length kitten licks, wetting every inch with your tongue.

Fingers waved through your hair and yanked you off. “I said no waiting.”

You nodded, and when his hand released you, you fell down onto him, immediately took the tip of his cock into his mouth, and slowly sucked.

“That’s it,” he said. “Take more of it.”

You sunk your mouth lower onto his length. Another inch. Another. His hand came to caress your cheek, and when you looked back up at him, he groaned. That sound alone made you moan, and Stark’s face scrunched up. His hand gripped your hair. “Fuck.” Out of breath, he smiled at you. “Doing so well for your professor, huh, sweetheart?”

You whined and bobbed your head up and down, sucking and moaning and giving everything you could. Every single sound that escaped his lips was feeding into the heat, and as much as you wanted to touch yourself and relieve some of the pain, you didn’t. Not when you could concentrate on how Professor Stark’s face morphed into several expressions of pleasure and satisfaction.

“Fuck!” He thrust his hips into you and with his hand on your head, he told you, “Wanna be a good girl for me?”

His cock was throbbing against your tongue. He was close. You made some sort of sound of assurance, desperately wanting to taste him.

“That’s my girl.” his grip on your hair tightened. Suddenly, your mouth was full of his cock, then empty. Full, empty. Full, then so fucking empty. You sucked when you could, and you finally got used to being used, you looked up at him.

And it set him off.

Warmth spread inside your mouth. There was so much, and he held you there to take all of it. You gladly did, swallowing every single bit you could and sucking more from him. And he looked absolutely beautiful from that angle. Hair messed up. Muscles tensed, pupils blown and trained on how your lips stretched around his cock. Stark’s skin glowed under the blue holographic light, and the way his chest moved up and down as he tried to catch his breath?

His thumb came to rub your cheek so gently. “Good girl.” He pulled you off of his cock and gazed down at you as he pushed your hair out of your face. “I think you deserve a reward.”

Professor Stark pulled you up and into his arms. Giggling, you kissed him again, swallowing his moan down your throat and searing it into your memory. He lifted you then dropped you on the desk and, without pulling away from you, he pulled at your excuse for a shirt off. With no bra underneath, Stark had the time to finally see your bare chest. His calloused, rough fingers gently pressed your necklace into your skin, making you feel the coldness of your jewelry and the warmth of his touch, before brushing over your sensitive nipples.

Needing to breathe, you gasped, “Professor?” but it didn’t stop him. His lips may not be able to press against yours as you said it, but he could kiss your neck and force sounds you didn’t know you could make from just making out on a desk. As his hands wrapped around your thigh and pulled you closer, you began to unbutton his shirt. You didn’t know you could undo a button-up so fast.

He pulled away from you just to shrug off his shirt, and the words, “My god,” tumbled out of your mouth faster than you could stop it. How? How was Professor Stark, already a genius, already a passionate and caring man, already the embodiment of confidence himself, look that good? While he didn’t have the classic, and honestly overrated, six-pack, his stomach had a bit of chub and that happy trail that led all the way back to his cock.

That smug smile made an appearance again. He stepped out of his pants and boxers, and with one hand wrapped around your upper thigh, he pulled himself closer to you, slotting himself perfectly between your open legs. He leaned down as if to kiss you, but he only took your bottom lip between his teeth, teasing the fuck out of you, and when he let go, he said, “You could just call me, ‘Sir,’ sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” you gasped.

“Not yet.”

“Sir-”

“Not yet, baby.” He kissed you once, somehow unbuttoning and unzipping your shorts in the process. Then, as your professor knelt down to the floor for you, he pulled your shorts down. Damn it, that smile. Those eyes. The fact that your professor, who spoke in front of hundreds of students almost every day and commanded meetings, was shirtless and between your thighs on the verge of fucking you, it dumbed down your own vocabulary. “Fuck.”

“Hey,” he laughed a little, “what did I say?”

You sighed. “Not yet.”

“Exactly. Not” -he kissed your cloth-covered clit, short and light- “ yet.” He wrapped his lips around it again and sucked.

“Oh, god!” You gasped, and all your muscles contracted with the pleasure Stark was giving you. Your hands went to his hair and pushed him even further into you. His tongue lapped at your clit, and the weird feeling of having wet cloth rub against it over and over again sent shocks throughout your body.

“Sir!” you whined. “Please. Please, sir.”

He looked up at you. “Please what?”

“I want-” You had to catch your breath. “I want touch.” You gulped. “Please, can you remove them?”

He smiled. ‘Since you said please.” Nimble fingers hooked onto the crotch of your underwear and pulled it to the side. The professor licked his lips and, with the tip of his tongue, drew a line from the bottom of your slit all the way to your clit. Then, he looked up at you before latching his mouth onto your clit and plunging one finger into you. And he fucking had the nerve to moan and look up at you with those hooded eyes throughout the entire thing.

Some sort of yelp escaped you, high-pitched and obviously desperate for more. Embarrassed, you covered your mouth and moaned against it.

Then, it stopped.

You uncovered your mouth and found Stark glaring at you. When you only looked at him confused, he raised his eyebrow and glanced at your hand. No covering your mouth.

You gulped and nodded.

“Good girl.” He dove right back to lapping up your juices and thrusting his fingers in and out of you. Instead of trying to hide it, you were vocal. You moaned, you sighed, you pulled at his hair.

It didn’t take long for your stomach to clench, your toes to curl, and your mind to go blank. With a scream of “Professor!” you feel right off the edge. It didn’t matter to him, though. He was still gently sucking on your clit, still massaging your walls with two of his fingers, still moaning at the sight of you with your head thrown back and mouth open.

When you came back, you weren’t sure what was going on, too fucked out from Stark’s ministrations. Your entire body was twitching from the overstimulation.

Then, his lips were on yours, and on instinct, you kissed him back and held him close. You could taste yourself on him, and even with your strained voice, you moaned in appreciation.

“My good girl.”

You nodded. “Can we now?”

“I don’t have-”

“I’m on the pill. Please, sir?”

He nuzzled his forehead against yours. “Still have the energy?”

“‘M not tired.”

He laughed. “Mhm.”

“Old man.”

“Mm.” he rutted his cock against your slit, pulling a moan from you. “Wanna rethink that statement?”

You smiled. “If I just said, ‘Please,’ you’d do it anyway.”

“Not wrong. Still.”

You hummed. “You’re not old.” You kissed him. “Now, please, fuck me, sir?”

He smiled brilliantly and kissed you lightly. “With pleasure.”

With one hand on your waist and the other guiding his cock, Stark slid his cock right into you. You gasped, your walls having to stretch more than they ever had to before. Even though there was a bit of pain, the way your professor was rubbing circles into your thigh and how his lips kept kissing the side of your neck - it gave you more pleasure than the pain of being split open.

“All good?”

“Almost,” you said.

He kissed you and caressed your cheeks. When he pulled away, he warned, “I’m gonna rock back and forth a bit, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Still pressed up against you, he rocked his hips into you, rubbing against your clit. The ridges of his cock massaged your walls.

“Ah, fuck!”

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Yeah, better than ok.” You kissed him deeply and whispered, “Move.” You gulped and whispered against his lips, “Please, Professor?”

You felt his cock twitch inside of you. Stark groaned, and he began to thrust in and out of you at a slow and steady pace. His eyes were trained on yours, trying to find any sign of discomfort or regret.

There was none.

“I’ve thought about this- Ah, more than, than I’d like to admit,” you confessed. “Oh, god, Sir.”

“Aw, babygirl.” He thrust into you again and held your face by the chin. “So have I. Thought about how your mouth would fall open. Thought about those lips, so fucking pink and swollen cause of me. Thought of these” -he squeezed your tits and watched as they and necklace bounced with each thrust- “how fucking beautiful they’d look while I fuck you.” Your professor looked at where his cock disappeared into your cunt. “Fuck, thought about that. You’re so tight, you know? Fucking perfect for my cock.”

“All for you,” You said. “All of me, just for you.”

He growled, his chest vibrating under your palms. “Don’t, don’t say things you don’t mean, sweetheart.”

“I’m not.” You kissed his neck, not caring if your moans from his thrusts interrupted them once in a while. You made your way up to his cheek and then to his lips. You kissed him deeply and guided him closer to you so your chest was flush against his. “Let me be yours?”

“Fuck,” he whispered. His thrusts came faster, harder. “Only mine?”

“Only- ah! Only yours. Your good girl, Professor.”

“Fuck me.” He kissed you again, and with your eyes closed and your lips occupied, you could hear the screeches of wood against tile, his desk against the floor, the squelches and dull thuds of his hips meeting yours and of his cock going in and out.

“You’re so good for me,” Stark muttered.

Already dizzy from all the sensations and sinful pleasure, when his hand went down to rub your clit, you nearly shrieked. “Professor! Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed you again. “Now, be a good girl, cum for me.” Your professor pressed his lips against yours. His fingers rubbed your clit even harder, and he didn’t stop thrusting in and out of you.

You fell apart for him, your cunt tightening around him and twitching at the ongoing assault of his cock on your walls. The deep groans and mutterings of “Good girl” and other sweet or dirty phrases only drew out your pleasure until finally, you were leaning against him, out of breath and utterly dazed.

He was still driving his cock in and out of you, and there was something so sexy about your professor using you to get himself off. After taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself closer to him and let your chin rest on his shoulder. Your lips brush against his ear. “Please, Professor, I need you to cum in me. Please, sir?”

“Fuck!” Ropes of cum painted your walls, filling you up from deep inside of you, and it was satisfaction itself.

You had enough energy to pull away and properly look at your professor dazed and awestruck for a few seconds. So happy to have been the cause of it, you leaned forward to gently kiss every part of him you could reach. His shoulder, his cheeks, his lips.

As he did for you, you whispered sweet and naughty nothings alike. “You look so good for me, sir.” “Made me feel so good.” “Only yours, Professor.”

You knew he was back with you when he kissed you again, his hands cupping your face so gently and kindly. “That was good, right?”

You laughed. “The best.”

“My ego, sweetheart.”

“You deserve it.”

Stark took a deep breath and pulled out, both of you groaning at the separation. Afterward, he still held you close, occasionally kissing you, as both of you tried to muddle through the fogginess of the overwhelming pleasure you’d experienced.

He broke the silence first. “I’m still your professor.”

Quickly, you said, “Not in a few weeks.”

“If you come into my classroom again, I don’t know about you, but I won’t be able to control myself.”

“I won’t wear those skirts or tank tops again?”

“Not enough.” He smiled. “You were always sexy.”

You smiled. “You know, you are right. The suits you wear. Mm.” You shook your head. “The lectures are recorded,” you offered. “Maybe some private office hours?” You smirked. “Your place?”

He hummed. “You’d need to pay me.” He slid his arm around your waist and pulled you close. “Private tutoring, it’s expensive, you know?”

“I think I know how to pay your back.” You brushed your nose against his.

“Do you now?”

“Mhm.” You kissed him. “Sound good, Professor?”

“Tony,” he corrected you.

You smiled. “Tony.” You cradle his cheek in your hand. “My Tony.”

“I like that.” He hummed happily and kissed you. “Although, while I’m tutoring you, Professor and sir only.” He kissed you. “But yeah, sounds good to me, Claire de lune.”

It took you a while to realize how late it was, how you should go home. For a long while, Tony and you just stayed there in each other’s arms. There were a few kisses, a few wandering touches.

Soon, the two of you were dressing up again, sharing a few kisses when you could. You walked out of his office, his number in your phone and his cum locked in your cunt.

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