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starkerisendgame · 4 years

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A State of Undress

Loosely inspired by this post by @starkerobsession. The basic premise being that Peter wears Iron Man panties under his Spidersuit. This takes place during and following the iconic rooftop scene during Homecoming. I decided to post it to this account because I’ve been sorely neglecting it since making my other main. I also said on Discord this was gonna be short. As always; that idea got fucked pretty quickly. Big love to everyone on Discord who hyped this up.

TW: Slight angst | Undernegotiated sex/kink | Power imbalance | Referenced D/s | Underage

Humiliated doesn’t even come close to covering how Peter feels. Thoroughly checked and put in place, there’s nothing for him to do but retreat to the edge of the rooftop, sitting on the ledge and curling over himself to watch the people milling about in the streets.

Would they care? He wondered miserably. Would they wonder where Spiderman went? Will they miss him? Will they be okay without me?

Stupid. That last one is stupid; of course they’ll be okay without him. They have people like The Avengers. People like Tony. They have the police and the general good people amongst them willing to help.

They don’t need Spiderman. The only person who needs Spiderman is...Peter.

He looked down, trailing his fingertips over the ornate pattern that curved and stretched from his fingertips to his shoulder. It was the last time he was going to touch it. The last time he was going to wear it. He risked a glance back at where Tony stood near the hovering suit, on a connected call to Happy.

It was undoubtedly going to be the last time he saw Tony, too.

Like he could sense he was being watched, Tony turned smoothly on his heel, dark gaze finding where Peter had cowered in the corner like a scolded dog. His expression was both impassive and telling, teeth pressed firmly together and brows level as he motioned for Peter to come closer.

He didn’t dare speak as he pulled himself to his feet, arms and thighs still aching, stomach still taut and rolling where it had felt like his arms were going to be ripped off like in the movies. He didn’t dare to lift his gaze when he got closer, staring at the polished black oxfords that Tony wore.

“Happy has clothes for you. You’re gonna change in the car, and then because I’m nice and an adult, he is going to take you home”. The unspoken for good lingered between them, terse and volatile, and Peter closed his teeth down over his tongue as his eyes burned with tears, reaching up to tug the mask over his face so Tony wouldn’t see them.

Tony took a step away, the suit lowering to mold to his form like water flowing through the curves of a landscape, and then they were both masked, Peter finally lifting his gaze to those glowing, cerulean slits. He’d always thought the suit looked kind of adorably grumpy, but now it just seemed cold and impassive, scowling at him from an arm’s length away, as out of reach now as it had ever been.

Tony’s head tilted, like he was about to say something, before he seemingly changed his mind and made a finger-crooked ‘follow me’ motion, striding to the edge of the root not far from where Peter had been and stepping off it with simple, dramatic elegance. Peter, needing momentum to swing, jogged after him and jumped, arching like a diver before he twisted, letting a web snake out and propel him onwards.

He relished in the feel. It would be more or less the last time he ever did this.

He followed Tony, but took an extra building or two’s liberty along the way, just to draw out the feeling of sailing through the air, of the comfort of the suit fitting against every curve, every line of his body. The joy was over in seconds though, as he landed on the asphalt next to the SUV, where Happy stood waiting and where Tony had only just landed.

Peter tugged the mask off, eyes wet and cheeks ruddy with tear-tracks. Happy’s mouth opened, then closed, and he looked away, brows pinched and mouth downturned. It made Peter breathe out a sigh of relief, though he knew the additional scolding and rant would come when he was trapped in the car with no escape.

“Clothes are in the back. Dress quickly” Tony instructed him, tugging open the back door of the SUV. “Knock on the window when you’re decent”. And Peter was vaguely surprised, because he’d expected Tony to just...Leave. But then, maybe Tony was sticking around to make sure that Peter didn’t try to take anything from the suit.

Sniffling, he wiped his eyes and ducked into the car, pulling the door shut behind him. Whilst it was a spacious vehicle, it was no Limousine, and he had to remain ducked over and folded up as he reached to press the pressure sensor that would disengage the form-fitting suit. It fell away from his shoulders with a soft sound, and he instantly felt cold and exposed, instantly missed its reassuring texture.

He was tugging the suit down around his hips, trying to keep his balance, when the cool air blew on the topmost slope of his ass, and he cursed.

Fuck.

How could he have forgotten? The moment Tony said he wanted the suit back, it should have clicked in his mind. It had, in some way. He knew he was only wearing underwear beneath the suit, but he’d forgotten which underwear. The sleek fabric was a cross between a thing and panties, the front enough to cover his slender cock but the fabric diminishing as it hugged his hips and sank into the groove of his ass. What covered his tight little hole was barely more than a string.

Red was outlined with rich gold, and a detailed arc reactor nestled just at the top of his assline, where the small of his back sloped into the parted curve of his cheeks and where the last of the fabric dwindled. On the front, just under the jut of his hips, two blue strips to resemble the mask’s eyes stood out against the burnished red.

Peter let out a soft whine and shifted back onto his haunches, trying to squirm out of the suit in the limited space. He was thankful that the clothes Happy had picked out were far too big - The shirt looked like it would come down to his thighs, and the garish pink sweatpants were thick enough that they would obscure Peter’s shameful secret from view.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he chanted, risking a glance over his shoulder. The windows had been tinted, and Tony had his back to the car, but Peter still tried to hurry, leaning backwards and kicking his legs as he fought the fabric down his thighs. He was leaning fully backwards now, one hand braced on the arm-rest of the door as he scrabbled to undress. He was just kicking the suit away from his ankles when his weight shifted, shunting as his hand slipped and his head whacked off the lower portion of the window with a dull thunk.

He groaned in pain and shuffled, trying to regain his balance when there was the soft click of the door lock, and his heart raged against his ribs as the door bracing his weight suddenly disappeared and he fell backwards, head lolling out of the vehicle and nearly between Tony’s thighs, giving him a perfect, upside view of his clothed cock as his own thighs and arms splayed for grip.

“You shoulder consider a career in quick cha- Jesus Christ”. Tony’s voice was sharp, stunned, and Peter cringed, a ragged whimper of defeated humiliation hitching in his throat as he forced himself to tip his head forwards a little, look past the rise of Tony’s groin and up his shirt, to where the older man was staring unabashedly at his own cock, at the red and gold and blue that stretched over it.

And then he was looking down, meeting Peter’s gaze with dark yet electric eyes, and Peter flushed, letting his head ball back and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Happy” Tony barked tersely. “Take a walk. I’ll text you”.

“What? Boss, I can’t just-”

“Take. A. Walk”.

Footsteps, fading.

Peter daren’t open his eyes, trembling where he lay as the silence seemed to stretch between them like a piece of elastic at the point of breaking. He’d seen the panties in the window of a women’s lingerie store, limited edition and the last pair. It had been sheer chane that they’d fit him, and sheer luck that the girl behind the counter hadn’t even bothered to ask him his age or who he was buying them for.

“That’s all you were wearing under the suit?” Tony asked after a moment, voice strained and low, and Peter risked a short, curt nod, not wanting the make the scenario any worse by accidentally headbutting his ex-boss(?) in the cock. The silence continued for a beat. “And you bought those. Personally. You chose them, and you chose to wear them”.

He nodded again. No sense in lying. What could he say otherwise? His Aunt had bought them for him? May hadn’t bought him underwear since he’d turned ten. And she certainly wouldn’t buy him a set that verged on a thong.

Silence. Peter risked opening his eyes, gaze finding and fixing on the brief peek on Tony’s zipper for lack of anywhere else. He didn’t want to disturb this by moving, didn’t want to shake Tony out of his distracted or rage-induced silence and unleash whatever verbal lashing Tony was going to unleash. He did shuffle a little though, bringing his thighs closer together, trying to tuck his legs up a little to cover his indignity.

“I didn’t know you’d see it” he mumbled after a moment, cheeks flared red and voice weak, breathy. The overwhelming sense of you fucked up threatened to overlap him, envelop him. It had never actually occurred to Peter that Mr. Stark might actually ever see it. Since that day before the whole ‘Civil War’ shebang, Tony hadn’t set foot in the apartment, much less his room.

And Tony had never seen Peter in anything less than the suit. He’d even built an undersuit for it, a thin sort of spandex-like wearable for under the suit so he’d be less exposed when getting in and out of it, though Peter rarely wore it for the sake of quick changes. He was deeply lamenting that decision now, though, when Tony’s gaze still hadn’t moved from his barely covered cock, his fingers flexing then fisting at his sides.

“You’re wearing my face on your crotch” Tony announced again, and Peter cringed. He probably shouldn’t mention the arc reactor on his ass, then. When he dared to look back up, he noted with surprise that some of the view from before was now obscured by the black fabric of Tony’s pants. And the man hadn’t stepped closer. Which meant that...

Tony Stark was hard. Or...Hardening. To the thought of Peter wearing Iron Man underwear. He blew out a harsh breath and squirmed a little where he lay, jolting heat coursing through his body at the notion. “You...You know you’ve always been my hero” he weakly defended. As if that made this whole scenario any better.

“Martin Luther King is also a hero figure, but I’ve never seen anyone wearing a thong in his likeness” Tony pointed out, and Peter’s cheeks erupted like a volcano, flaring hot and red. He gave a mumble in response, fingers flexing against the frame of the car where he’d gripped as he fell. “Is that why you agreed, when I asked for your help? You wanted to fuck me?”

Peter scowled, head tipping forwards to furrow his brows at Tony past the rise of his cock. “I agreed because you’re Tony Stark. Nobody says no to you; least of all someone that idolises you. I was excited. I was flattered. You wanted my help and you were offering to help me be Spiderman. What was I gonna say, ‘no’?”

Although, he’d tried to. He’d had homework, after-all.

“Did you own these, back then?” Tony asked, one hand lifting to rest of the open door, fingers flexing around the metal. Peter huffed, but shook his head.

“No”. No, these he’d bought only a few months ago. An impulse buy. He drew a breath and tried to push himself up, but as he began to a hand fell to his shoulder and pushed him back down. Something thrilling shot down his spine, lips parting as he relaxed back under the touch, looking at where Tony fixed him with a dark, almost unreadable gaze, except for how his pupils were blown and his breathing had deepened.

“Mr. Stark. I’m- I think I’m humiliated enough. Right now” he gathered the courage to say after a moment where nothing else happened, and Tony’s fingers flexed against his shoulder, teeth audibly grinding together. Beneath the silk blend of his slacks, his cock twitched. It stole the breath from Peter’s lungs and he didn’t dare lift his gaze for fear of shattering the moment.

“You always make things so difficult, kid” Tony breathed out, almost like he didn’t mean for Peter to hear it. And then louder; “I’m trying to do the right thing here. I’m trying not to be like- I’m trying to be better than Howard. I’m trying to be responsible and you’re there between my legs wearing Iron Man panties”. Peter was so stunned he couldn’t think of anything to say in reply, brain grinding to a halt.

“Mr. Stark?” Was all he could manage in a bare whisper, and Tony’s fingers dug gently into his shoulder before releasing, sliding up and over the extended column of his throat, touch featherlight. For all that it was gentle, it scorched a path of heat along the skin, forcing Peter to swallow heavily. He felt like he was frozen glass, fragile and liable to shatter at the slightest pressure. He was confused, slightly turned on, and a little afraid.

“You’re too pretty. I should have taken one look at you out of the suit and found someone else. Not least because you’re a kid. Look at me, I’ve just destroyed your life, broken your heart, and I’m thinking about...” He trailed off, nothing but a ghost of a whisper, and Peter swallowed.

“Thinking about what?”

“You” Tony answered simply, but the meaning behind the word was anything but simple, and it sent a thrill down his spine, gaze once again falling to find where Tony’s cock pressed against the zipper of his slacks, not fully hard but invested in the situation none the less. He thought about it carefully. He wasn’t an ignorant child - He knew the power imbalance between them. Knew that the age difference was deplorable. Knew that Tony would be taking extreme advantage of him, especially after this.

And yet.

“I would” he whispered after a moment, soft and hesitant. “Even...I still would. I’ve always wanted to. I know it wouldn’t get me the suit back. But I’d do it anyway”. And above him Tony’s teeth ground and he swallowed, gripping the door tighter, gaze darker than obsidian.

“This is why you shouldn’t be around me, kid. I’d let you” Tony managed roughly, voice no more than a strained rasp. It made Peter’s head spin, rapidly re-thinking, re-evaluating any and every interaction they’d had post this. Had Tony thought this when they met? Was he thinking about it when they were shut safely away in his bedroom? Would he have done something then, if it had come to light?

“Then let me” he rushed out before he could second-guess it, drawing his hands away from the edge of the door to reach slowly and shakily for Tony, who hissed a breath and reached for him, then stopped, fingers clenching around air as Peter lay his palms on his thighs. The muscles were thick and taut beneath his palm, near trembling like a startled horse as he slowly slid them up. He’d never done anything like this before, not with anyone, but he kind of knew what felt good on himself.

And porn made it look easy enough, even though he was old enough to know not everything in porn was real. Still, he knew enough to close his grip around Tony’s zipper, dragging it down awkwardly until a large hand wrapped around his wrist, stilling the motion. He couldn’t really see Tony with his head lolled back like this, but his sinking heart when Tony pulled his hand away lasted only a moment, before Tony dragged the zipper down for him.

Peter breathed in, out, let his head fall to the side. They were so openly exposed here. Anyone could walk past at any moment, or a street camera could turn there way, or-

“JARVIS. Smoke and Mirrors, please” Tony rasped above him. Peter watched the still deployed suit turn, the hologram activate, and the air around the entrance to the alley shimmer. He didn’t have to question it, he knew that meant a real-time projection of the ‘empty’ alley was now being deployed. Anyone walking past would just see an unwelcoming, empty space full of garbage bins and litter.

“If you’re doing this because-”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter interrupted, fingers flexing against his thighs. “I know this is conceptually wrong. I know this won’t get me the suit back. I know this doesn’t mean anything. But just...Let me”. It came out more as a plea towards the end, high and breathy as he fought the urge to cry again, and Tony fell silent above him, grip and stance relaxing.

He reached for Tony again, fumbling with how to approach it, when Tony’s hands moved as a buffer and took over, reaching down into the dip of his slacks. Peter’s throat went dry and his heart hammered as he watched the fabric move, watched as Tony drew out a sizeable, mostly-hard, flushed cock. It made his entire body ignite, tongue peeking out to slide along his lower lip.

Tony Stark’s cock. In his face, about to go down his throat.

He made a soft sound, low in his throat, and reached for it as Tony stroked himself slowly, pushing into the curl of his fingers. His cock was on the thicker side, curved and cut and sticky at the tip when Tony made his own guttural sound in response and angled his cock downwards. Peter shuffled, got comfier and without a better range, and tipped his head up, breathing out before he closed his fingers over Tony’s.

He damn near cried at the fact of what he was doing as he shifted, nuzzling up against the underside of his cock and the thick swell of his balls, still confined in his slacks. Tony breathed out heavily above him, cock twitching beneath their grip, and Peter did it again before shuffling backwards further, pulling down until the sticky-wet tip brushed over his parted lips. It was kind of like a gloss, smooth on his lips and mostly tasteless when he licked them, and above him Tony grunted, pulling his lower lip between his teeth.

“Kid, we-”

Peter pushed his head forwards and up, sucking the tip into his mouth like a popsicle and hollowing his cheeks. It worked, anything Tony had been intending to say cut off with a hiss and one of his hands pulling away, down to cup Peter’s cheek while his other squeezed his cock. Peter kept suckling, pressing his tongue flat over the rounded tip for lack of any better ideas. It was big and warm and soft in his mouth, and he briefly imagined in sliding down his throat, filling his mouth.

Several moments of soft sucking passed, and he pulled his head back a little before pushing it back up, copying what he’d seen in porn by sliding the spongy tip in and out of his mouth, licking at it whenever it pushed back between his lips. Tony’s hand stayed on his jaw, gentle and without pressure, but his other hand moved in short, alternating little pumps, stoking the pleasure that Peter offered.

“Is this your first?” Tony whispered above him, and Peter pulled slowly off Tony’s cock, mindful of his teeth as he licked his wet lips and nodded. He didn’t get any response after a brief pause, so he sucked Tony’s tip back into his mouth slowly, flattening his tongue to the bottom of his mouth as he let his lips pop over the flare of the tip, until he began to work at the length. He kept pushing until his neck ached from the angle and it felt like his mouth was too small to take anymore, eyes closed and focused on the feel of it.

Tony’s hand wriggled free from beneath his own, cupping Peter’s jaw gently, thumbs rubbing a circle, before they slid down and back, cupping his head and taking its weight so his neck was no longer straining to hold it up. Peter moved both of his hands up to wrap around what his mouth couldn’t take, not wanting the experience to falter into sub-par. He knew he was nothing compared to the rest of Tony’s long list of lovers, knew it couldn’t be all that great compared to the other countless blowjobs Tony had ever received, but Tony hadn’t stopped him yet, and it spurred him on.

His own cock was achingly neglected as he licked and sucked and nodded his head, doing his best to form a tight, wet, warm sleeve for Tony’s cock, but he squeezed his thighs together and ignored it, focusing on referencing every piece of porn he’d ever seen or read and all of his own jerk-off sessions as he worked Tony’s cock. His mouth and the top of his throat already ached a little, but it was easy to ignore. His arms had burned since the ferry, anyway.

“Fuck, kid” Tony uttered above him softly, stroking through his hair, and Peter gave a muffled sound around his cock in response, high and keening. Tony’s hips jerked forwards and Peter half-gagged in surprise, even though Tony hadn’t moved more than a half-in forwards. It made Tony groan above him, fingers tightening in his hair, and Peter had to squeeze his thighs until they trembled not to reach down and take care of his own drooling length.

He tried to take Tony’s length deeper, pressing his tongue down and pushing his head forwards, but it only went a few more inches in before he was gagging, his throat feeling like it was completely closed off. Tony’s hands were gentle as they pulled him away. “Easy, kid” he soothed above him, tugging a thick handful of curls before Peter sucked in a breath, swallowing around what he could take. He began to move his hands in earnest, mindful of the lack of lube as he applied a little pressure and pumped each time he sucked down.

For all he could swing around all day, he was losing breath quickly at this, though he supposed it was more down to the sheer emotional wring of the situation and the fact that it was his first time. Tony didn’t seem to care either way, grunting above him, fingers tight as he fought the urge not to fuck forwards. It was sloppy, over-careful and inexperienced, but Peter could taste the salt on his tongue, could feel the gooey-thickness of tell-tale precum.

He’d lost count long ago of how long they’d been there, the sounds of the city faded well into the background as Tony twisted his curls around his fingers, as Peter felt the heavy slide of skin over his tongue. He had no idea of how many minutes had passed since they’d started, only focused now on how his panties stuck uncomfortably to the wetness that leaked onto his own hip, on how Tony’s cock seemed to twitch and pulse on his tongue here and there, a sign Peter knew meant Tony was close to orgasm.

He sucked harder, closing his lips over the soft skin, pushing himself until each thrust was uncomfortable and threatened to make him gag again, but Tony was cursing above him, hips stuttering now, single-focused on the wet, warm channel around him. Peter mewled as Tony’s thrusts became sharper, a little less careful of his abilities, and the signs began to culminate. Tony’s heartbeat spiking, his cock suddenly stiffening and seeming to swell over his tongue, a sharp rasp of his name and then a flood of salty, thick cum to the back of his mouth, sliding down his throat so his breath hitched and he spluttered, convulsing around Tony’s cock, Tony, who groaned as fucked forwards, chasing the flex of his throat.

Tony rode his orgasm hard, milking his cock with Peter’s throat until it seemed to relax on his tongue again, hard but not as raging as it had been before, and he slowly began to pull out as Peter snuffled and jolted and swallowed on sore muscles, lips dark and wet and swollen when he finally sucked in a gasp of air, letting Tony’s hands carefully tip his head forwards. He spluttered as he heaved for breath, the taste still rich on his tongue as Tony stooped a little and coaxed him into sitting up, into leaning back against a strong thigh.

“Easy. You did good. You’re...Okay”. It was an awkward but soft attempt, and Peter let his head fall back into Tony’s hip, looking up at him through wet lashes, suddenly hyper-aware of his own undress and his own arousal as Tony’s cock began to slowly soften in his peripheral. Tony looked suddenly stilted and tired, and Peter ducked his head again, bracing himself for the second lecture of the day.

Instead, Tony’s hand slid up into his hair, gentle as he stroked through the messed up curls, tender it slid down his jaw to wipe away a glob of drool from the corner of his mouth.

“I should...Get dressed. Happy won’t be...Happy. With waiting so long. And you’ve probably got stuff to do” Peter whispered after a moment, surprised by how rough and scratchy his voice had become. It almost hurt to talk.

“...No” Tony murmured after a moment, and Peter frowned, head tipping back again. Tony’s gaze, when he met it, looked torn and heartbroken, but determined. Steeled against his own internal rage of emotions.

“No?” He echoed fearfully, dread rising in his gut.

“No” Tony repeated, then looked up and away. “We’re going to get in the car. Fully. And I’m going to show you what a blowjob is meant to be like, while you wear those fucking panties. And then...You’re going to get dressed, and we’re going to go to the Tower. We’ll...Figure this out. Like adults. Reasonable adults. Well. As...Best as an old pervert and a fourteen year old can” Tony breathed, frowning at the end, though Peter’s lips were already curving upwards.

Hope.

“Fifteen” he corrected, like he had on the rooftop, except now he was smiling.

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reddiamondca-blog · 5 years

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BODY SPIDERMAN #ironman #ironspider #ironspiderman #spiderman #spidermanfarfromhome #spidermanps4 #body #girls #comic #avengersendgame #marvel #marvelcomics @marvel @spidermanmovie (en CCS) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz9SFp3hfGi/?igshid=1xn9uakzgcjiz

#ironman #ironspider #ironspiderman #spiderman #spidermanfarfromhome #spidermanps4 #body #girls #comic #avengersendgame #marvel #marvelcomics

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petenicholls · 6 years

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Tonight’s entertainment: What do you think?!? #AvengersInfinityWar, baby!! #Avengers #InfinityWar #Avengers3 #Spidey #IronSpider #Nerdgeek #AMCTheatres cc: @AMCTheatres https://www.instagram.com/p/BiDrHUZjZ3S/ (from my Instagram)

#IFTTT #Instagram

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starkeristheendgame · 4 years

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Welcome back! I wanna share my personal head canon also a prompt for you: it took Peter a while to figure out his Peter tingle can sense when somebody wants to fuck him. Even if he sensed that around the most unexpected people all the time, like Flash, his PE teacher, or some villains he's fighting, he didn't think he would ever have the 'sexy' tingle when Tony Stark was in the same room.

I chuckled probably a little too hard at ‘sexy tingle’ but it is absolutely what Peter would call it! This isn’t smut based, I’m so sorry, but I felt like this prompt had major fluff/feels/crack vibes. I really hope this is okay and that you enjoy it! Major props for such a creative and possibility-filled idea!

Getting bitten by a genetically altered, radioactive spider just kept getting weirder. And each time Peter thought that he was getting used to it, or each time he felt like maybe, finally, he’d discovered all of his abilities, something else sprang up and slapped him in the face.

And to say nothing of actually learning how to use and balance the abilities he knew he had. His ‘danger tingle’ apparently took frequent pee breaks, because he could sense a bad guy lurking in an alley, but couldn’t send the very resilient apple that Aunt May lobbed at his head.

And then came The Other Thing.

It wasn’t really a tingle. It was more like a thrum. Bone-deep and reaching every nerve, almost like anticipation or excitement. It seemed to be completely and utterly random, and it infuriated Peter to no end.

The sorta cute girl that stacked the shelves at his local small grocer set it off. The hot substitute tutor they had for PE when Coach Wilson sprained his ankle. Here and there on the streets in brief flashes. Peter tried his best to scope the scene each time, to see if he could spot danger, or if they were mutants or someone with powers, but...

Nothing.

Worst of all, though, was Mr. Stark.

It was constant, around him. Each time he was in the vicinity, that warming sensation flooded him, and it only made it that much more frustrating, because Tony being Tony meant it was next to impossible to try and find a connecting factor between them all.

Anything that Mr. Stark was, the others weren’t. Except for the other Avengers. The thrum was less with them, but still existent. It made correlating the various people almost impossible.

Until they started to correlate themselves.

Peter was trying to figure out the difference between ‘ethnic taco seasoning’ and ‘blended taco seasoning’ when his senses gave a brief ping and a thrum, and someone tapped him on the shoulder. Peter turned to see the girl who stacked the shelves, and she thrust a piece of paper at him before running off.

It was her number.

And a week later, when Flash tried to start an actual fight with him on the grass; they were rolling around as Peter tried desperately to keep his powers to heel, and the thrum was almost a vibration when they came to a halt, Peter nearly punching himself in the face when he realised that Flash was hard against his thigh.

Catching Mr. Barton’s gaze on the flex of his thighs, half-lidded and dangerous.

Peter is in the lab when he makes the connection, head lifting with abject horror, holo-pen and thus the rest of his design clattering to the worktop with such sudden disturbance that two benches over, Mr. Stark jolted with a yell, jerk-reaction throwing his solder iron across the room.

“The Hell, kid?” the older man grumbled, pushing off his stool to retrieve it before it burned another mark on the floor. Peter moved before he could even really permit his legs to do anything, and when Mr. Stark turned to find him mere inches away he jerked with another curse, solder iron brandished like a weapon.

“Jesus Christ, kid!” the older man huffed, lowering the solder iron with an exasperated expression. Peter paid it no heed, eyes narrowed in concentration as he tried to focus on comparing how Mr. Stark acted to the idle thrum deep under his skin.

A thrum. A tingle.

A sexy tingle.

Mr. Stark was eyeing him suspiciously now, one brow lifting high when Peter rounded a pointed, accusatory finger at him.

“You give me a sexy tingle!” he announced, and Mr. Stark looked more than a little mollified.

“I’m... Flattered?”

“What? No,” Peter relaxed, dropping the finger and putting his hands on his hips as he tipped his chin up at his mentor. “A sexy tingle. You give me a sexy tingle, which means you wanna sexy... Me.” He finished lamely, realised he’d kinda mashed that sentence up a little, but hoping that it got through.

Judging by the thing Mr. Stark’s face did, which happened to be the exact same thing it did whenever Pepper found out he’d done something she’d specifically warned him against, Peter wasn’t far off.

Mr. Stark opened his mouth, closed it, frowned and scowled at once, and then moved to walk past Peter. Midway through his third step there was a soft thwip and he stumbled, head slowly looking to the side and down to see where his leg, from thigh to just below the knee, was stuck to the leg of a workbench.

The look he landed Peter over his shoulder was not at all unlike that he had given him the first time they’d met and Peter had web-glued him to the doorknob.

“Sexy tingle,” Peter insisted, erring on the side of desperate, because this was Tony fucking Stark. Peter’s hero since the first moment he’d ever laid eyes on the red and gold suit, and Peter’s crush since the first time he looked at Mr. Stark’s PlayGirl cover and popped his first ever stiffy.

Mr. Stark’s expression pinched.

“You really have to think of a different name for it, kid,” he sighed, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. In his moment of distraction Peter walked closer, rounding the trapped man, who eyed him warily, like he was expecting Peter to whip out a nude and demand blackmail.

“It means you like me. That you wanna... Be with me,” Peter murmured, confidence suddenly failing him. What if he was wrong? What if it was sheer coincidence, the others? But one look into Mr. Stark’s resigned eyes and he knew.

“Of course I like you. You’re practically a younger, less dignified, less rich me,” Tony shot at him, tone jovial as though trying to sway the conversation to a lighter, more platonic track. Peter narrowed his eyes, then slumped.

“So you... Don’t wanna? Me, I mean,” Peter flustered, hands gesturing wildly. The look Tony levelled him with was thoroughly judgemental.

“I’m not used to this,” he excused miserably, and reached for a scalpel to free his mentor. As he stretched, a large hand wrapped around his wrist, pausing.

“If it wouldn’t make me the worlds biggest creep, kid, I would,” Mr. Stark breathed, so quietly that Peter almost doubted he’d heard it at all. Peter couldn’t fight the dazzling smile that bared his teeth and made his cheeks dimple, so blindsided that Mr. Stark had to gesture to remind him of his previous task.

By eight o’clock that night, Operation Sexy Tingle Mr. Stark was in full swing.

#fanfic #starker #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #starker fic #starker drabble #starker cu #starker cc #ironspider #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider fanfic #ironspider fic #ironspider drabble #ironspider cu #ironspider cc #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #sie fics

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starkeristheendgame · 4 years

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Could you do a fic where Peter ends up using his safeword?🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Of course! Thank you sm for the prompt you sweet little bean ❤️ I’m gonna set this in a sort of grey-area between Homecoming and Infinity War, as a set-up for the use of the safeword. I hope you like it!

Stay safe, my lovelies!

“That’s it, sweetheart. Real good for me - Fuck, yes - Take it, baby”. Tony’s words are growled into his ear, backed by the warmth of his panting skimming the hinge of his jaw as fingers twist in his hair, tugging his head back. The sting is just the right side of painful, forcing him to arch his spine, to push his ass back onto Tony’s thick cock.

Post-mission fucking has become kind of A Thing these days, ever since Peter nearly got taken out during a mission and Tony had lost his shit, freaking out before pressing Peter down into their bedsheets, driving his cock so deep Peter could almost taste it.

They haven’t even made it to the bedsheets, this time. They’re not even home. The concrete of the floor scrapes his palms where he scrabbles for purchase, desperate for leverage against the brutal way that Tony fucks into him, like he’s nothing but a tight, hot sleeve for his cock.

“Still so loose and sloppy, baby. My cock really ruins you, huh? Leaves you open and gaping like you’ll never be tight again” and Peter cries out, because its so fucking good. Good enough that the dust and rubble around them almost doesn’t bother him. He’ll feel gross later, and demand a shower, but right now the thick, hard tip of Tony’s cock is abusing his sweetspot, and his mind is a mantra of fuckyespleaseharderohgod.

The hand in his hair stops pulling, and presses his face down into the dirt, hard enough that the floor is like sandpaper on his cheek. There’s a chunk of beam keeping his hips up enough for Tony to shift, forcing his legs together so his thighs are squeezed shut, and he’s trapped.

Peter’s heart ticks up a notch.

“Bet if I held off even for a day you’d come crawling on your knees, begging for it” Tony rumbled against his neck, teeth skimming the vulnerable skin there as he draped himself over Peter, pinning him down with all of his weight. Still wearing the suit - Its a considerable poundage to bear, Peter’s back and thighs instantly tensing with the strain.

It would be hot, any other time. In the safety of their own bed, with soft sheets and luxury pillows. Now, its dirt and dust in his nose and the darkness of the crumbled building around them, Tony’s weight squeezing his ribs down around his lugs, trapping his limbs so there’s nothing he can do except lay there.

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, breaking off into a sobbed gasp as Tony pressed him down harder, trapping his arms underneath his chest as he sank his cock deep into his plaint little body, forcing it to part around him, as deep as it seemed he could go and then even deeper.

“T-Tony” Peter rasped, whimpering and writhing under the larger man, sucking in heaving breaths as the trembled. Tony cooed at him, pressing his cheek down into the dirt, braced on his forearm as he squeezed Peter down.

“Fuck, darling. So tight. Like I’ll never get my fucking cock back” Tony snarled at him, words thick-sweet and breaking through the sudden roaring in his ears. Peter twisted and mewled, trying to get his arms out from underneath him, but Tony clicked his tongue chidingly and ground his hips down, shoving Peter back into the dusty concrete.

“P-Please. I can’t - Its too much, Tony” he rasped, trying to get the right words out between hitching sobs.

“Aw, poor baby. Still not used to taking it big, huh?” Tony cooed, patronising and full of faux-concern as he rolled his hips, grinding Peter into the dust like he was typing to leave an imprint of him there. Peter wailed and shook his head as much as he was able, ignoring the way that the rubble dug into his soft cheeks and rubbed the skin there raw.

“N-No. Tony I can’t...I...Ple- Huntsman” he manages on a broken cry, and in a movement too quick for him to even register, the weight lifted off him, gone in a gut-wrenching moment of relief. He was distantly aware of the slow, dragged slide of Tony’s cock pulling out of him, leaving him open and gaping and exposed.

“Hey, Pete, Peter. Hey, baby. I’m here. Stay with me” Tony breathed, kneeling down in the dirt besides him with his still-hard cock slapping against the pelvis plate of the suit smearing the gold there with cum and lube. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and shifted, squirming in the dust to curl into a ball as he sucked in billowing breaths, trying to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry” he whimpered, tucking his arms around himself for protection. “I didn’t mean - It was...”. He can’t finish the words, can’t admit that even in the middle of getting dicked down by Tony, the Vulture haunted him. The feeling of his own crushed bones was a ghost he couldn’t shake.

“Oh, sweetheart. My precious boy. Its okay, you’re okay. You can breathe, in and out, nice and slow. In...Out. Good” Tony’s gentle, low murmuring was easy to latch onto, a strong contender against the hammering of his heart and the roaring of his rushing blood. He felt sick, dizzy, and before he even realised what he was doing, he was reaching out for Tony.

Warm, flesh fingers curled around his own, holding with careful tenderness. Peter forced his eyes to open a little and noted that the suit had bled away, leaving Tony on his knees in the dirt in the slacks and shirt he’d been wearing before Director Fury had come storming into the Tower.

“Am I okay to come a little closer?” Tony asked softly, and Peter gave a hitching nod, closing his eyes again as he shook on the floor, trying desperately to shake the feeling of being trapped, crushed. It felt like the slabs of concrete were still there, digging into his fragile skin, grinding his bones together.

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here” Tony shushed his increasing sobs, thumb gently rubbing the side of Peter’s hand, giving him plenty of space but sitting close enough that Peter could scent his cologne, his sweat from the mission and their fucking.

There was a scuffle, the sound of a belt, and then Tony was talking again, gently. “Hey, baby. Do you think you can put your head on my leg? The floor is all dusty” Tony soothed, and Peter sniffled but shifted, obligingly lifting his head enough that a thick, strong thigh could take up the space between his scraped cheeks and the dirt.

“There’s my good sweetheart” Tony praised, still gently rubbing circles along the side of his hand. Peter’s breaths were less laboured now, but he still felt hot and humiliated, embarrassment leaking into the space that the panic left behind.

“You did so well, darling. I’m so proud of you. You know that, right? My precious little darling. So good for me” Tony hummed, one hand hesitantly settling on his shoulder, featherlight and giving him plenty of time to express that he didn’t want it. He kept his touch light, thumb sweeping gentle arcs across the muscle.

“I’m okay” he sniffled, opening his eyes. Tony had tucked away his cock and was sat on his ass, body leaned slightly away so he wasn’t looming over Peter, gaze soft and concerned. “I’m sorry. I just - It was the dirt, and I couldn’t move, and it-”

“Hey, baby. You don’t have to tell me, okay? You don’t have to explain it. You did so well, you used your safeword and I’m so proud of you. Take deep breaths, baby. Nice and slow. We can stay here for a while”. Tony’s hand swept a little lower, brushing his hip, and Peter could feel the tickling coolness of nanotech blanketing his bare ass, covering his exposed hole, as light as his touch.

“How about when we get home, we have a nice, hot bath, hm? Bubbles, that smelly shit you keep bullying me into buying...”

“That you secretly like because you use it when I’m not there and think I don’t notice” Peter responded in a wet mumble, shoulders hitching slightly on a soft giggle. Tony had made a big show of fussing and sneezing and sniffing himself the first time Peter insisted on having a ‘proper’ bath, but the younger boy knew his mentor had secretly grown to adore them.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I still say if I wanted to smell like that, I’d go sit in a florists’ shop for a few hours” Tony shot back, but his voice was light and amused as he continued to pet at Peter, feeling the way the boy’s rabbiting heartbeat began to slow as he calmed.

“As opposed to smelling like grease and rust?” Peter asked, voice a little rough from his crying. It felt like they’d only been sat here for a few minutes, but when he caught sight of Tony’s watch, he knew it must have been at least half an hour since his freak out. When he shifted, he felt cold and sore, arousal gone and leaving discomfort in its place.

“You wound me” Tony huffed at him dryly, hand sliding slowly and carefully up into his hair, scrubbing through it gently and using his thumb to sweep aside clumps of dust and rubble. “You feel okay to get up, sweetheart?” He asked after a pause, and Peter nodded, groaning softly as he uncurled, he and Tony using each other to wobble to their feet.

“I’m -”

“If you say you’re sorry again, I will be forced to do something soppy and over emotive” Tony warned him, and Peter closed his mouth, flushing, before opening it again.

“Thank you” he said instead, and Tony gave him the most achingly sweet smile.

“Anything for you, darling” the older man murmured, ducking down to press a sweet, loving, gentle kiss to Peter’s mouth as his fingertips skimmed his hips, dragging the nanotech up and over his body, ready to take them both home.

#fanfic #starker #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #starker cu #starker cc #ironspider #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider fanfic #ironspider cu #ironspider cc #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #tw:panic attack #tw:safeword #tw:fear #sie fics

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starkerisendgame · 4 years

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On a very wholesome note, this is my first post (on my Starker accounts) to reach over 1,000 notes! It is also now on the top row of the ‘most popular’ search function!

Honestly, you guys, I cannot express how much this means to me and how honoured and overjoyed this makes me feel. When I wrote that fic it was a spur-of-the-moment, offhand thing based upon anti hate and ramblings within the darling Starker groupchat, and I never expected it to hit off as much as it did.

You guys are awesome, and the best!

On a side note, this work is also roughly canon-based (the Civil War meeting scene) and features no Daddy kink/feminisation so is a safe read if you’re looking for more canon based content!

#starker #starker fic #starker fanfic #starker fanfiction #starker cc #starker cu #starker kink #ironspider #ironspider fic #ironspider fanfic #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider cc #ironspider cu #ironspider kink #thank you all #starker fam #ironspider fam #starker love #ironspider love

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starkeristheendgame · 4 years

Note

middle of it the avengers alarm goes off. The argument spills over during the battle (and of course everyone can hear them and is trying to ignore it) and it ends with one of them saying they should just break up. Then something happens and they make up lmao

So there seems to be a part missing to your ask, but I pretty much got the gist! I hope this is okay, and that you enjoy! Ages are ambiguous so let your imagination run free. Its mostly angst but at the end there’s hopefulness for a brighter future. Tony is kind of portrayed as a bit of an ass in this, but we all know he just struggles with relationships and emotions so I hope you won’t judge him too harshly.

TW: Angst | Fighting | Temporary break up | Very brief note of minor injury.

Tony’s words still ring like Church bells through his head, even hours after they’d been spoken. That harsh spitfire tone, the broken fury in his eyes as he spat the words in the midst of battle, launching that anger against their enemies. Tony’s eyes, normally rich brandy that made him think of warm nights in front of a fire, had been been inferno and rage all day.

“We’re better off without each other”.

He flinched at the echo memory, staring dully off into space as he held the pack of cooling gel against his bruised side, the taste of copper drying on his tongue. His bruised sides were his own fault; his blind rage and anguish at their fighting had transgressed into the battle. His hits had been sloppy, unkempt, and it had fallen to the rest of the team to try and hold together their splintered edges.

Even now, the rest of the team are as sullen and awkwardly tense as the seething, newly un-coupled pair. Even Steve, normally so brazen and uncowed, sits grim in the pilot seat, jaw set and gaze on the miles of clouds before them. Clint, nursing a leg and his checked pride, is a comforting but ever silent presence at his side. No warm jokes, no lopsided smiles.

Tony is the worst. Cold and impassive at the rear of the jet, working on his Gauntlet with silent fury. Peter wondered what would happen when they got back; he’d more or less moved into the penthouse with Tony by this point, their lives entangled. Peter had no idea about post-breakup protocol. Tony had been his first real relationship, the first one to have any true weight and meaning.

The aching tiredness of war had settled in. His body felt leaden and tender, and on any other day he would have curled up against Tony’s side and napped the journey home away. Now, he leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes, focusing on keeping his breathing measured and even. The battle he’d just fought seemed nothing in comparison to the fight that had began this morning and had broken like a storm on the battlefield.

“You’re unseasoned! You’re a child. Our worlds have been nothing alike and neither are we!”

“You’re half a lifetime behind me, Peter. Sometimes, I think that’s how it should be. Apart.”

“If you hadn’t been bitten by that spider, me and you? We wouldn’t ever be in the same circle”.

When he opened his eyes again they were wet and they stung, and they were home.

No. Not home. Not for him, anymore. Peter accepted the hand that Steve offered him, and followed the rest out in stony silence. He wondered if this would be the end of it; the legacy of his time as an Avenger. His entire relationship put on blast over the comms, his friends and childhood heroes unable to look him in the eye.

Medical cleared him with two cracked ribs and his own teeth imprints on his tongue. Two painkillers and a glass of water later, and he itched to be out of the suit, to be clean and to curl up in a soft bed. His only clothes were in the penthouse, however, and he reluctantly shuffled to the elevator, head low and arms wrapped around himself for comfort more than to relieve the pain.

He crept cautiously into the open space, ears perked and eyes alert. He couldn’t see Tony anywhere, though, and by the time he reached the small staircase that led up to the balcony-style second floor, he was relaxed.

A fool’s act. No sooner had he rounded the corner, light-footed on the plush carpet, he stopped. Perched on the edge of the bed, with one smartly dressed Pepper Potts between his splayed thighs, was Tony. He had his head tucked down against her stomach, arms loose around her waist, and though he could see only her back, he could tell she was running her fingers through his hair.

Heart clenching, Peter turned away and fled before they could notice him, taking the elevator down to the foyer. It was easy enough to ask for a car to drive him home, the wide eyed receptionist sympathetic and astounded by his presence. The driver who pulled up was not Happy, but he was soft and cheerful, and roused Peter gently from where he’d fallen asleep against the window on the ride home.

His bed was cold and empty, a sore trade-off from where he would normally be. But the shower was warm and a balm to his aching muscles where the painkillers had stemmed the pain but not cut it off completely. When he was dressed and beneath the sheets he turned his cheek to his pillow, and let his mind wander.

“I’m - Not - Helpless!” He snarled, kicking furiously at the robotic figure that tried to swing for his jaw. He obliterated it, pieces flying in all directions as he waded through the outburst and onto the next, his partner’s bitter tone a soundtrack to the splintering of metal before him. He lashed out again, ducked, used a web to throw the sentient steel away from him.

“You’re untrained! You’re green! You’re a fucking colt amongst stallions and I won't stand by and watch you get hurt!” Tony’s eyes were wildfire like his voice, and any other moment his appetite for war would have made Peter’s thighs squeeze together and his teeth catch his tongue. Then, it terrified him, enraged him, and saddened him. They spat fire at each other and used it to fuel their defence, and they both steadfastly ignored the pleading protests of their colleagues over the comms, tuned in to their every word. The shame had only made Peter angrier.

He awoke with it burning inside him, smothered quickly by the sight of the bare pillow before him. No sleep-warm brown eyes looking back at him, just the residual stiffness from his injuries and the bitter taste of loneliness. Peter shifted and pushed himself to his feet, forcing his morning routine. He dreaded the text that would ask him to pick up his things, or the call that would tell him Happy was on his way with his stuff.

It never came. But neither did any other call. His phone was silent from any Avenger, none of the usual post-mission calls to fill in paperwork or check-ins from the others. No Steve asking if he wanted to jog together on Wednesday, no Tony asking him to come to the lab with sexual emojis.

Only Ned, MJ, Aunt May, even Flash. Though the latter was just another request for Tony's attention. No matter how many times Peter secretly prayed each time he picked up his phone, it was never the name he wanted. By the 6th day, he'd well and truly come to realise that was it.

It was over.

They were over.

He sniffled into his ice cream. The past six days had melted into scrolling through his old messages, bawling, and watching Elle Woods get her happily ever after. He'd taken her example in the first film and had stomped silently to the grocery market to buy several litre tubs of ice cream in varying flavours. He'd put the Spidersuit under his bed and hadn't looked at it since.

Except by the next Saturday he'd run out of emotions to cycle through and messages to cry over and the itch to be out in the nightlife, sailing between the stars took over.

Putting on the suit felt like a punch to the gut and a glass of cold water at the end of a desert.

He stood on the roof of the apartment complex, swept his gaze slowly over the cityscape, then stepped off the ledge. The drop made his heart skip a beat and the adrenaline crash through his veins, and flicking his wrist with a web at the next building felt like salvation. He dropped, swung, pulled and sailed until he was panting behind the mask, arms quivering as he roamed steadily from the lower city level to the skyscrapers and business buildings, towering above the rest like sentinels and watchmen.

He ignored the nagging memories of doing this with Tony. The two of them laughing through the comms, of clinging to each other above the clouds where nobody could see them. He focused on the ache of his muscles as he climbed higher, higher. The Stark Tower was the tallest building in New York, but the Reach Building was a close second, and empty at this hour.

He threw a web and let the momentum take him, swinging a steep arc and letting go so that it tossed him high into the empty darkness, the cool breeze buffering him as he raced in the sky, baring his stomach to the stars above, arms spread and head tipped back on a delighted, breathless sigh.

One moment, he was gazing at stars, twinkling and careless above him. The next he was rolling backwards, over, and what should have been cityscape became two slats of neon blue, surrounded by peony red and rich gold. He startled, jerked, and they fell in graceful tandem. Peter's heart thumped behind the bars of his chest, and he was left breathless as he stared, the fall ignored for the jarring reality that Tony was here.

The cityscape rushed up towards them and solid arms slid around his waist, driving the breath from his lungs. The firm press of metal was something Peter had resigned himself to feel only in his memories and dreams, and he couldn't remember how to breathe in at the feel of plated fingertips digging into his hips.

They free-fell down, plummeting fast. A shift of Tony's leg and they tipped, rolling gracefully until they were upright and then Peter's entire body tingled as he heard the thrusters of the suit engage. Falling became flying upwards, held safely against warm, solid metal, though he didn't dare to lay his cheek against Tony's chest as he might've before.

He did turn his head away and close his eyes though, relishing in the feel of their bodies together last he suddenly wake up and realise, not for the first time, that it had all been a dream. It was only a cluster of seconds, but it felt like an eternity before he was being set down as gently as if he were glass, held tight by an arm around his waist as Tony's reached up, tugging off the mask as his own faceplate flipped up.

"I can't ". Tony's voice broke over the word, breathless and agonised as he clung to Peter, holding him tight. Shock rendered him speechless and he simply stood lax in Tony's grip, on his tip-toes and leaning back into the solid arm around him. Tony's eyes were dark and red, glossy like he'd been crying mere moments before they landed. He looked sleepless, exhausted.

"I can't do it" he repeated, slower, weaker. "I can't be without you. I hate myself for it, because you deserve better. Because being with you automatically means risking losing you. But I can't lose you like that". He slumped at the end of it, defeated, and Peter finally managed to swallow the knife that had lodged itself in his throat, robbing him of his words and leaving tight pain in its wake.

“You don’t get to dictate what I am and aren’t capable of doing anymore. You don’t get to keep comparing me as weak or useless against the rest of you” he breathed, tears stinging at his eyes and turning Tony into a large, red blob. A red blob that hesitated, before nodding. “And you don’t get to break up with me because you’re being a selfish ass” he added after a pause wherein both of them were too afraid to say or do anything else.

“I can’t promise I’ll be perfect. I’m undoubtedly gonna fuck up again at some point. But... Fuck, I want us to be able to fight about it, and stay together. I want you to tell me I’m wrong and I want to fall asleep next to you in the same night, because I haven’t slept since you left. And-”

Peter sucked in a breath on a sound between a laugh and a sob, wiping heavily at his eyes before he reached up and pressed his palm over Tony’s mouth, muffling whatever tangent he was about to spiel off into. The prickle of Tony’s signature stubble against his palm was a sensation he wouldn’t trade for the world in that moment.

Tony stopped, breathed in a puff of warm air, and watched him with docile hope as he leaned forwards, slowly and carefully, ducking his head out of the way of the faceplate. Tony’s eyes shone with broken adoration as he removed his palm and tipped his head, pressing a brief, weak kiss against Tony’s mouth. His legs felt weak for it and he moved his hands to Tony’s shoulders, clinging to the burnished metal.

“Come home” Tony whispered against his mouth, fingers flexing into Peter’s sides, and he nodded immediately, ducked his head down to Tony’s chest as the faceplate snicked shut and they soared towards the stars.

It wouldn’t be perfect. But that was okay, because they’d work through it and keep loving each other anyway.

#fanfic #starker #starker fanfiction #starker cu #starker cc #ironspider #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider fanfic #starker fanfic #starker angst #ironspider angst #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #sie fics

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starkeristheendgame · 4 years

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maybe unrequited!peter jerking off in tony's lab while he isn't there. esp knowing tony has cameras, security etc (ty if ur up for it!)

Okay, so I had to message you to figure out the unrequited bit, but: Here we go! I hope that you like it and that I did it justice! Thank you so much ❤️ This is literally shameless voyeurism and smut. I have literally no excuse except for the fact it was requested.

TW/Tags: (Not) unrequited love | voyeurism | Under-negotiated sexual content

People liked to joke about Tony Stark’s lack of impulse control; about his knack for bad decisions or spur-of-the-moment acts. It was funny. It was a thing. Tony could show up one day with a gold-coated camel or something and people would just roll their eyes and go ‘there he goes again’.

Peter? Peter was a kid. Easily excusable. He tried his best to think things through and to be the responsible adult he was trying to convince everyone else he was. And he felt he did a good job. Sure, here and there he might have fucked up a little or jumped into action when he ought to have stepped back and thought a little more.

But if anything, people put those moments down to one of two things: ‘Oh, he’s just a kid. They do that.’‘Too much time around Tony, that’s what that is. Taking after his mentor.’

Tony could not, at all, be blamed for this. Nor, really, could the fact that he was younger. Not when ‘this’ was being splayed on Tony’s main workbench, head thrown back, legs apart like a whore, one hand shoved down into his boxers. Really, it couldn’t be blamed on anything except Peter and Peter’s desperate love and need for Tony.

“F-Fuck. Bad idea. This is a bad idea,” he ground out, squeezing his eyes shut as he ran his thumb slowly over the slit of his cock, thighs trembling. The pleasure was a low, slow burn in his gut. He hadn’t been touching himself long. Hadn’t meant to be touching himself at all.

It was the videos that had done it, and the suits. God, the suits. Tall and imposing, lending Tony bulk and strength enough to compete with Peter’s abilities. And that was not to disregard the formal Tom Ford’s and the Gucci two-pieces. The sharp lines and soft fabric that made Tony equally as imposing as the metal.

“J-JARVIS. How long until Tony returns?” Peter whimpered, curling onto his side like he was wounded as his cock jerked in his grip, dribbling a glob of cum into the silk fabric of his boxers. Boxers that Tony had bought him not even a month ago, as part of a sleek suit for the 2019 World Trust Fund Gala.

“Based upon my estimate, you have roughly two hours and thirteen minutes before Sir is likely to return.” JARVIS sounded prim, indifferent to the fact that Peter was touching himself. It made Peter glad for the fact that JARVIS was code, and not a real Butler. It would have been significantly more awkward to ask such a thing in his current state.

He gave a jerky nod, rolling over onto his back and letting his hips rut up against his hand and forearm with a shaky groan. The scent of Tony’s aftershave was still lingering, mingled with oil and metal. The husk of his words as he told Peter he’d back soon, to stay as long as he liked. The squeeze of Tony’s hand on his hip.

Peter knew it was just Tony. Knew that intimately taking a person apart and flirting and using body language was just coded into him at this point. That the brushed of his knuckles between Peter’s shoulders didn’t meant the same as when he did it to the attractive news caster at whatever world-saving event had happened then.

“I should stop,” he mewled into his arm, slowing the rocky movements of his hips for all of four seconds. He should. He ought to. This was wrong. Jerking off over a man who saw him as a son. In his own workshop.

“Fuck.”

It was a statement he repeated when he let his arm fall away, and found that he was staring straight up into one of the cameras that littered the space, designed to capture Tony’s movements and experiments and breakthroughs. The lens shifted minutely within the frame, focusing. Peter knew it was automated, but he still gasped, spine arching as pleasure stabbed between his thighs.

He was being recorded. On camera, right now, was a digital copy of him, with his hand around his cock and his mentor’s name on his tongue. He lay trembling on the workbench, gaze fixed on the camera, hand still moving in tiny little twitches over his sensitive dick.

Tony wouldn’t see it. Peter could scrub the footage the moment he was done. Tony wasn’t looking at the cameras, he was too busy schmoozing pretty ladies and promoting Stark Industries latest clean energy movement.

But Peter could pretend.

“S-So hard. Mr. Stark. Its so hard. I can’t help myself,” he murmured, feeling both aroused and stupid as he begun to fuck into his fist again, imagining that Tony was actually there. In the penthouse, perhaps. Cradling a neat whiskey, dark gaze on the camera screens. Watching him.

“I - I want you to touch me, Mr. Stark. I need you to touch me. I’m not enough. Need your hands. Your mouth. Your c-cock,” Peter threw his head back on the last word, hips stuttering into his tight grip as his other reached down, shakily pulling part his belt and his jeans to squirm them down around his thighs, flushed skin lay bare for the camera.

For the Tony in his mind.

He lost the ability to speak for a short while, lost in the desperation of his fingers squeezing his pulsing cock, the dripping cum that soaked his hip and pooled on the bench below him. The clouded haze of pleasure. He was getting closer. He felt so dirty, so wrong, and yet…

“Feels so good. Thinking about you. You watching me. Not as good as you being here. But good. M’gonna - Fucking myself to the thought of you, Mr. Stark. Though you should be fucking me. Right now. B-Buried so deep,” he cried into his forearm, whole body ignited with desire, pleasure.

He was so close. He could feel his cock getting even harder, could feel his thighs burning with the effort of not cumming, the hot slide of pleasure through his veins. “G-Gonna cum, Mr. Stark. All over myself. All over your workspace. That’d be naughty of me,” he muttered, gaze locked on the camera, thumb digging into the slit.

He was about to cum. About to fall into the crescendo of pleasure, to submit to the vision of Tony’s hands all over him, his voice low in his ear, his cock balls-deep. He almost snapped himself in half when the Mark L powered up on the opposite wall, eyes igniting a glacial blue, head turning an inch to focus on him.

He scrambled onto his elbows, knees drawing towards his stomach with a yell as the suit took a slow, calculated step off its podium, like it was testing the ability to walk. And then it begun to stride towards him with purpose, thunk-thunk-thunk on the workshop floor. Peter tried to scramble further across the space, but the suit was faster.

It caught him by the ankle, indifferent and emotionless as it dragged him half-naked and still hard down the bench, other hand reaching to find his shoulder. He let out a terrified cry as it flipped him, careful and quick.

On his stomach it dragged him closer, until he slid mostly off the bench, folded over the edge of it and cock trapped painfully between the edge and his hip.

“JARVIS! What the- Help me!” he cried, but the room around him remained silent as the Mark L grasped his wrists tightly and stepped closer, until it pinned him there. In such a position he couldn’t gather himself enough to break free, writhing like an angry snake in its grasp, spitting a variety of terrified pleas and creative curses.

He didn’t even hear the workshop door open. Had fallen limp and exhausted in the suits grip, still half-hard. Knew nothing of his companion until the suit’s fingers flexed, until warm, living ones slid around the space they had held as they withdrew.

Peter jerked in surprise when the cold, hard body was replaced by a warm one, soft fabric against the bare swell of his ass.

“Y’know. Its mighty rude to jerk off in another man’s workshop. Especially without inviting him.”

Tony.

But of course, who else could it be?

Mortified, Peter twisted in the space Tony allowed him, looking wildly up into dark, calculating eyes that softened at the sight of him, grip loosening. “Oh, Peter. I didn’t mean to - I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have scared you. I just wanted to stop you from finishing before I could get here.”

Peter’s brain short-circuited, a definitive blank space as he blinked wet eyes at Tony, trembling in his hold, hips tilted away to hide his shame. “Y-You… What?” he rasped, fingers flexing against the edge of the workbench.

What kinda sick punishment was that? Cockblocked as well as whatever horrific intentions Tony had for him?

“All those things you were saying, Peter. Drove me insane. You’re right. Fuck, we shouldn’t. But you’re right,” Tony breathed against his jaw, thumb stroking the inside of his wrist as he ducked down, pressed gentle kisses along Peter’s cheek and jaw, soothing.

“You should stop me. But I really hope that you don’t. I couldn’t - Seeing you like that. Calling out my name while you touch yourself. In my space.”

“You’re not mad?” Peter managed weakly, limp in Tony’s hold, unable to compute anything beyond what was immediately happening. Tony’s lips on his skin, stubble scraping, his voice a rough thrum in Peter’s ear.

“Mad? Sweetheart. Only thing I’m mad about is how guilty I know I’ll feel after this. But… I can’t help myself. I’m a glutton. I’m shameless. At least in the moment. God, kid. I’ll hate myself for this. But I’ll hate myself more if I don’t,” Tony rasped into his ear, fingers stroking along his arms, body inching closer until Tony’s hard cock was insistent against his ass, the scrape of fabric and zipper biting into his cheek.

“Don’t - Don’t hate yourself. Please. Mr. Stark just…Touch me? Please. I need you to touch me.”

Tony obliged with the scrape of teeth against his jugular, hips grinding forwards gently, coaxing Peter into peeling himself from the edge of the table, to allow his poor dick some room to breathe. It ached, both from its entrapment and how dizzyingly hard he was.

“No idea what you looked like, kiddo. When JARVIS said you were calling for me… Thought you’d hurt yourself or something. Damn near activated the suit there and then, sweetheart. When I saw you… What you were doing…”

Tony trailed off, hand making a slow and sure path down his body, fingertips digging into his hip before finally, finally wrapping long fingers around his cock.

Peter jerked in his grip, head tossing back and almost taking Tony out as he shook, biting hard on his lip to stave off the need to cum as Tony squeezed him gently, exploring. The tip of his thumb pressed against the sensitive underside of his tip and he mewled, ground back against Tony’s arched body.

“You were watching me.”

“JARVIS told me you were in a ‘predicament’ and calling out my name. God, Peter. Thought you were in pain. Not pleasure. Staring straight up at the camera. Fuck; did you know? Were you asking?” Tony ground out, rough and debauched against his shoulder.

“N-No. Thought… Was fantasising. Pretending. I didn’t know,” Peter answered honestly, shaky and high. Tony stroked him harder, rougher, hips steady against the backs of Peter’s thighs as they ground together. Tony cooed softly at him, moved a hand to pet at his hair gently, to wipe under his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m going to show you the real thing. It’s so much better.”

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