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carelessannie · 3 years

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maybe it goes like this: steve builds his pack (part 3)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Read on A03

Read the Tony courts Peter wip

Stuckony (focus), Stony, Winteriron, Stucky

A finale to the sweet, slightly angsty backstory in three parts (ending in Stuckony).

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, Dirty dancing, Steve’s got a grip on Tony’s balls

Maybe it goes like this:

Tony doesn’t miss having a pack.

This is the lie he tells himself as he sees a sweet, intimate pack sharing a day out in the city, and later, a young, familial pack with a few pups eating ice cream in the park.

He can vaguely remember his parents buying him ice cream— or maybe he had snuck ice cream out of the kitchen— and eating that alone once. He doesn’t let himself dwell on that for too long.

And being a part of a familial pack by association hasn’t been the worst. He knows worse.

It wasn’t even that his pack growing up had been that bad. Maybe a little emotionally detached, sure, but he’s old enough now to recognize it wasn’t his pack that made the mistake— it was him.

He’s the one who decided to leave after graduating college, convinced that at the mature age of eighteen that he could conquer the world by himself.

Good job, Tony. Where has that left you?

Tony smiles, remembering his dad’s words: Your mistakes are outweighed by your effort to correct them; the damage done is outweighed by your success.

From that day until his dad’s death two years later, his dad was one of his best friends.

Wow, that’s sad.

He’s thankful that his dad followed his own mantra, making up for decades of indifference with calculated companionship and counsel in the last years he had with his family.

Tony guesses that if he had cancer, he would do something similar.

Tony used to tell his dad everything: all of his ideas, dreams and hopes for the company. Everything, that is, except his desire for a pack. And his dad, in turn, made sure he was prepared to take over Stark Industries, and had transferred his personal assistant, Pepper Potts, to Tony once he could no longer work in the office.

After his dad’s death, things took a while to get better. He eventually reconnected with Rhodey, his college roommate from MIT. The Air Force Colonel hadn’t been in his Ado-pack out of college, thank merciful god, but they were roommates for a few years and Rhodey had always treated him like a younger brother.

He understands now why his friend was out of touch for so long— his military career took precedence until he accepted a position in New York, working in intelligence. He’s proud of Rhodey, honestly, but had always felt abandoned by his friend. And Tony was also a little bit disappointed when the older man refused to form a pack with him.

“Tony, be realistic,” Rhodey had planted his hands on his hips, giving a twenty-three year old Tony his best disappointed Colonel look, “we aren’t compatible. It would never work.”

It was a repeat argument between them, and had only escalated since Rhodey started dating Pepper a few months earlier.

It wasn’t a secret that Tony was jealous.

“I am being realistic! We’re together all the time, and it would be so easy for you guys to move into my place,” he was desperate, hoping for something he could never have.

Rhodey had sighed, “Dammit Tones. You know I don’t think this is a good idea…” but Tony had jumped on his friend’s hesitation, and eventually convinced the young mates to move in with him.

Two years later, they’re still living with him in his penthouse.

Tony feels alone, sure, but living platonically with a young familial pack is better than living by himself. Or, god forbid it, with a toxic intimate pack.

He shudders as he tightens his tie, taking a long look in the mirror, shaking off the last of his thoughts. Tonight’s a good night.

His suit is tailored perfectly— accentuating his waist and shoulders, lengthening his legs in expensive slacks, and completed with his favorite burgundy tie and gold cufflinks. Damn he looks good. With a wink he’s through the door, heading to the garage and grabbing his wallet off the counter.

He takes the Lambo, because why not and shows up only fifteen minutes late, tossing his keys to the valet and skipping up the stairs to the Met.

A few people try to talk to him on the way in, and he gives away a couple smiles, weaving through the crowd to find his friends and making his way up to the Great Hall and Balcony.

“Tony!” a familiar voice calls across the Hall, and Tony spins to find the happy couple heading his way.

“Rhodey! Pep! What a crazy party, congratulations,” he pulls both of them into a hug, giving Pepper a brief kiss on the cheek, and then, at Rhodey’s pouty-face, swooping in and giving him one too.

Pepper giggles, squeezing her fiancée’s cheek when he recoils in disgust, “Thank you, Tony. And thank you, again, for pulling the strings necessary to get this place— it’s absolutely breathtaking.”

“Hey, it was no problem,” Tony deflects, forcing his smile a little wider, “they set up the sculpture court, right? Pep, I know you’re gonna love that—”

Rhodey’s smile is back, and he laughs, clapping Tony on the shoulder, “Yeah, Tones, they gave us the tour when we got here, it’s great.”

“Good, good, that’s… good.” Tony awkwardly pauses, and his friends exchange a look, Pepper winking — which is terrifying— before smiling secretly.

Both of them turn, and Rhodey motions behind him, “Hey, I’ve gotta find someone. You’ll stay put?” he gives a pointed look to Tony, disappearing before he can respond.

Pepper shakes her head affectionately, grabbing Tony’s hand as he tries to escape. He whines a bit, turning his best innocent eyes on her, “But Pep, I haven’t even had a drink yet. And he wants me to meet people.”

“Hush. You trust us, right?”

Unfortunately, yes.

“Ah, great,” Rhodey comes up to them, towing someone else. Okay, understatement. Towing a large, hunk of a man behind him, filling out his Army blues like they were designed with his body in mind. He’s young— baby faced and adorable— completely out of his depth, probably. His smile actually looks genuine, because Tony can easily see the confusion breaking through his perfectly clear complexion.

Damn, Tony wants a bite.

“Tony, I’d like you to meet my friend, Captain Steve Rogers,” Steve puts forward his hand, and Tony grasps it as Rhodey continues, “... and Steve, this is Tony Stark, my best man.”

Steve looks appropriately stunned. He places his left hand right over top of where they are still joined, and meets Tony’s gaze with a small nod, “Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure.”

If Tony wasn’t so sure this man was the most dominant piece of military Alpha in the room, he’d ask the good Captain to get on his knees. And beg. Fuck. As it stands, he’s never felt this enamored and respected in an initial meeting— damn, this man knows how to make a first impression.

“Tony, please,” he corrects, smirking into Steve’s beautiful face, “and the pleasure’s all mine, Captain.”

He waits for Steve to release their hands, but all he gets is a similar smirk in return. The larger man squeezes where their hands are joined, brushing his thumb over Tony’s knuckles, and leans in to murmur, “You can call me Captain all night long.”

He releases Tony from the magnetic hold on his hand, and Tony is slightly embarrassed to feel his face heat up, and clears his throat. It’s been years since someone could fluster him like this, and this man has been able to do it in seconds. Before Tony can respond, Steve adds, a little louder for the public ear, “—but just stick with Steve for now.”

“Alright, Steve— how do you know…” and as Tony goes to bring Rhodey and Pepper back into the conversation, he realizes that the couple has left without a word. Tricky bastards.

Steve doesn’t seem phased, though, and answers the question as if Tony had even bothered to finish it,

“I met Jim a year ago during my summer post in Taiwan— both of us were stationed there, doing a few months of consulting for specialized ops, and were fast friends. I swear, Jim was my only buddy over there, and he’s one of the most honorable men I’ve ever met,” the smile that follows his words is soft and remembering, “how about you, Tony?”

“Rhodey and I were roommates at MIT— he’s always been my big brother, and both him and Pep live with me now—”

“Oh,” Steve interrupts, “I didn’t realize you were pack, I just assumed—”

“No, definitely not,” Tony stops him, laughing to help lighten the sensitive subject, “I don’t have a pack. But if we were compatible, I think the two of them would be it for me. It just… it doesn’t work for us,”

Steve shakes his head, a serious expression falling over his features, “No, I get it, that’s personal— I shouldn’t have brought it up. Please, can I— can I grab you a drink?”

Tony resists the urge to reach out and grab his arm, to reassure Steve that there’s no harm done, but instead agrees, “Sure, yes— uh… why don’t you surprise me?”

The flirty, light smile is back, and Steve easily agrees, leaving Tony to find the open bar. He’s thankful for the time to process, easily dismissing a few guests who try to start a conversation with him.

How could Rhodey have kept this guy hidden for so long? Tony barely got a whiff of him, almost getting enough scent to determine compatibility, but not quite. How old is this guy, anyway? And Army? What is Rhodey thinking?

“Here ya go,” Steve’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and he jumps a bit, turning to see the Captain holding two glasses and wearing an unsure smile,

“Damn, Steve— warn a guy?” and he grins playfully, thankful to see Steve laugh along. Tony makes a grab for the glasses, and Steve pulls them out of his reach, laughing even harder, before handing Tony the low tumbler with dark amber liquid and a single orange peel garnishing the top.

Tony peers back up at Steve, “Old Fashioned? With—” he takes a sip.

“Bourbon,” Steve answers before Tony can, and sweet lord, this man has good taste.

Swirling the drink gently, Tony hums and closes his eyes at the taste. Just like his dad used to make.

“I’m glad you like it,” the low voice adds to the moment, and for just one second, Tony allows himself to get lost in the fantasy of drinking sweet Bourbon in his den, with a strong, blonde man by his side.

He opens his eyes to reality, “It’s perfect, Steve,” earning him a satisfied hum in return, “now tell me, what are you drinking this evening?”

“Oh, well—” Steve looks a little hesitant, holding up his larger glass for inspection, “it’s called a Tom Collins.”

“A craving for something sour, Captain?” Tony takes a step closer, sipping his drink slowly.

Steve licks his lips, “I like a good balance,” he takes a long drink of his gin, “and the orange is my favorite part.”

Tony watches his mouth move, admiring his full bottom lip as it’s tugged back by his teeth, breathing in the faint scent of Coffee and Thunderstorms, “You know what,” Tony dips his head forward, peering up at Steve through his lashes, “the orange is my favorite part as well.”

There’s a sharp clink clink clink sound, and the moment is broken between them as attention is called back to the engagement. Tony realizes, regrettably, that he’s supposed to be up front, and gives Steve one last desperate look before leaving to address the crowd.

After the party, he searches for Steve. He asks Pepper, and then Rhodey— both of whom haven’t seen Steve since their introduction earlier.

“Sorry, Tones, but if you want to see him—”

“No, no,” Tony dismisses the suggestion, “it doesn’t— don’t worry about it, it’s— I’m okay, I’m fine, alright? All good.”

Rhodey tries to protest, but Tony just ignores him, kissing Pepper goodbye as he makes a hasty retreat out of the museum. If he can get home first, maybe they won’t ask him to talk about his feelings.

---

Tony doesn’t miss having a pack.

It’s been exactly a year since Pepper and Rhodey moved out, and Stark Industries has never been stronger.

Probably because every spare moment he has is poured right back into his company.

Every. Spare. Moment.

Which is probably why Tony’s late for his best friend’s wedding.

It had been a rough night— Rhodey had insisted on staying up late to bar hop, and their small bachelor party had torn up the most cutting edge and expensive bars all throughout New York City. The downside, unfortunately, is that coming back home at 4 AM— drunk and somehow already hungover— leads to the absolute worst morning a twenty-seven year old could ask for.

So honestly, it’s not Tony’s fault that he shows up a half hour late, barely dressed in his tux, and sunglasses practically taped to his face.

His saving grace ends up being Rhodey. Again.

An assistant meets him at the door, ushering him into the dressing rooms, and tugging off his tux as he moves. He’s handed a cup with a vague order to drink, and the sunglasses are unceremoniously tugged from his face. He struggles a bit under the attention, but after a few minutes of the world’s worst smoothie, blinding light, pressing, steaming, ironing, shaving, and makeup application that will not be mentioned again— Tony is shoved into a larger room with the rest of the bridal party.

Before he can even begin to apologize, Rhodey is stepping forward,

“Tony, this is the least I owe you, brother.”

The statement alone almost has Tony in tears, and he closes the distance to pull Rhodey into a tight hug, whispering, “My body will never forgive you, Rhodey-bear.”

And the wedding goes on without a hitch from there. Pepper, as it turns out, had told Tony to arrive an hour before he even needed to be there— fully expecting him to arrive late. Because of this, he’s sober and aware when his best friends walk down the aisle. It’s a moment to remember.

Pepper looks like a queen— the Beta wears a perfectly tailored trumpet gown, trimmed with delicate lace and a scalloped neckline. Her mate cries— hell, Tony cries.

And a few hours later, he’s sitting alone at the open bar, swishing his drink and thoughtfully picking at the orange slice at the bottom of the glass. He knows he’s one of the only people avoiding the dance floor, but can’t find it in himself to join the party. Instead, he nurses his glass and silently watches his friends dance and laugh together.

“Tom Collins?”

Tony turns to the voice coming from his left, and is greeted with ice-blue eyes, the sharpest jaw known to man, and a filthy pair of lips.

“Tony, but close.”

“Tony—” his name sounds like sin coming from this man’s mouth, “wanna dance, sugar?”

“I really shouldn’t—”

“— c’mon, sweetheart. You’ve spent enough time with this drink, don’tcha think?”

His glass is stolen by this tempting man, who sets it down with a sweet smile and stands to his feet. He extends a hand, and Tony hesitates. He really shouldn’t— it’s been a long day, and he’s not exactly sober. Plus, Pepper might kill him if he makes a scene.

He takes the man’s hand, “Just one song, got it?” and all he gets is a wicked grin in response before he’s pulled off towards the dance floor.

The song playing is low— thrumming and hot. Most of the younger packs have already checked in for the night, saving their pups from the close grind of desperate bodies, scents mingling in Desire and Arousal. It takes only one sweep of the crowd to notice Pepper and Rhodey in the center, leading their guests in a sinful dance— magnetic and dangerous.

The man from the bar stops at the outer rim of the circle, pausing for a moment to strip off his tie and suit jacket. His eyes sweep over Tony’s appearance, and he steps closer, breath tickling the nape of his neck as he asks, “May I?”

Speechless, Tony nods. He’s surrounded with sweet Oranges and creamy Milk Chocolate as the Omega gently loosens his tie, pulling it over his head and folding it onto the table before slipping his hands up Tony’s shoulders, pushing underneath his jacket, and tracing his arms until the jacket falls, forgotten.

Chest to chest, the Omega looks up through his eyelashes, “Dance with me, Beta.”

Pulled closer to the center of the crowd of moving bodies, Tony keeps the man pressed against his side, then shifts to face him. He’s only an inch taller than this Omega, but the similar height works to their advantage as Tony grabs his hips, starting a slow grind that has the man in front of him clutching at his neck, his hair, and breathing out a sigh.

“Like that, baby?” Tony growls, digging his fingers into the Omega’s hips as they move together, foreheads touching, enjoying the friction and small sounds coming from his partner.

“Don’t stop, please,” Oh, begging sounds divine coming from this younger man’s lips. Tony wants to do absolutely wicked things to this guy.

They move together, the Omega shifting to follow his rhythm and relaxing under Tony’s hold as he moves his right hand higher, scratching his nails along the gentle arch of the man's back, as his left hand moves lower to firmly grip his ass. He squeezes, and the sweet Omega moans Tony into his neck.

“I’ll give you what you need, baby.”

“B— bucky,”

“Bucky?”

He gets a smile in return, along with a particularly dirty move of his hips, “My name is—”

“Bucky?”

A third voice breaks the spell, and Bucky sighs, stopping their dance and putting a bit of space between their bodies— which does absolutely nothing to hide their shared arousal.

“Whaddaya want, Stevie?”

Tony looks over his shoulder to see a hulking, blonde and horrifyingly familiar Alpha standing behind them— arms crossed and a face that screams unamused.

“I wanna know why my mate is putting on a show with—” he finally looks at Tony, and his expression blooms with shock and recognition, “— Mr. Stark. Of fucking course.”

“Language.”

“— shut up Bucky, of course you’d happen to find him of all people…”

“Well,” Bucky starts to defend, “you wouldn’t make a move, so I thought I’d get things started.”

Now Tony’s confused, “Wait, hold up,” he looks between the two men as they glare at each other, “did you… are you trying to get with me?”

The couple turns and looks at Tony like he’s an idiot, Steve gesturing at where he’s still hard in his pants, “You didn’t get that from the reenactment of Dirty Dancing a few minutes ago?”

Bucky lets out a sharp laugh, cutting through the tension, and Steve’s face practically melts at the sight and scent of HappyAmusedOmega. Tony bets his face is doing something similar as he shakes his head in protest, “You guys are really serious? Can we— can we talk somewhere… more private?”

Definitely the wrong thing to say, because Bucky practically cackles in glee, “Darlin’ you can do anything to me in private,” and Steve reaches over to smack him on the shoulder,

“Slow, Bucky,” and he earns an eye roll from his mate, “Tony, let me see your phone.”

Right now, Tony feels like putty in his hands, which is probably why he gives over his unlocked phone without a word. Bucky slings his arm around Tony’s waist, and he notices that the crowd has thinned out, music slower and without the charge from before. Steve types a few things before handing the phone back,

“I put in our numbers— Tony, if you want to see us again, for dinner or even just coffee, please text us,” Steve squeezes his shoulder, and then moves his hand to cup Tony’s elbow, pulling him— and Bucky, by consequence— in closer,

“Tony, I need you to know: you are not obliged to see us again, even though we come on a little strong. You are— we are—”

“You’re all he could talk about tonight, Tony,” Bucky cuts in, turning Tony to look into his eyes, “and maybe you’ve never given him a second thought, but he met ya last year and has been dyin’ to see ya again—”

“— Bucky—” Steve warns,

“No, sorry Alpha, but it needs to be said. Tony, I have a feelin’ the three of us are damn compatible, and it would be a waste not to try. Give us a chance, yeah?” and the silence that follows is paired with twin expressions, eager and hopeful.

“Guys, I…” Tony is tired of being alone. He’s tired of denying what he really wants.

“... I’ll text you soon, okay?”

At the startled look from Steve and whispered oh, okay Tony from Bucky, he flees. He’s a perfect Cinderella alright— too afraid of honest confessions to stick around long.

But maybe he’ll keep his promise.

---

It takes a week for Tony to text them, and he does it as a group message. Both mates seem relieved to hear from him, and set up a date for that weekend, insisting that they pick him up and pay.

It takes two weeks after that, and three more dates, for Tony to realize that they want to formally court him.

A month after they start courting Tony, he asks about their intentions.

“I’ve gotta wonder, guys— are you really that serious about building a permanent pack? Or is this just a seasonal pack for you guys while you’re getting out of the Army?”

Bucky looks hurt by this, but it’s Steve who spells it out.

“I know we’re young, Tony. I mean— you’re not even thirty, Buck is twenty-one and I’m just twenty-two. Look, I know I’m really young to be a pack Alpha. Neither of us have experience leading a pack, but… it’s been something we’ve wanted for a while. It’s the reason Buck and I haven’t bonded yet, and it’s a dream of ours to have an intimate pack to start a family with.”

He’s stunned by Steve’s words. His pack growing up definitely wasn’t intimate, and after his horrible Ado-pack, he had completely dismissed the idea of ever having something like that again. But now.

“Tony, darlin’,” Bucky reaches forward to take Tony’s hands, “I think we have something really special, here. It could take years to build our pack, but Steve is pretty sure six is our magic number. Don’t ask me why. And also,” he hesitates, looking down at his hands, "I’ve gotta tell ya somethin’ important. Two things, actually.”

“What is it, sweetheart?” Tony asks, concerned, as Steve gives Bucky a nod of encouragement.

“Well, first of all,” Bucky looks back into Tony’s eyes as he continues, "Steve and I are compatible by memory. Like— when we first scented each other, a few years ago, we had a scent memory. We— we haven’t bonded because of the pack, but we will. And second,” he pauses a moment, “I’m not pack omega.”

“You’re… not?”

“No, I— I’m not a submissive, Tony. I’m Vers and swing submissive for Steve most days. But I can’t fully submit for a pack, and this means there will be a fully submissive Omega who mates with us. And gets— gets to—”

Steve cups his mate’s cheek, “Baby,”

“No, it’s. It’s fine, Stevie, I—” Bucky tries to pull out of Steve’s hold, but the tears are already falling as he rubs them away, “— I just can’t. I can’t give you pups.”

Oh. Oh. Tony did not know that.

Bucky is tucked under Steve’s arm as the Alpha continues to explain, “When we bond as a pack, if we decide to bond, it’s very likely that only the submissive pack Omega will pup for the pack Alpha. It was— hard, you know? Realizing that Buck and I can’t have a family—”

At this, Bucky buries his face in his hands and lets out a single sob,

“— but we’re willing to give that up if it means having the perfect pack, okay?”

Tony is shocked. He guesses it makes sense that the pack Alpha and Omega would be biologically directed to mate together. It seems unfair, though, that a scent compatible, soulmate pair wouldn’t be able to start a family. But—

“What about other bonded members?”

Both men look up at Tony in confusion, “What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“I mean, what if two other packmates decided to mate. Is there a chance they would pup?”

Bucky still looks confused, but Steve’s face lights up in understanding,

“You mean, what if we all bonded— would you and Bucky be able to get pregnant?”

“Wait, is it possible?” the hope in Bucky’s eyes is devastating as he looks between Alpha and Beta, gripping onto Steve’s arm with fresh tears shining on his cheeks, “could I still have pups?”

“It’s possible, Buck, but I have no idea.”

Bucky ignores Steve’s response and stands from his seat, moving quickly to Tony and straddling his lap, throwing his arms around the Beta’s neck. Tony steadies him with arms around his waist, and rocks them gently as Bucky starts to cry into his neck.

After a few minutes, Steve looking at them with overwhelming affection, Bucky’s tears run out and he sniffles into Tony’s neck, “Thank you, my Beta.”

“For what?”

The Omega pulls away, pushing Tony’s hair out of his face as his smile widens,

“Giving me hope.”

---

In May, Bucky finally graduates from West Point, and decides to work in engineering in the city. Steve has been working with Rhodey in “intelligence” for a year, and Tony finally feels happy.

They spend most of their time at Steve and Bucky’s apartment in Red Hook. Tony doesn’t mind the drive, and absolutely hates being alone in his penthouse— plus, he’s come to actually like Brooklyn. And if he spends his free time searching for the perfect spot to build a house, no one has to know.

And it works fine for now, because Steve still insists on taking it slow— although if Bucky and Tony had it their way, the three of them would already be mated. It sometimes feels like just the two of them are dating and Steve’s their chaperone, drawing boundary lines of, “Hey, clothes stay on, boys,” and, “Bucky, get off Tony’s lap, I swear to god.”

So Tony corners Steve.

Or more accurately, Steve is fixing them dinner and Tony pins him to the counter from behind, grinding up into his ass and growling.

He feels Steve stiffen beneath him, and Tony laces their fingers together where Steve’s are resting on the counter, nibbling on the back of his neck inches from his bonding spot.

“What’re you doin’ Tony.” it’s barely a question, and Tony just tightens his grip and bucks his hips forward, letting Steve feel his arousal.

Steve growls in response and turns in his arms, breaking Tony’s hold. He looks into the Alpha’s eyes, blazing red, and Steve slowly prowls forward, backing Tony into the fridge. His arms come up to frame Tony’s face as his back hits, forcing eye contact and baring his teeth in a predatory smile.

One of his hands reaches lower, gripping Tony and causing the Beta to groan at the friction, “Is there something you want, baby?” Tony shakes his head, losing the confidence from earlier, but Steve continues, “you need to use your words, Tony. I can’t help ya if you don’t tell me what you need.”

Ooo, Tony’s blood burns with the challenge, and he rocks forward into Steve’s grip, his own hands reaching forward to hold onto the Alpha’s shoulders. Steve presses in closer, and Tony licks a small stripe up his throat, stopping centimeters from his ear, “I need you, Alpha. Why can’t I have you?”

“Oh, Tony,” Steve chuckles, releasing his grip and sliding both hands around to cup Tony’s ass, pulling them closer until their fronts are pressed together, betraying Steve’s obvious interest, “you can have me all you want, baby. I just need something from you first.”

“Yes, Steve. Fucking anything.”

He’s pushed away, back hitting the fridge as Steve steps back, “Be ours. Promise it. Move in with us, and then we’ll mate.”

“Alpha,”

“Those are my terms, Beta,” Steve puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder, pushing him out of the kitchen and into the living room, “and until then, let me finish cooking and go keep Buck company, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, and turns back to his meal while Tony stands frozen in the doorway. He can see Bucky lounging on the couch, wrapped in soft blankets and pretending he hadn’t just heard their whole conversation. He sees the way Steve moves around the kitchen, natural and dominant in his home— caring and providing for his pack.

For my pack, Tony thinks to himself.

“I’m yours.”

Both sets of eyes are on him, and Steve drops everything in his hands. He sees Bucky stand up from the couch.

Steve takes a step towards him, “W— what did you say?”

“I said— I’m yours. And you’re… you’re mine. My pack,” he looks into Steve’s eyes as the taller man steps into his space, “My Alpha.”

He hears a soft exhale, and feels Bucky grab his arm. Tony turns, “and My Omega.”

“My Beta,” Bucky breathes,

Steve kisses the Omega’s cheek, smiling wide, and pulls Tony into his arms,

“Ours.”

No, Tony doesn’t miss having a pack. But here— wrapped up in between his Alpha and Omega— he’s wanted, he’s safe, and he finally belongs.

#stuckony #stony #winteriron #getting together #stucky #steve x tony x bucky #d/s fic #slight nff #fanfic #completed #bucky barnes #steve rogers #tony stark #mood board #MiGLT #omegaverse

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honeyimthedevil · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3 SfSS

Little space Sexting Send nudes

Pairing: Peter Parker x Tony Stark Word count: 500 Warnings: age regression, daddy kink, sexting

Chap 1 Chap 2 You can thank the anon who sent @the-mad-starker an ask about how there are no fics with little! Tony. I also wrote this while in class

***

Peter's eyes widened for a second before he got his calm posture back. "Baby, I don't have your pacifier in me," he said, "Why don't we go back to the hotel, get you changed in something comfortable?" "Okay" Tony whispered, eyes teary. He clung to Peter's hand as they walked back to the hotel, to his displeasure taking over than an hour.

When they finally got back, Tony sat right on the couch, legs crossed and hands resting in his lap. "Daddy, can I put on my onesie, please?" he looked at Peter with pleading eyes. "Of course Tones. Do you want your stuffy as well?" "Yes please" Peter went to the bedroom, Tony following right behind. The little started pulling on his clothes, wanting to take them off. "You need any help there, baby?" Peter looked at him with a small smile and loving eyes. The frantic nodding made him walk closer to Tony, helping him undress. "Thank you" the little whispered and sat on the edge of the bed. He crawled over to the other side of it and took the stuffed red and yellow dragon in his hands, hugging it close to his chest.

Peter took the onesie out of Tony's suitcase and spread it on the bed. He unbuttoned the front. Tony wiggled in it himself, Peter just buttoning it back up. The little took the pacifier connected to his onesie in his mouth and suckled on it softly. He opened his arms, dragon still held tight in one hand, showing his caregiver he wants cuddles. And what caregiver is Peter if he doesn't obey? He lied down, back pressed against the headboard. Tony crawled in his arms and curled against his chest. Peter started brushing his fingers through Tony's hair, knowing it brings him comfort like nothing else, and kissed his forehead.

The day after, Tony had to go out in the city alone. Peter decided to stay in the hotel and just relax. He laid in bed until early noon. With one of Tony's big shirts on, he walked around the apartment dancing to some music until he got a text. Peter looked at his phone and his face turned red, the blush spreading over his ears and down his chest. 'I really wanna fuck you into the mattress rn' the text read. 'Well daddy, if you were here I would've let you' Peter sent back. 'God Peter. Send some nudes?' 'Gimme a minute' A few minutes later Peter sent a text with a photo attached to it. 'I hope you like it daddy' *insert photo here* 'Hell yeah I like it. Can you give me more?' 'Mm, okay' *insert photos here* 'You make me so hard it's unbelievable' 'Can't wait for you to come back daddy, so I can help you' 'It's good that I'm on my way then' 'I'll be on the bed'

***

@starkerfestivals

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starker-au · 5 years

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The Art of Seduction

Steve doesn't go out a lot to bars, doesn't like the thought of being close to drinks and drunk men and women who don't know what their doing and doesn't like the smell of cigarettes that wafts in the air but he's trying to be different and be more outgoing so he asks Bucky and Sam to take him to the bar that he knows they frequently go to.

The smell of cigarettes aren't wafting through the air like he expected but loud and crowded and- he's really regretting going out tonight. Bucky leaves and goes off with some redhead upstairs, Sam does too eventually and Steve's left alone in the lounge that they chose.

He gets up eventually and makes his way to the bar- though he's not a fan of drinking, right now he thinks he needs something to subside the headache the booming music is giving him. He leans on the counter while he waits for the bartender to make his drink and his eyes drift over to the dance floor where there are couples dancing and some people just slightly bobbing their heads up and down but what catches Steve's attention is a boy- man really or else he wouldn't be here.

Steve doesn't notice when the bartender is done with his drink and slides it over to him, he's too focused on the man on the dance floor- he's dancing alone but he couldn't look happier and Steve knows he's been staring too long when the boy lifts his head- he doesn't stop dancing though just continues to move his feet around and twirl his body- and meet Steve's eyes and gives gives him a sly grin from the dance floor.

Steve takes in the man's appearance once his body is turned towards him after a small twirl. His hair is brown and wavy and he's wearing a red tank top with a gold color, around the shoulders and arm holes, embedded into it with jean shorts. The man is an erotic sight, Steve thinks and his cock is starting to harden in his pants and he averts his eyes.

Eventually though, the music ends and people are taking the chance to exit the dance floor. Steve keeps his eyes downward though, focused on the water droplets sliding down his drinks glass and onto his hand until a barstool next to him creaks and the corner of his eye catches a familiar red and slight gold shirt sat next to him. He manages to keep himself together until he feels a soft hand on his shoulder so he turns and Steve sees the brown haired man that was dancing on the floor- because who else would it be? Steve thinks, Bucky left somewhere upstairs and Sam- he never saw where he went.

"Hi," The man says simply and Steve can see him better now than from the dance floor; he can see the beads of sweat on the man's forehead from dancing and he can see his eyes now, they're simple but so beautiful and when the stranger repeats himself, another small Hi?, Steve knows he's been staring too long at the stranger again.

"Hi" Steve says and he tries to be confident when he turns his stool to face the man but his mouth goes dry and his hand plays with his glass, "You're new around here- no- I mean I'm new around here- I'm Steve"

The man puts a hand over his mouth and giggles, "Peter," he says.

Steve thinks for a moment that their done- that Peter thinks he's not worth talking to anymore despite it only being a few minutes that they'd met and he's pleasantly surprised when Peter gets off the stool, once a new song starts, and takes his hand with him and says: I love this song! Dance with me!

His footsteps are awkward when he steps onto the dance floor but when Peter takes his other hand in his own, Steve doesn't think he minds but he does mind for a moment when Peter's eyes aren't on him anymore and instead looking over towards the bar, grinning slyly, and he tries to see what the man is looking and at first all he can see when he looks over is people mingling and others drinking but then there's a man clad in a leather jacket and- Peter's turning his face over softly and cupping his cheek.

"Why're you looking over there?" Peter pouts, "someone more interesting than me?"

Steve shakes his head at that and bends down, with a little courage, and unashamedly answers: "I don't think anyone could be more interesting than you right now", Peter's eyes flash with something that Steve mistakes for joy and adoration.

Steve's not a virgin, no- he's had his fair share of partners but with Peter grinding up against his crotch to Call Out My Name, he thinks he might as well be and he doesn't protest when Peter pulls him away from the dance floor and up to the upstairs because by then he's forgotten about all of his past partners and the man in the leather jacket that had been staring too much for comfort.

"I've already got a room" Peter says once they reach the top and Steve hums in content; it saves the hassle of finding one.

Peter immediately has him lay on the bed, the room is nice but something in the back of his head is telling to get out! and it's not Peter straddling him, it's the darkness around them that he can barely see the walls but he still bucks his hips when Peter cups his crotch in his hands.

"Oh, god, Peter- get your clothes off, come on, doll"

He's confused for a moment when Peter backs off of him and steps off the bed and then his gut is churning and his head is screaming, get out! get out! repeatedly until there are arms wrapped around his neck and he's struggling to get away from something- two pairs of muscular arms that aren't Peter's- Peter.

"Peter!" Steve chokes, "G-Go get help! Now!"

Steve watches Peter turn but he's slow and carelessly and instead of watching the man go out the door- Steve watches him lock it and he whimpers. He's thrown off the bed just as carelessly as Peter had walked and he gasps for breathes on the floor but when he tries to get up pain shoots through his body and he falls back down.

"Couldn't find anyone, oh I don't know- less whiny?" Someone above him complains, a deep voice and Peter giggles.

" 'm sorry, Tones," Peter mumbles into the man's leather jacket and Steve recognizes it from not only a few minutes ago, he watches Peter slip his hand into the mans- 'Tones' shirt and despite the fear coursing through him, Steve feels a spark of jealousy.

"His friend was much easier" Tones says and Peter laughs.

"You sure? He gave you a black eye, Tony" Tony, Steve thinks and he puts the worrying feeling he has for Sam and Bucky for a moment to muster enough strength in his legs and arms to bolt from the door but even though he picks and turns the lock, it doesn't budge and he feels pain shooting through his back a moment later while being pressed against the wall.

"Was hoping I wouldn't have to use my knives until later but you're a lot tougher- probably got a lot of hope left in you huh?"

"Fuck you" Steve spits and he feels his blood go down his back when Tony takes the knife out of his back and let's him slide down to the floor.

"I gotta say I was a little jealous of you tonight," Tony says, "Peter doesn't usually spend much time dancing with his prey- which is why," Tony pulls out a bigger knife from behind him and Steve trembles, "I'm gonna take my time with you"

From the bed, both of them can hear Peter laugh, "he doesn't mean anything, daddy, it's not that serious"

Tony drops the knife, Steve thinks he should've waited to attempt to take the knife but the yearning to escape stops him from thinking rationionally and before he can turn around to take the knife- he's being kicked onto his back now while Tony walks away from him.

"It better not be, boy, I'd fuckin' kill you if he did mean something to you- if any of them did"

Peter moans and despite the blood loss his cock hardens at the sound of it, "I'd- ah, I'd kill you too if any of them did too"

"Fuckin' love you so much, baby"

"Love you too"

Down on the floor beside them, Steve feels his blood pool around him and his eyes begin to droop and he almost feels like fighting- Sam and Bucky would have fought, he thinks before he succumbs to the darkness and above him Tony latches his mouth onto Peter's neck- turned on by the smell of metallic in the room and the younger man beneath him.

"All mine, " Tony says and after he sucks another dark spot onto Peter's neck he detaches himself and gestures to the unconscious body on the floor before he says: "let's have some fun, yeah?" and Peter nods enthusiastically like he always does.

#starker #ironspider #spideriron #spidershield #serial killer!tony #serial killer!peter #dark tony #dark peter #deceitful peter #slight family unfriendly #slight nff #slight violence #tw: violence #tw: knives #tw: knifes #tw: blood #sam dies #steve is gonna die

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godlovesreddie · 5 years

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convicted (and guilty) murderer! peter parker and his young lawyer! tony stark

“Listen here Stark. You’re gonna make make sure I get out of here scot free or I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk for weeks.” The younger man’s face light up cherry red as his client finished his sentence.

“Take that both ways.”

Oh god this was going to be the death of him.

#tw #murder #literally and figuratively #starker #spiderman #peter parker #ironman #tom holland #tony stark #robert downey jr #mcu #au #slight nff #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #avengers #moodboard #mini fic #spiderman far from home

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blushing-starker · 3 years

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Shame doesn't scare me, baby

Apparently, going on hiatus also means writing down what was supposed to be a lil ficlet and not stopping until several hours later. Starker said, Sophie, you're going for one last ride, dammit. I have no other explanation for this.

(Actually, a gif of Tom rolling his eyes helped in the creation of this story, thanks, Tom.)

7,000 words below, every one say thank you tumblr for inventing the keep reading line

Y'all. I don't even know man. This took me quite a few hours, my back hurts, my wrists hurt, but I could not physically stop. I took an hour long break and that was it, I needed to finish this. I'm actually happy how it turned out (guys i wrote more than 7 thousand words in one sitting. Thats the first time in months. Go sophie) Right, so Tony likes being treated badly only when its in a session and the scene has been previously discussed. When i mean bad, I don't mean physically hurt or verbally insulted, don't worry. He likes it when Peter treats him like furniture, basically. Peter's 19. This was way softer than I expected and I'm usually more formal in the notes but I have Not slept or moved in hours, I'm sorry. Hope you guys enjoy. Please reblog if you do.

They don't play this game that often. It's dangerous, in a way. Peter worries, because he's Peter, that it'll get to his head, distort the way he looks at Tony and lead him to a darker path he swore never to touch. (After Tony talked about his past boyfriends, this sweet young man had fallen to his knees and sobbed, arms clutching at his waist the way he had clung to his mother when Howard had wounded him. I'm never hurting you, Tones. I'd rather die than do that to you.)

Tony couldn't care less, really. He has zero doubt in his mind that the dark path Peter fears will be just that: a nightmare that won't become true. He knows Peter B. Parker almost as well as he knows himself; those pale hands, that pure heart, would shatter before inflicting so much as a slap to Tony's wrist. That's exactly why, comforted by this knowledge, he encourages Peter to make him hurt.

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Convincing Peter isn't too hard on the days where the suit's main purpose is to hold him up instead of defending the Earth. It won't be difficult today.

He is weary this evening, bones hollow after he had his own mortality thrown in his face by a pack of board directors crueler than the universe. There were questions now, when will we have an heir, when will we have a new young man to lead the charge? When will the world have someone other than a silly fifty year old to protect it? He had been shamed like a little kid that believed something stupid, treated like he was disposable and unnecessary, a nuisance. Friday tightens the metal armor around him, an attempt at a hug. The built in radio is crooning out 50's music from his childhood.

He's crying before he lands on the ceiling, silently gasping out his sorrow as a figure sprints toward him, red sweater two sizes too big and jeans ripped at the knees. Peter, his mind whispers, Peter, Peter, Peter. Gone is the genius. Broken, tired Tony enters the scene.

Your feet are bare, he says. What a beautiful thing, the human body. Capable of encapsulating a soul as precious as Peter's, capable of letting his baby fly while Tony had to craft a body for flight. The spider didn't give his lover powers, it tapped into what was already there. Peter was meant to soar into the clouds; it didn't matter that he had to run faster than a bullet and leap the height of a skyscraper to achieve it. Looking at the arches of Peter's feet, he knows that the man before him was born to perform wonders.

What he doesn't know is that he's said all this aloud and his baby freezes mid step, chest still, but mind, Tony's sure, working to adapt. Oh. They made it to the bathroom. Where had time gone?

Tony, I'm going to help you into the bath now. It's soft as cotton, the way Peter says his name.

Tony. His father never called him that, Anthony used to drip from his lips like tar and it would drag down his spine until fear settled at the base of his back. His name in his father's mouth meant pain. Tony, though. Tony went alongside the sound of startled laughter, his mom as bright as the sun when he picked her up and spun her around the room. Tony was paired up with a and Jarvis, the elegant namesake of his first AI answering that yes, a table for two had been reserved. He'd made damn sure that the times Tony left another person's mouth, it'd imply joy, love to his mind and not pain.

There's only adoration here, present in the wood paneled bathroom belonging to his lover. Everywhere he looks, there are signs of Peter. The fluffy red and yellow Iron Man towel hanging on the rack. Slippers from Target, ragged with age and slightly torn on the sides, placed neatly by the door. The disgusting jelly that musses up lovely brown locks is right next to the shampoo that smells like Peter (it's not the other way, Friday, no ma'am). Avengers stickers fight stormtroopers on the mirror. Peter adores his bathroom and it shows. Peter adores Tony and it shows.

His tracksuit/actual suit is folded on the counter, edges crisp and nice (Peter worked at Old Navy for some time and old habits die hard). A warm bath sponge is being rubbed all over his scarred body, particular attention brought to his right arm even though the skin there is flawless thanks to Dr Cho and her cradle. Still, the phantom pains are soothed and he can just sink into the bath, head not so full of sorrow. There are rose petals, he's surprised to see, in there with him. A Captain America ducky, too. It's not enough to make him giggle, but he smiles. Turns to look at Peter and he is always, always beautiful, but now he is stunning.

Soap suds cover his arms, the edges of rolled up sleeves are a bit damp, pink dusts a fair face (he went to the beach with Ned today, he remembers now) and a single stray lock of hair tumbles over Peter's forehead. The golden light from the ceiling haloes him and Tony is easily ten seconds away from melting like the Wicked Witch of the West, except that he'd be happy to turn to goo in Peter's hands.

Hey, it's a croak, throat sore and hurting.

Hey, it's a symphony, light and healing and nothing hurts anymore.

Wanna bet Bucky and Sam will buy a hundred of the ducks to fill their bathtub before Steve gets home if I send them a pic? That's more words than he's said all day.

Peter bursts out laughing, shoulders hunched over, eyes squeezed shut, tears slipping down, grin wide and yeah, this is the young man he's going to ask to tear him apart tomorrow afternoon.

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They talk about it, of course, the same way they always do. Establish what Tony wants, what he needs out of this session. Make sure they will both be comfortable with what will happen, discuss how ok it would be to improvise a little. When everything is ironed out and it's clear that Tony is 110% himself, they set the plan in motion, let a team know what to do before they arrive. After all, it wasn't happening there; it wasn't at the Tower because he didn't want it to happen there, not in their home where every inch was a reminder of their life, happy and full of love, together.

They head to the remodeled Stark Inc building in a car, superhero suits reduced to the original red and blue Spidey suit tucked in Peter's backpack and Iron gauntlets, the ones he had on during the fight with Winter so long ago, on Tony's wrists. It helped him dismantle himself, putting away the full suit in favor of wearing the watch and black bracelet. He wasn't Iron Man in these sessions, couldn't be that version of himself the same way Peter wasn't, well, Peter when they did this.

He'd been more than half gone after the fight with Thanos, unconscious in a coma for what felt like a century, but was actually a year. Peter hadn't been told. A choice Pepper took to protect him since nothing could guarantee Tony wouldn't suddenly die, let alone wake up, let alone wake up and still be him.

He'd seen the footage of Peter in the bridge with Beck, had woken up literally five minutes before the final fight and had somehow been able to take back enough control from EDITH to at least have eyes on Peter. He'd watched the video a million times afterward, body confined to a hospital bed in space and unable to do anything except mourn and think. (Like hell Tony was gonna spring his newly revived status on Peter immediately after the fight. No, he deleted the doctored footage Beck had planned to release, ordered EDITH to erase all updates from Beck's team and, on the verge of passing out a second time, told her to be good for Peter. Then he'd passed out.)

Peter had died. Not completely, but he had. His heart kept beating, sure, but he knew the look in those amber eyes. He saw it with Rhodey, with Happy, with Pepper and Sam and Bucky and Clint and most of the time, he saw it in the mirror, too. It was a look that spoke of a somber ache, the loss of a loved one, and because of that loss, the loss of oneself.

War changed Peter, Tony's death altered him. It left him with a hole in his heart, one that wanted to be filled again. For a moment, it was. And then Beck's betrayal obliterated any hope of his heart recovering and something dark slithered in. That look he'd seen in Nat, in Winter, in Steve and definitely in himself. There comes a point where life takes so much of you that you want to fight back, want the world to drip rubies, make sure it thinks twice before hurting your family.

Violence started looking a bit more palatable when you were in that state. All the people who had that look had given in and lost a piece of themselves in the process. Hell, he barely knew the man, but Tony had recognized it, that pain and sorrow and anger, in Zemo's blue eyes in one of their conversations. Peter had also given in.

It hadn't been much, compared to his actions, but it shook Peter. Scared him, the ferocity he'd had, the whirlpool of emotions that led him to the final altercation with Beck. Peter had, to the shock of everyone that had gone through the, well, process Mourn fits, he supposes, (the loss of a loved one and the sorrow that came with it) and not process Rage (the loss of a loved one and the fury and indignation that came with it), snapped Beck's arm like a twig. It happened in a second, just a quick twist of Peter's wrist and it was done. Beck had shrieked like a wounded animal, sound raw and filled with so much pain that Tony had grimaced in sympathy.

It had jostled Peter out of process B and he'd transformed back into the usual version of himself, yelling at EDITH to bring a medic and comforting the whimpering man curled in a ball. He was back to himself, but Tony had seen it and wanted that look all to himself.

Ok, obviously not exactly that look and part of Peter, Jesus. Peter had recoiled after breaking bone, face horrified and shocked at what he'd done and Tony may be a masochist, but he would never push his lover that far, not when it would mean that he, too, would be hurt. No, Tony wants Peter to act, and he can't believe he's thinking this, similar to how Howard Stark and the board of directors treated him. Key word here being similar. They park in front of the building and with one last look and a soft kiss, they begin.

-------

Peter, decked in his oversized high school sweater, jeans, worn out sneakers and school bag, should not have the swagger of a billionaire CEO. Yet here he is, striding into the skyscraper without a care in the world, several steps ahead of Tony and not slowing down at all, shoulders squared, back straight like a ruler.

The crowd of feral lawyers ready to shred any fresh meat into pieces, the one that always loiters in the lobby, quivers, parts for Peter like the sea before Moses and Christ, Tony's already getting hard. He's proud of the way his baby is acting and more than a little humiliated that a teenager who two years ago couldn't stand up straight if it killed him is behaving more confidently than him, the fucking owner of Stark Inc and this building.

He's actually forced to speed walk in order to catch up and his cheeks burn; how do they look, a squirt three inches shorter than him leading the way like he was born to conquer the entire world and a middle aged grey fox following diligently behind, mumbling 'excuse me's while trying not to bump into anyone or trip over a briefcase?

Peter passes the registry desk and does three simple things that make Tony's knees buckle: he turns his head to the secretaries at an inclined angle, gives them a grin so proud, arrogant and dirty that the three young women simultaneously go pink, throats clearing, eyes widening and lips pursing and then he says, in a voice that invites sin to dance beneath the pale moonlight, "Hello, ladies".

It's the same move his father used to do to anything in a skirt; smile and purr. Peter Parker hasn't purred in his goddamn life, but fuck if that isn't close. He's pretty sure the secretaries are suffering through the ordeal of wet underwear just like Tony is.

It's a douche move, no lie about it. It's also hot as fuck and ridiculously distracting. So distracting, in fact, that he does trip over a briefcase. Lands on his ass with a deafening crash that acts like a black hole, obliterating all other noise inferior to it. A pin could be dropped and half the building would hear it. The lawyer whose briefcase he just stumbled over is probably new, but Tony's going to give him ten promotions in a row because he catches up quick.

"Guess a genius like you has more important things than deal with gravity, huh?" it's said with a smile, as if to say, well, of course you tripped, who has time to focus on the floor when they're creating amazing things? By far, one of the best saves in the history of time; 10/10, would recommend. His ego breathes a deep sigh, happy to be alive and well. The rest of the room is just about to imitate his ego and laugh it off when Peter bashes the atmosphere in with a baseball bat.

Peter snorts. Like it's funny. Ironic. So far from the truth that he has to laugh on instinct. Like it's stupid to think that Tony, with wet briefs, red cheeks and a glazed look in his eyes could be thinking of anything over than sex. The elevator dings and his lover walks in, scrolling through his phone with a bored look. He leans against the wall, the picture of arrogance and then the motherfucker yawns.

"Tony." His name drips down from that mouth, two syllables wrapped in a casual command. Like his dog strayed too far from where it was ordered to stay. He's scrambling, a dying man in search of a cure, shoes squeaking against the floor and mouth dry. The elevator door closes, but the burn of a hundred and fifty people staring at him in confusion and shock isn't cooled by the seclusion. Peter sighs dreamily and oh, he can feel even more ashamed, what a nice new discovery.

His lover is ogling at a picture of Steve, dressed in a navy blue suit and showing it off in the classic Captain America pose; fists at his hips, legs apart and chin held high. Peter looks like he wants to cover the blonde in chocolate and lick him clean for hours when Tony. Is. Right. There. If looks could kill, Peter's phone's casket would be on fire and launched into space. It's, he thinks, no, he's Tony Stark, he knows this stuff, it's a saved pic. From the gallery.

Peter Parker, his boyfriend who inspired him to solve time travel, saved a picture of Steve Rogers, the man he sort of envies, on a phone that he, Tony Stark, made for Peter's birthday and he's gawking at it while riding the elevator that Tony designed as they ascend through the building that Tony helped build and that Tony fucking owns.

Oh. Oh, this kid is good at this.

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Once he had explained, through the course of several hours and various cups of tea, that he liked being shamed and humiliated only when he wanted to feel those things, only by people he trusted with his life, Peter had broken down. As in, needed a few minutes to reboot and function. So, he had drawn out that one syllable for an eternity, you like it exclusively when it's in your control; when you give permission to another person to make you feel bad, that's when the bad feels good? Because you chose for it to be both good and bad?

Therapists and world renowned doctors couldn't have said it better. He had said yes and that was that. Peter had dived into the subject; reading books on his way to school, upside down on the ceiling and tablet an inch away from his nose, earphones permanently on while podcasts played, web calls with experts taking up his time on the weekend, notebooks reserved exclusively for the new information always near in case he had to write something done.

Once a month had gone by, and Peter was still in his usual spot with an educational video playing, attention laser focused on the laptop and glasses haphazardly sliding down, Tony had pried his legs open from beneath the table littered with papers, books and post it notes, and sucked him down to the root with no warning.

It was a new record, three minutes and one second. He'd been smug immediately afterward, blood boiling thanks to all the pretty noises he'd managed to wring out of his baby. Peter's face when Tony resurfaced and finally looked up, though. That had him scrambling up, hands hoisting a petite waist (yes, he'd filled in quite a bit, but it was Peter, he'd always be smaller than Tony; besides, Peter blushes when he calls him his petite baby so he could be as thick as Thor and Tony would keep cooing 'such a pretty, petite lover'), teeth sinking into a long neck and legs running to the bedroom.

After Peter gave him what was possibly the best fucking of Anthony Edward Stark's Life, he had mumbled out, "babe, you read one more paper and prove that you love me enough to write a fucking thesis on my kink, and I won't let you out of this bed", between yawns.

"It's already a thousand times better than what my exes did." Cue honest conversation, Peter sobbing and his heart breaking at the sight. It was a long night. He's grateful for all of it, though. For the undeniable proof that Peter cares for him and hadn't once thought of beginning something he had no knowledge of.

He's especially grateful for that month of research now that Peter is walking towards the room the assistants cleaned up because the kid is behaving like a champ and Tony doesn't have to worry the way he used to with abusive past boyfriends.

There are people on this floor, accountants, if he remembers correctly, but they don't blink an eye at him or Peter; just keep going about their lives, talking amongst each other, getting coffee, typing away on calculators and laptops. It soothes him, gets his heart beating at a normal rate. What happened at the lobby is fun and all, and there are those that enjoy the constant danger, but Tony prefers breaks. This atmosphere lets him cool down, settle into a state that won't pose a danger to his heart. Peter picked the perfect place.

His baby turns out of nowhere, heads straight for the kitchen and doubt makes him slow down a tad. It's their first time here, so, obviously, Peter must have looked at the floor plans. That was logical, he would've done the same thing. Thing is, he'd thought, well, ok, get to the floor, go to the room and fall apart, bada bing bada boom, clean up, go home. He hadn't exactly considered the option of Peter greeting the employees and plopping down on the cushioned bench in the kitchen after getting a cup of coffee like he was supposed to, like it was the most reasonable thing to do, like he owned the place.

Tony gapes, jaw on the floor as a guy brings Peter a grilled cheese sandwich and The motherfucking New York Times with a chirpy, "morning, Mr Parker!". He's going to combust, implode like a supernova and Peter just smiles, says his thanks and starts reading the newspaper. Spiderman nibbles on the sandwich, sips his coffee, turns the page.

Clean mouth, sip, nibble, squint, turn. Put on glasses, squint again, grin at the page, bite, drink, adjust glasses, turn. Over and over in a varied order that he lists in his head for all of five fucking minutes before Peter, not once looking at him, spreads his legs. Oh. Oh. Here?

He splutters, gets the side eye from an employee walking by and ok. Ok. Um. Well. It's not in direct view of the elevator, at least. Peter himself would be hard to spot entirely from the cubicles on the opposite, far side of the kitchen. He, on the other hand, would be seen if he gets between Peter's legs. That's not, he's used to a slightly risqué experience if it's a scene, but a blatant exhibiotinist? He doesn't have that in him, too uncomfortable at that level of exposure. Tony could say his word and Peter would jump out of that chair, ready to sweep him away to a safe place and soothe him.

That wouldn't cause any shame. They'd talk it out, be ok, go home and cuddle. But he trusts his lover. Peter wouldn't cause him any harm, humiliate him in a way he knows Tony doesn't like. He trusts the young man and he trusts himself to back out if he's not ok with the situation. One long breath and he walks. Slowly, though, because he doesn't want attention and because he's nervous as fuck. Seven steps gets him in front of Peter. Eight seconds. Roughly six feet. Oh, hey, his lucky number. Lungs stuttering and heart skipping, Tony sinks down between Peter's legs.

Maybe he viewed it wrong, and nobody could see them. It might be that, and anyways, the table and its lil curved bench were low to the ground and most people don't look at the floor so fuck it. The rug is pretty, a warm cream color that reminds him of the coffee Pepper likes. It goes well with the green paint decorating the table and his knees approve of its thickness. Jesus, Tony, just do something other than trying to guess the thread count of a rug. He hesitates, casts one glances around them, and slides his hands up strong thighs.

The denim drags nicely against his fingertips, a sensation that grounds him as he goes in search of his lover's hard on. The sweater Peter has on covers him mid thigh; Tony has to gently fold it out of the way and begin the journey to the jean's zipper. Where he finds nothing. Absolutely nothing. There's not even a dent, not a slight incline on sight and huh. Um. Right. This whole thing is mostly an intense aphrodisiac for Tony, it's Tony's kink, after all. But.

But Peter likes it. Peter has told him that he enjoys it; making Tony happy and acting like an asshole that doesn't give two shits. Not as intensely as he did, though, not at this stage, and that's understandable. Peter tends to get more, ahem, biologically involved later in the session. When there's some semblance of privacy, he can focus his senses and physically enjoy Tony's responses. By now, he'd be a bit hard, a bit discernible through the jeans. Therefore, the present situation is confusing as fuck.

He sucks his lip, squints, rubs at his eyes, counts to ten with them closed and then snaps them open like Peter's dick is a jack-in-the-box and it'll spring up against his mouth when he looks again. Nope, nothing. Tony looks up with a question on the tip of his tongue, registers what he's seeing and the oxygen in the room is sucked up, gone, unavailable, sorry.

Peter's quirking an eyebrow at him, head to the side like he's attempting to figure out what Tony's doing. Because Tony, apparently, isn't supposed to suck him down in broad daylight and be ignored by his boyfriend in a public place with employees still working.

He's distantly aware of the noise he's making, a gargled plea mixed with a shocked gasp, a moan intertwined with what may be a shriek or a wail. What comes out as comprehensible though, is a very choked up "Peter" that's punched out of him. Classifying it as comprehensible is a nice gesture, but he doubts anyone else named Peter would understand what he said.

"Mr Parker, sorry to interrupt, but have you seen a brown puppy around? A really affectionate one? My daughter brought it in her backpack and now it's loose."

Tony jolts, flies five feet up like the time his mom caught him eating a girl out in his dad's office. His knee bangs against the side of the table, and this is it, game over, everybody go home. The pain, sharp as a knife, goes beautifully with the white hot shame curdling in the back of his spine, and he is blind. Hulk could roar in his ears and he still wouldn't hear it; his head is filled with white noise, the world has gone black, every nerve in his body is fucking alight and Christ, he hadn't noticed how hard kneeling for Peter made him. A live wire could zap him right now and he'll spill in his jeans like a teenager, like Peter used to do, sometimes still does and that image is burning his retinas now.

The role reversal, pretty little Peter Parker with a tendency to go off in minutes not even the slightest shade of turned on, 100% disinterested and Tony Stark, infamous playboy, a madman in the sheets, about to cry out because of something so stupid, so menial, so ordinary, so embarrassing and humiliating, is, he's not ashamed to say, the sexiest thing he's ever experienced in fifty years. A hand yanks him down and Tony nuzzles, finds Peter's shoulder and decides, yeah, I'll just die here against this soft sweater. His legs curl up underneath him and he will never leave this couch, how could he?

Peter wraps an arm around him, superhuman strength holding him tight; it's to keep him from sliding down, but Tony knows, deep in his chest, that's it's to comfort him, too. A reminder that Peter's got him, is right here next to him.

"I'll be on the lookout, but I haven't seen any other puppies here." That distinction, I, as in, Tony doesn't count and other, as in, Tony doesn't count because he's also a dog so how could he help and be useful? A whine rises in his throat and he clobbers it. Blind, but slowly regaining his mind, he takes off his bracelet from his left hand (yellow in the stoplight system) and shoves it at Peter. His lover instantly drags him closer, humming a bit off key and low enough that only Tony would notice. It's his mom's favorite song. That's enough to settle his heart for now.

"Ah, thank you, anyway, Mr Parker." Footsteps. A moment and then Peter bends his head, kisses at a warm cheek. The blazing inferno is gone, but residual heat continues to lick at his bones. "I'm ok. Just a few minutes and I'm good to go."

Another kiss. The rustle of the newspaper, the hushed talk and clacking of keys. Breeze from an air conditioner, a hint of lavender to it, the grilled cheese. It slowly washes over him, the reality of the world around him, the truth in it. He is here and here is next to Peter, the real one. (Not the one in his dreams, not the one that accompanied him through death and comforted him with bright light.)

"Eat a bit, yeah? Your throat must be sore and it's around snack time." Tony doesn't like knowing the hour, it fucks him up; the knowledge of how long it's taken him has shaken him in the past, rattled his brain. Like this, all he needs to know is that he has to eat, hydrate.

"You got another sandwich under this hoodie?" Peter snorts and wow, thank God, he doesn't immediately associate it with the lobby; that'd be an interesting response to explain to Pepper.

"I never ate the grilled cheese."

Tony blinks, unfurls from his position and sits straighter to look at his lover. He narrows his eyes, "I saw you eat it. For, like, five minutes." The grin Peter gives him, Peter's grin, not the other one, has no right being that smug or lovely.

"I nibbled at it, but I never ate it completely. I only got the crusts down, see?" He picks it up and yup, Peter ate the crust. Tony hates the crust. Tears gather in his eyes and he smashes his face in Peter's sweater, overwhelmed and giddy.

"You're beautiful."

Peter breathes in sharply, gently cradles Tony. "Oh." It always gets him, how lucky he is to have someone like Peter; how lucky they are to have each other. They sit there for a while, his ear to Peter's heart (even in his dreams, his mind could never conjure up this rhythm, couldn't recreate such a beautiful sound) and Peter's hand at his back.

The soft bread is slowly getting closer to him and Tony lunges, wolfs down half in a second just to nip at long fingers and make Peter startle. He's cussed out and half heartedly shoved, Peter muttering about rich gray foxes while he's busy muffling his snickers and giggles. The cup of coffee is put in his hands and ah, it's water. It has a tiny amount of lemon to wake him up with its tartness, and he loves Peter so much it hurts.

"You ok?"

"Yeah. My feet are a bit stiff, but I'm good. Got half the crossword done. Wanna play?" Peter shows him his work, neat letters stacked on top of each other; at a glance incomprehensible, but a little distance, focus and ta-da, the words of the puzzle were as clear as day. He writes down a new one with the pen that Peter probably magicked out of his hair. "Not really what I meant; oh, look, we got splendid."

Peter gives him a peck on the cheek, surveys the crossword with his tongue sticking out. Peers at Tony when no explanation comes. He clears his throat, face on fucking fire, and mumbles. "You know, oar lick."

Peter Parker, teenage genius, stares at him. Oh, great.

Tony takes a sip of the water, licks surprisingly dry lips, and tries again.

"Four clicks."

Now his lover squints, cocks his head to the side exactly like a befuddled cat named Elizabeth (long story, the feline child of one obscenely tall Brit and his redhead wife; his cat sister, he supposes) and a vein in his forehead is very likely twitching. He clenches his teeth, curls his fists around the blue sweater.

"Floor cinch."

"What?"

Tony snarls, hauls himself onto Peter and hisses, body aflame once more. "Your dick, asshole. Why wasn't it hard?"

Peter crumbles onto himself, hand curled tight around Tony's shirt. His lover has the audacity, has the gall to wheeze, spit flying and tears skidding down. Tony can hear his lungs rattle with every raspy breath of laughter, see the color rise, turn a rose red and feel the strength in Peter's grip. The kid looks like he seriously might die.

"It's not funny, Mr asshat. I thought it broke, or, stop laughing, I mean it, I thought something bad had happened. Will you please, oh, God, I will walk away right now if you don't take a second to breathe."

Tony angrily crosses his arms. He does not pout. No, sir. No skulking or brooding here. Just bristling wrath. Peter kisses his neck, goes to his cheek when Tony attempts to hide his neck in his own shoulder. The kisses are accompanied by giggles, high and sweet. "I am. It is." He doesn't stop the kisses.

Now it's his turn to blink in confusion. He looks at Peter, accepts the one chaste kiss laid on his lips. His father would keel over if he knew how easy Tony melted at the touch of his lover. Good.

"I have no idea what the hell you're - "

"I'm turned on, Tony. "

"... What, right now?"

"Yeah." It's like Tony asked if he loved Iron Man or Star wars.

"But, we haven't. I mean, we've just been sitting?"

"I haven't stopped being turned on?" Like he's the one not making sense.

"Oh, come on. Since when?"

Peter looks at him and he's thinking Peter's thinking an alien stole the real Tony Stark who's a certified genius.

"Since before the elevator. I could smell you, hear your pulse. I thought, I thought you knew."

The elevator. Before the elevator. Oh.

"Oh."

"Is that ok?"

"Yeah, no, I'd just really like to uh, get going with the session. I think I'm good to go, if you are." There is a chance he'll tackle Peter and devour him if they don't continue. There is also a chance he does that anyway in the session. Win-win, really.

Go, Tony.

--------------

The rug here is thicker, more plush and definitely cleaner. Peter toes off his shoes, slumps into the office chair (at the head of the wooden table, he notices) that's most likely ergonomic and takes out the Stark phone. His legs are just under the table so Tony will be blocked by the rest of the chairs and hard to view. They're really doing this. Ok.

The tennis shoes are neatly placed next to Peter's, he sheds his outer layer and, when Peter lazily rolls himself away from the table, ducks under the table. He begins to sit cross legged, glad he chose the stretchier denim, when Peter tsks. A hand settles in his hair and guides him closer to long legs. Once resting on his haunches, the hand curls around his jaw for a second before slipping away. They've never done it like this before, not for the sessions. He can spend hours warming Peter's cock or getting him to come multiple times.

Peter would be lower, chair closer to the ground and at the perfect height where Tony didn't have to maintain a strained position. It was good, always, so he's curious about this new development. He breathes on his hands, warms them up a bit before starting. A ritual that helps center him. Tony inhales slowly. Exhales and begins.

The calves are first. Peter's legs are glorious and Tony's often added more layers of armor on his lower half, concerned in case someone identified a disadvantage and tried to go after it. Even before the serum, Peter had wonderful legs. Now they could just run faster than bullet and kick a car a few miles away, no big deal. He digs his fingers in, drags the tips up and down to help with circulation. That and he knows Peter's extra sensitive when denim rubs against his skin.

He goes up, up and then sweeps down once Peter's breath's sped up. Tony holds back a snicker, focuses on massaging the soles of his lover's feet. He's seen the kid run barefoot on a gravel road and come out unscathed, limbs bare of damage. But looks can be deceiving. Slowly and carefully, he presses down with controlled force. Crack, crack, crack. An old trick from an old friend. Peter sighs in pleasure; a small thing that sends pride curling in his belly. It also kindles the flames a bit; the world's richest man, the guy that could withstand the power of Infinity Stones kneeling at the feet of a teenager that could barely drink before passing out cold. (Well, with Asgardian mead, anyway.)

Hesitatingly, he kisses each toe; they haven't done this either, but the surprised little noise it gets him makes the move worth it. Tony switches over to the other leg and Peter, now able to predict the routine, just keeps scrolling. He can see him if he tilts his head back; the kid doesn't flinch even as he snaps the bones. It's like he's not here.

Done with both feet and calves, Tony happily goes in search of Peter's thighs. His father had told him the story of Alexander the Great when he was a kid. Presumably in an attempt to inspire Tony to do equally wondrous things. And yeah, he'd listen, a part of his family was descended from the Greeks and it was, all in all, an interesting story. Unfortunately for Howard Stark, what had stuck to his head after several decades was the beginning of Alexander and Hephaestion's first meeting. See, what the whole world likes to remember is that only death was able to come close and defeat Alexander.

What Tony remembers, every damn time he so much as catches a glimpse of Peter and his legs, is that Alexander was originally beaten by Hephaestion's thighs. Spin it however you like, direct it the way you like best, it's queer as fuck. They rivaled the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus, so yeah, it's not a hetero love story, sorry, dad.

The point is he's been trying to get Nat to teach Peter that weird thigh grip thing so he can help Peter practice and be smothered by the tone thighs he has before him. God, he'd been this close to crying the first time Peter let him fuck those thighs, no lie. They're big, and strong, and capable of crushing his skull, and supple, and soft and so sensitive Peter had blacked out from coming when Tony had spent an hour just touching them and painting red flowers on golden skin with his mouth. Ah, good times.

But he's good now; Peter doesn't like him to spend all his time on his thighs so he behaves. Still. The devil need not tempt when such beauty is before him. Tony flexes his wrists, goes up and down and left and right without moving his actual position, hand only rubbing a small area of Peter's thighs. It's not much on a normal person; it's killer to a superhuman. Bruce had explained it once; the nerves send so many signals to the brain at such high speeds that blood rushes down to the area and the warmth is enough to make a superhuman shut down for a moment or two.

He slides outwards when the table top creaks, hands soothing gently now that he has Peter a bit more alert. Tony presses a kiss against bony knees, nips at them and chuckles at the kick that nearly gets him. Alright, message received. Tongue heavy in his mouth and anticipation killing him, his fingers pull at Peter's belt. And then the door opens.

His heart slams into his ribcage, the air gets stolen from his lungs and Tony is half way sure there is a scream lodged in his throat. Peter looks up, smiles, says "oh, thanks, man. You can just leave it at the end of the table". He's too far gone to notice how Peter has crowded in closer, hiding him; too tense to see that there's no way someone could view the body under the table from the opposite side.

The stranger leaves and Peter's web thwacks onto whatever it is, drags it closer. Ten seconds later Tony glances up; he's eating pizza. Peter is eating, licking grease from his hand and liking posts while the rush of adrenaline hits Tony like a train. Sweat actually drips down his spine, his knees have gone weak, there's a chance his mind has stopped working and he's not really processing here. Peter glances down with something that's nearly, yet not quite annoyance or disdain. It both shames him and sets him on fire.

Lip bitten raw, he yanks at Peter's belt, freezes when he sees the red armor. Enough time passes that his lover begins to bend over in order to check in with him. He's fine. Just. Great.

"Key. please." Peter relaxes, seems a bit sheepish and he doesn't really understand why, this is a brilliant idea, a lovely surprise and he'll buy Peter a cake for this when they're done, definitely, until Peter grasps his hand and brings it to the base of the cockring. It beeps once and falls away into two halves; one half slinks forward and wraps around Ton's finger like a ring. A ring on his left hand. The other half mirrors the action on Peter's own left hand. The kid clears his throat, mumbles out a limp "surprise" that's quieter than a mouse.

See, if you had told Tony that he'd be closer to crying than coming today, he would have pat your back and thank you for the advanced notice because yup, if there was one person capable of simultaneously making his dick and heart go off and explode in a shower of sparks, it was Peter B. Parker. He clutches at Peter's hand, rests his head on a knee. "Baby, I'm not gonna last. Not like this."

He won't; after the lobby, the elevator, the misunderstanding at the kitchen, the knee injury, just, the fucking kitchen as a whole, ok, the unexpected guest, the pizza, the look, worshipping Peter's legs and now this? Tony thought he'd had his fair share of intense sessions, but this takes the cake, the grand prize and his heart. A warm enough breeze is good enough for him; Tony's dying here and Peter's a vampire offering an eternity of goodbad shame alongside gooddefinetelygood love.

His lover slumps, leans on the arm of the chair with a leg propped up, yawns and lowers his gaze like it's the least worthwhile thing he's done all week, like his dick isn't a gorgeous pink and diamond hard inches away from Tony's face . Says "go for it" in a tone of dismissal and he's gone; growling finally, fuck, Tony pulls him in by the thighs, rakes his nails at them through the denim, takes Peter whole and moans at the weight pushing his tongue down. It takes him a significantly less amount of time than three minutes to make Peter break.

He slides the warm ring up a long torso, settles it over a fast heart at the same time his lover's cock goes an inch down his throat and game over. Peter shouts, spine curving in an impossible shape, glasses falling to the floor and hands in Tony's hair. The sound that his baby lets out is pure heaven, something he's going to replay over and over like his favorite album. He gulps down Peter's come, shivers like crazy, sucks hard while moving away and Peter jumps in place, hands replacing hair with the armchairs, breaking them.

Tony moans like he's being payed for it. "Jesus, baby, fuck." With as much grace as a newborn foal, he gets up, slides into place on Peter's lap; Tony whispers sweet nothings, litters chaste kisses all over, fingers tracing inane shapes on a warm nape before oh so carefully tucking Peter away. He pulls the zipper up, does the belt, straightens the sweater. Peter slowly comes back to him, and they're kissing, but it shouldn't even classify as kissing because their lips are barely touching, bodies exchanging air more than anything else.

Tonytonytonytonytonytonytonytonytonytonytony

Peter only stops chanting his name when he really kisses him, tongue licking away any fear or hesitancy.

"Tony, that was so good, so good, fuck. I keep seeing stars every time I close my eyes."

"Don't, my pretty baby, you were perfect, doll, close them then."

Peter's slurring, eyes clearer, but mouth still running on autopilot.

"What about you?"

There's a perfect spot on Peter's neck where he's extra sensitive and he licks at it, kisses it, bites at it until the kid underneath him is keening and a lovely pink hue colors his face. "Hmm?"

Peter sneaks a hand down, cups him through his jeans and they both still. Oh. Well then. Guess he has a new record, too.

"You shouted, nearly broke your back. It was - "

"I broke composure - "

"Perfect because the shame is fucking A, absolutely fantastic, but what drives me crazy regardless of roles, of sessions, of any added aspects, is you, baby. Making you happy, helping you do what you just did is what really gets me going. As seen by the evidence provided in my pants, my turn on is you, Peter. Though I gotta say, the ring was a genius concept. The unexpected guest, too. But I'm a bit wary of that."

Peter blinks once. "That was a robot. I thought it'd be better not to involve another person because it might make you uncomfy, so I brought the robot in. I was sure you'd notice."

He'll deny his heart cracked in two later, but it split like his composure while fucking Peter's thighs.

"God, I love you so much, Peter Benjamin Parker."

---------------------

Cue a ton of soft aftercare. The people working on that floor were all new interns happy to work at the company even if their first job was odd and included not intervening with Mr Parker and a sheepish Mr Stark.

#starker #sophie writes #ironspider #peter x tony #starker fanfiction #tonys not dead #slight beck whump #aloof!peter #embarrassed!tony #so in love it hurts #they love and trust each other #19 year old peter #but he died for those five years tho #implied sambucky and steve are a thing #i really forgot how to tag huh #nff

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prettyboypeterparker · 5 years

Text

Steve tries not to look. Honest, but it’s like a train wreck he can’t seem to look away from.

Peter’s on his knees between Tony’s legs head leant right up on Tony’s thigh, mouth working over the cock between his lips. Peter looks gorgeous and Steve in a sick way can’t stop thinking about how much Peter looks like he belongs there on his knees.

Steve watches as Peter makes eye contact with him and paws at his own cock that’s locked tight in a chastity cage, it’s a powder pink color with a gold ring attached at the top it’s got a little charm dangling from it and when Steve stares long enough he can see that it’s a diamond encrusted ‘T’.

“You seem a little distracted Cap. Is there a problem?” Tony asks smugly, knowing full well what Steve’s distracted by.

“No, no problem.” Steve nods, affirmatively. He can’t show weakness, Tony’s the type of man to prey on that, always has been.

Tony resumes talking about the mission, going into great detail about what’s going to happen as they drop but Steve’s no longer listening, all attention is glued to Peter as he stares boredly into Steve eyes. Peter works his mouth around Tony’s cock, a faint outline of where it lays heavy in his throat Steve has a moment where he sees himself in Tony’s place, sees Peter on his knees suckling his cock with a pretty blue cage on with a diamond encrusted ‘S’. Steve’s sure Peter would look way prettier in blue.

“Capsicle what’s gotten into you?” Steve blinks hazyily as his eyes focus on Tony.

“Huh?” Tony just clicks his tongue.

Tony’s hand comes down to Peter’s hair, he runs his fingers through the tousled curls and helps pull him off his cock. Spit hangs between Peter’s plushy peach lips to the head of Tony’s cock, it’s erotic and dirty and Steve shouldn’t be getting hard like he is.

“Go on darling, I think you should entertain our guest. Help him concentrate better.” Tony encourages Peter with a thumb against his lip and kiss to the forehead.

Peter just nods and crawls to Steve, moving in a way that almost seems too natural for the teen. Tony must’ve trained him well.

“Tony, this really isn’t necessary, nor is it appropriate.”

“C’mon Cap, I know you’re not a prude. As I heard it from Howard you were quite the ladies man back in the day, and if I remember correctly there was something between you and Barnes, no?” Steve grits his teeth and looks down at Peter, he’s rubbing his cheek into Steve’s knee and pawing at his leg.

“This isn’t right though.” Tony rolls his eyes.

“Go on baby, show him how right it is.” Tony says down to Peter who smiles up at Tony lovingly before leaning over Steve’s lap and poking his tongue out.

Peter laps at Steve’s zipper, licking and sucking at the fabric until Steve’s cock starts to strain against the denim. Peter makes eye contact the entire time, giving Steve the best damn heart eyes he’s ever seen.

“Pete you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Steve tries to gently move his crotch away but Peter whines.

“But I wanna!” Peter’s voice is wrecked from having cock down his throat for the better part of an hour. It sends pulses down to Steve’s prick.

“You heard him Steve, he wants to.” Tony chimes in, voice smug and smile even smugger.

Steve can’t bring himself to do this though, he has lines that he won’t ever cross and this is one of them. Steve stands from his chair and gets a few good steps away from Peter, the boy looks disappointed and tears seem to well in his eyes.

“Do you not want me Stevie?” Peter turns to Tony, “am I not good enough for him Daddy?” Tony shakes his head and opens his arms.

Peter crawls back and hugs Tony before getting between his legs and suckling back down Tony’s dick. His face is flushed and wet and Steve might cum just from the sight. Peter calms down eventually, closing his eyes and drifting in and out on Tony’s thigh.

“You really hurt his feelings Capsicle. Don’t be such a prick next time.” Tony rubs a soothing hand over Peter’s head.

“There won’t be a next time.” Steve says firmly, he won’t let it happen.

“This meetings done, get out of my sight before I get really mad.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Steve only nods before leaving the meeting room, Peter’s flushed little face and overly wet tongue burning behind his eyes.

#starker #tony x peter #slight steve x peter #starker nff #nff

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grimalkinmessor · 5 years

Text

youtube

@subverbaldreams I HAD A FUCKING STROKE WHEN I WATCHED THIS AND IF I LOVED IT THEN I THINK YOU WILL IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL.

For those who don't understand my incessant ramblings, this is a SIM/Peter video that has just made me have several simultaneous fangasms. Please watch it, fellow Starkers, it's short but it is so good. By God if this was not the EXACT FUCKING MOOD that forced me to write SIM for Bug Bytes.

#superior iron man #starker #music video #slight nudity #spiderman #tony stark #spider man #i love everything about this #peter parker #nff #lil nff

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the-mad-starker · 5 years

Text

😈 Headcanon - Insatiable Tony

So I know I've been pretty lax on writing but... I think I'm ready to go on a smut spree.

Especially since this kinda writing is spilling out of me in RPs.

Current Headcanon I'm favoring:

I love when Peter is a needy little thing but with Tony being older, gotta wonder if he can keep up. BUt, I honestly just want Peter to be an oversensitive mess and Tony making him come over and over. To the point where this kinda dialogue takes place:

"Aren't you supposed to be my... Young .. insatiable lover. We've only gone three times and you're already a limp drooling mess... That's okay... Daddy will do all the work, just gotta lay there and let me give it to you."

#starker #nff #madstarker writes #any peter i rp with better watch out #slight daddy kink #headcanons

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stuckonstarker · 4 years

Text

a bad man

Tony knows he’s a bad man.

The things he dreams about at night are reprehensible. The fantasies he indulges are wicked and sickening.

He knows that. He tries to stop those filthy thoughts, he tries to ignore them - push them away - but they always return.

Peter smiles up at him, totally oblivious to what’s going on in his mentor’s mind.

Tony wakes up every morning wishing he had put a bullet in his head the night prior.

Because he loves Peter.

Not in a fatherly way. Not as a mentor. No, Tony’s love for Peter is licentious and sinful. It’s a wicked perversion of their relationship.

Peter’s soft skin is tantalizing. Tony yearns to run his fingers up and down the boy’s tight body. He wants to hold Peter down and do unspeakable things to him.

Peter looks up at Tony with wide, naive eyes. Peter’s so trusting of him. Peter has nothing but faith in his mentor.

It’s a mistake. The whole thing’s a mistake.

The second Tony saw Peter he knew it was game over.

Everything about Peter is Tony’s kryptonite. The boy’s soft skin, his wide eyes, his curly brown hair, and pink kissable lips. The way Peter has no clue how hard he makes Tony.

It hurts.

Tony knows he’s wrong to want this.

Peter’s lips on his. Tony’s hands roam around Peter’s body, he drinks up every detail like a dehydrated man in the Sahara. He feels empty without Peter’s warmth, feels numb without Peter’s presence.

Tony wants to tell Peter to run. To getaway. But he can’t, he’s not strong enough to let go.

He knows he’s a bad man. He knows he doesn’t deserve Peter. But he doesn’t know how to stop indulging himself.

#starker #angst #slight nff #tw suicidal thoughts #max writes

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carelessannie · 3 years

Note

not really a prompt i guess but Tony introducing pull-ups/diapers in Peter’s first heat ??

Oooooo okay I like this. Of course I went a little overboard, so here’s a drabble for you anon!

I also picture this going with the drabble I did for @femmeparker’s prompt here, although you don’t have to read it first. It’s all fluffy and from Peter’s POV anyways

Hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: possible Starkercest, possible Underage with A/B/O dynamics, mild smut, mild medical kink, daddy kink, strange uses of feminine products 👀👀

Another. He looks down into the hamper, breath catching on a sob as he takes in four, five, six! Six pairs of soaking wet underwear, wadded up and stuck together, smelling overwhelmingly of his shame and slick.

Peter looks back down the hallway— no sign of Daddy— and runs to the laundry closet, snatching a few more towels. He ran out of toilet paper and napkins an hour ago, and needs something, anything, to help with the mess.

It’s odd, slipping a towel between his bare legs, tying it up high on his waist and feeling it rub, scratchy and stiff, against his delicate parts. They hurt to touch now, but he doesn’t care. At least he isn’t dripping anymore.

The door slams, and Peter blinks. Oh, he forgot Daddy ran out to the store. He can hear his Daddy’s low voice, urgent and severe— he must be on the phone.

“... but all they had was extra strength... no, I didn’t... okay, Doc, but if this doesn’t work...”

And Peter zones out, waddling with big steps back to the master bed. He sips on the bright pink Gatorade sitting on the nightstand, hoping that if he drinks a lot, like Daddy said, the cramps will go away.

They don’t. He clutches his stomach, yelping as stabbing pain shoots through his insides. Peter curls into a ball and tries to breathe, pressing down hard until the pain starts to fade, replaced slowly with a steady warmth and soothing voice at his back.

“Mmm, Daddy?” he rolls over, searching blindly for his Daddy’s embrace. He isn’t disappointed. Daddy sweeps him up, pressing kisses into his hair and all over his face that help distract from the cramping and the sweatiness.

“Yeah, baby— I’m here. M’sorry I had to go, but I’m back.”

Peter shivers a bit at Daddy’s tone, remembering the shower they took earlier before he left for the store. His Daddy was so gentle, so sweet, and Peter can’t help the small moans that escape him as Daddy pulls him closer, tucking him into strong, safe arms.

“Shh, it’s okay sweetheart,” Daddy whispers, putting one hand down the back of the towel-undies around Peter’s waist. Peter mewls, squirming at the touch, but Daddy just shushes him again, “Just checking if you’ve soaked it yet, Petey. Dr. Winston had a suggestion I wanted to try— can we do that?”

Peter looks up into Daddy’s wide, all-knowing eyes, and can’t help but smile. He nods, eager to please.

“Okay, here,” Daddy puts him on his back, stepping off the bed and reaching into his shopping bags. He shuffles around before throwing a few items on the bed— baby powder, wipes and tissues, ointment, mysteriously wrapped objects, and a few...

Peter gasps, “Daddy, no!” and gets up, meaning to crawl away. He feels firm hands on his hips, reeling him back in, and he cries louder, embarrassed at what the small items imply.

Daddy simply turns him on his back again, untying the towel and wrestling Peter on top of it.

“Peter. Hey, sweetheart,” he tries, and Peter flails harder, refusing to look at... it.

But Daddy grabs his hands, holding them together, and forces Peter to still, looking deep in his eyes. The ache is back, strong between his legs and horrifyingly shameful, because Daddy can see it, can smell it. Peter just sobs harder, wishing Daddy would hold him again.

“I will, baby,” Daddy promises, answering the plea Peter accidentally said out loud, “but you have to trust me. The Doctor said that sometimes Omegas have to wear special undies, to help them with their heats. I want to help you, Peter— can you tell me why you don’t want the undies?”

Peter sniffles, shaking his head and mumbling, “Big boys don’t wear diapers, Daddy.”

Daddy’s face softens, lips turning into an indulgent smile, “But remember, Petey, only big boys have heats like you do. And this isn’t a diaper, no. It’s special underwear, just for good Omegas like you.”

“... it’ll help with the... t-the slick?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, helps you feel better, too. Remember when I put my finger in you? How good that felt?”

“— Daddy!”

“Just like that, Petey. Then we can tuck in and go to sleep.”

Peter thinks about it. He hates the thought of wearing a diaper like a little boy, but Daddy said it’s underwear for good Omegas. He makes up his mind— laying back on the towel and spreading his legs for Daddy to see.

“Such a good Omega, Pete. I’m gonna talk through this, and you tell me if it hurts, okay baby?”

“M’kay, Daddy.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter watches Daddy grab the tissues and wipes.

“I’m just gonna clean you up, Petey. Make sure there’s nothing dirty down here.”

Daddy pushes his legs back, urging Peter to hold himself open. The air is cold on his exposed hole, and the touch of the tissue is shocking on his skin. He stares up at the ceiling as Daddy first dries him, then uses a wipe to clean him up, the cold and wet contrasting wickedly with the heat and fever at war in his body.

He shakes. “Daddy... I-I’m... I can’t...”

Daddy just leans forward and gives a small kiss under his thigh, patting his hip with a quick, “shh, you’re doing great,” before throwing the used tissue away.

He picks up a tube of ointment next, “I’m going to put this on the red spots that hurt, Peter. It’ll help them feel better.”

Daddy starts near his puffy entrance, massaging the thick liquid into his rim and even dipping a finger inside once or twice. Peter can barely control his noises, distantly hearing himself making an animal whining sound as Daddy squeezes more ointment on his fingers, rubbing them gently along his private parts. Behind his tiny balls, at the crease of his thighs, and along his cock— now straining and hard in Daddy’s grip— merciless hands rub and grope his vulnerable places. It’s teasing, but feels oh so good.

“Do you want to release, Peter?” Daddy murmurs, stroking his tiny cock firmly in one hand. Peter’s not sure. He just feels empty, and tells Daddy as much.

“Okay, okay. The Doctor recommended these—” he holds up the small, wrapped package, “and said they would be a perfect fit. I’m gonna put one inside, sweetheart. If it hurts, you have to tell me. Promise?”

“Mmm promise, Daddy.” Peter sighs, letting Daddy move his legs again, squeezing them together.

There’s a soft ripping noise as Daddy opens the package, and then he feels a cold pressure against his hole. “It’s gonna push inside a bit, and then I’ll push the plunger. This will send the piece of cotton deep inside, and will leave a small string on the outside for when we need to get it back, okay?”

Peter grips his legs tighter, “Kay, Daddy,” he agrees, breathing harder as the piece of plastic slides easily inside. It feels like Daddy’s fingers, but harder and unforgiving. And it doesn’t stop. Peter’s breath picks up as he feels the cotton press up against something, hard enough he can almost feel it in his throat.

Then the pushing stops. Daddy pulls the plastic out, leaving the little bit of cotton deep inside, and lets Peter lower his legs.

“How does it feel, baby?”

“Uh,” Peter wiggles, eyes rolling back as he feels it rub against his insides, filling him up, “s’good, Daddy. Feels full.”

Daddy just smiles, giving him a quick kiss. “Such a good Omega for me.”

Peter smiles back and hums, “What about the... the um... the undies?” He blushes, hiding his face and thinking about the last item lying on the bed.

He’s met with a chuckle from Daddy, “Alright, lift up one more time,” and Peter complies, grabbing his knees and letting Daddy back between his legs.

“I’m gonna powder you up and put the undies on, Peter. Then we’re going to drink the rest of this Gatorade and go to sleep.”

Peter pouts, thinking of the achy need between his legs, the need for release. But Daddy knows what’s best— he’ll take care of Peter when the time comes. While he’s busy focusing on his own needy cock and hole, Daddy keeps talking, applying powder and lowering Peter’s legs down into the cradle of his special undies.

Daddy kisses his tummy, blowing a raspberry just like when Peter was a baby, and moves lower to take Peter’s small cock into his mouth with just one slurp.

Peter’s whole body jumps, shocked at the sudden scorching pleasure, and it takes less than a minute before Peter’s emptying his release into Daddy’s mouth with a quiet whimper. He collapses down on the bed, spent and tired, as Daddy carefully wraps him up, pulling the undies snug around his waist.

He’s eyelids start to droop, struggling to stay open as Daddy helps him drink the last few sips of Gatorade. He clings to Daddy’s chest, thankful for the skin on skin contact, and feels his lips latch onto Daddy’s scent gland on his neck, suckling greedily as his eyes slip shut, wrapping him and Daddy, together, in the inevitable darkness of sleep.

#starker #starkercest #ask annie #omega peter #heat fic #drabble #prompt fill #tw in the caption #damn y’all have me writing nasty fluffy stuff #fluff #slight smut #who even knows if this is what you wanted anon #nff #starker nff #omegaverse

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lemonpeter · 2 years

Text

Part 2!

Here’s part 1

Sorry it took so long! I got serious motivation today and wrote all but the first 100 words of this lol (got some other things written too) I hope y’all enjoy! 💕

Warnings: nff, SIM!Tony

@babybatscreationsv2 @blaize-hewwo @indiatuck @petecake

***

It didn’t take long for Peter to get back to the mansion. It seemed that whatever he had going on was over by that point.

Which was good. Tony was glad that there was absolutely nothing to get in his way of seeing the man again.

He was a proud man, he wouldn’t deny that. He liked doing his own things and making things work. Asking for help wasn’t something that he was fond of. Or something that he did often.

But he would reward anyone who helped him.

He slipped his sunglasses on and waited (not-so) patiently for the younger man to come back, lounging by the pool in the same chair that Peter had been in when they met.

He relaxed, eyes closed while he let the sun warm his face. It wasn’t as high in the sky as it had been when everyone had been over, but it was still enough to be bright and hot out. It was good.

Briefly he thought about how he should sit there alone more often. He really never did since the only times he sat by the pool were during parties.

Then he got bored and remembered why he didn’t do that.

He sat up when he heard Peter coming, grinning to himself. “There you are, honey. Thought you wouldn’t show.”

“It’s been, like, ten minutes since I got your message,” Peter pointed out. “I’m surprised you texted so soon.” He was a little nervous and the slight shake to his voice made that clear.

Had he overstepped with his note? Obviously Tony had seen it since he’d texted the number left with it. There was no way he’d miss that.

Tony grinned at him, pushing his sunglasses up so they sat on the top of his head. “I needed to thank you. So I wanted to do that as soon as possible.”

Peter’s face flushed lightly. “Thank me? For-“

“Don’t play dumb, honey. Although that’s your thing, isn’t it?” The older man mused. “I thought you were just another empty headed fan just like anyone else here. But you’re not. Even though you wanted to play like you were.”

He grabbed the man’s hands and pulled him so that he was sitting on the seat with him. “You solved my problem as soon as I mentioned it to you. You’ve never worked on the program but you understood it. You solved the problem even when I couldn’t.” He looked into his eyes. Those gorgeous, clear brown eyes.

Peter nodded slowly, gently taking his lip under his teeth. It was a nervous habit, biting his lip. But he doesn’t couldn’t help it. He had been isolated by the most powerful man in the city after showing him up in something. Despite Tony’s cheerful tone, things didn’t seem good for him.

“Tell me this, sweetheart.” Tony cocked his head slightly. “Why did you come to the party this afternoon? And before you try the dumb thing again- don’t. I know you weren’t here for the free Extremis.”

“I…” he didn’t know what to say. Tony saw right through him. What was the point in lying? “I really admire your work. And…well, you. In general.” His cheeks burned hotter. “So I wanted to come even though I didn’t think I’d get a chance to be very close to you.”

Tony clicked his tongue quietly. “And why’s that?”

“Well, I’m me. I don’t really think I’m…your type.”

The older man chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, Peter. I know my image, but I don’t really have a ‘type.’” He used air quotes and shook his head. “No, I’m very happy to talk to pretty young men who can keep up with what I say.”

“Oh.” Peter looked at him, eyes wide. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do. And with that being said…I still need to thank you for helping me, don’t I?” Tony flashed a grin. “So, what’ll it be?” He’d give Peter just about anything he wanted. He couldn’t help it, he was enamored.

The younger man squirmed under his hungry gaze, breathing hitching slightly. He had no idea what all was on the table. And he was terrible at asking for anything anyway.

Tony noticed the movement, eyes dropping. “I can’t tell if you’re getting off on the tiny amount of praise you got or if you just want me that much,” he teased.

Peter covered his face. “What if it’s both?” He mumbled, unsure if he was loud enough to be heard.

“Oh, you’re too precious.” Tony grinned. “I can’t handle it.” He moved Peter’s hands before cupping his cheek with one hand. His thumb stroked the corner of his mouth. “Adorable, smart, and you have a praise kink. You’re checking all my boxes, honey.”

It was a miracle that Peter’s face managed to stay flushed with how quickly the blood rushed downward.

Tony’s thumb slid over his bottom lip before pressing down gently. “Open, sweetheart.”

Peter complied immediately, lips parting. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. It all felt like a dream.

Tony pressed his thumb into Peter’s mouth, gently stroking over the tip of his tongue before going deeper. And the younger man took all of it without trouble. “Good…” he murmured. “No gag reflex?”

Peter shook his head slightly. He hadn’t ever had one. It certainly made…some activities easier.

“That’s really good to know.” Tony hummed softly. “For future reference. Because I’m supposed to be taking care of you, right?” He pulled his hand away, grinning a little. “Do you want me to go down on you?”

“Yes,” Peter answered immediately. He laughed nervously after, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, that was really…eager.”

Tony shook his head, smiling fondly. “No, it’s okay, honey. I don’t mind.” He stretched before moving off of the chair and onto the ground. The concrete was uncomfortable under his knees, but he could deal with it. Peter’s eagerness made him believe that he wouldn’t have to be on his knees for very long.

Peter looked down, breathing heavily. Tony Stark was between his legs. With intentions of sucking him off. How could this actually be happening?

The older man reached up and undid his pants, sliding them down until they were at his knees. Then his tight boxers followed, although Tony enjoyed the view. “You’re already so excited, honey,” he teased. “Almost dripping.” He carefully took Peter’s cock in his hand, swiping his thumb over the sticky head.

Peter’s mouth fell open and he gasped, hips rocking forward slightly. “That- it feels good,” he whimpered. He was so embarrassingly sensitive.

Tony grinned a little. “Good…” he leaned in, kissing the tip before taking it between his lips.

Honestly, it had been so long since he’d gone down on another man. He wasn’t sure how good he’d be. But he also figured that it wouldn’t really matter to Peter.

He sucked gently, closing his eyes. His hands moved to rest on Peter’s thighs.

Peter whined softly, his hands staying firmly at his sides. He gripped the flimsy plastic of the chair in an attempt to keep his hands off of Tony.

Tony started taking more down, trying to relax his throat as Peter’s cock hit the back of his mouth. He wasn’t quite as lucky as the younger man in the gag reflex department, but he’d pretty much been able to control his own.

He started bobbing his head, tears beading in his eyes from the movements. Had it always been this difficult? He was briefly annoyed before he started listening to Peter’s sounds again.

The young man’s moans were incredible, going straight to his own dick and making it harder than he’d ever remembered being. That definitely made it all worth it.

He doubled down, moving his head faster while bringing one hand down to gently massage Peter’s balls.

Peter moaned, the sound breathy and almost pornstar worthy. He held onto the chair tightly, his hips thrusting weakly. He couldn’t help it, staying still wasn’t an option at that point.

Tony didn’t mind. He kept going, letting the young man do whatever he needed to get off. The whole goal was to reward him, after all.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter gasped, head dropping back. “I’m- oh, I’m gonna cum,” he moaned. “Please, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He was just rambling. Tony definitely wouldn’t stop, even if he hadn’t said it.

He went all the way down until his nose was pressed against his skin. He swallowed as best he could, trying to keep the sensations pleasant. Although he knew that Peter was already past the point of no return.

Peter whimpered, body going completely still and his muscles tensed. He looked back at Tony, taking in the entire picture as best he could.

He wouldn’t have been able to hold back if he tried. The tension in his body released as he spilled down Tony’s throat. He moaned softly, hips moving weakly again as he rode out his orgasm.

Tony didn’t move and didn’t stop him from moving. He just let him do what he needed, trying to aid him by continuing his gentle sucking.

He only started pulling away when he was sure that Peter was finished, wiping his mouth and sitting back on his heels.

Peter looked ready to collapse, arms weakly holding himself up still, legs shaking. “Th-thank you,” he managed to get out.

Tony smiled a little. “No, this whole thing was to thank you.” He slowly stood up, wincing at the way his body protested. He was probably too old to be doing that.

The young man watched him, breathing hard still. “Oh. Right.” He tried to fix his clothes, weakly pulling his boxers up and giving up when it came to his pants. “That was amazing.”

“Why thank you.” Tony helped him, laughing softly. “But really. I’m very grateful for your help on my problem.” He hummed. “And…I enjoyed this. We should do it again sometime.”

Peter looked at him, eyes wide despite how he was still dazed. “Really?”

“Of course. After all, I have your number. I can call any time.”

#starker #peter parker #tony stark #tony x peter #my writing #tony stark x peter parker #nff

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spideythot · 2 years

Text

Happy Spooky Season! 🎃👻💀🎃

I wrote this on vacation, which is really when I get the majority of my writing done. Please enjoy.

Warnings: NFF, Demon!Tony, religious elements, slight mind control/manipulation

The Haunt

Peter hated haunted houses. He hated running through them, the confined space, the jump scares... and he always managed to get separated from his friends. This place was massive - an attraction in an abandoned church called Hell House. They lost Flash and Bette early on. But then Ned and MJ abandoned him completely when they were running through a section being chased by a guy with a chainsaw. Peter must’ve taken a wrong turn then too, because he hasn’t seen anyone...

No monsters, no other patrons. But he can hear people screaming. The hallway he’s wandering, very carefully, it’s lit by candles, but has no real decorations. He’s scared to call for help - What if someone’s waiting for him to speak so they can scare him? Peter stayed against the wall, still following the hall. There’s a door at the end, it’s got to be an exit. Peter focused on the door and his steps picked up. Soon he was turning the handle, pushing.

Locked. No. It can’t be. Peter turned the handle again and pulled. The door didn’t budge. Peter banged on the door with his fist. “Come on,” he pleaded. “I just want to go home!”

Suddenly the lock clicked and the door opened slightly, creaking on its hinges. Peter stepped back, startled. A man appeared behind the open door, wearing priest robes and looking confused. He must be part of the performers crew, Peter thought. Maybe this was a break room or something.

“H-hey...” he said, “I lost my friends. I wanna go home....” He blushed a little, embarrassed to be a scared little kid in front of this man.

The priest looked him over, his dark his considering. “Come in,” he finally said. “I can help you.”

Peter kept his eyes on the floor as he stepped into the room. “Thanks...” he said. “I know it’s kind of dumb to be scared of these things. It’s not real.”

“Fear is very real,” the priest said. He smiled at Peter though, warm and welcoming. He was older... usually scare performers were young adults... but this guy had gray in his hair. He was also attractive; maybe he wasn’t in any makeup yet.

Peter looked around them, trying to distract himself. This room was also lit by candles, and looked more like a church than dressing room. “Is... is this part of the haunted house?” He asked. There were pews, and an altar. Except... it wasn’t a Christian altar. The cross had been tipped upside down and strange, blood red patterns were everywhere.

“Haunted house?” The priest asked. “No, no... this is... something else. Come, sit. I’ll get you something to drink.” The man moved across the room to a curtain. “My name is Father Tony Stark,” he said as Peter stared rooted to his spot.

Maybe this was an unopened part of the haunt. People could get private shows here apparently. Father Stark brought Peter a small glass of water. “What’s your name?”

“Peter,” the boy replied. He sipped at the water, not really thirsty. He still just wanted to leave.

Tony nodded. “I’m sorry that you’ve had such a scare tonight Peter,” the man said. He put an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Don’t worry though. It’s almost over.”

He led Peter toward the altar.

“Is there an exit here?” Peter asked a little confused. The candles seemed to burn brighter as they approached.

“Mmhm,” Father Stark said. “Of sorts.”

Peter looked at the man, hesitant to take another step. Tony gave the boy another warm smile and Peter felt his head spin a little. Were priests supposed to be so handsome? Peter stumbled a little, feeling faint. “Oh...”

Tony caught him, a steady arm around his waist. “Are you feeling well?” He asked. He took Peter’s barely touched water glass before the boy could drop it.

“I’m... dizzy,” Peter said. “Just all of a sudden.”

“Come, sit,” the priest said. He guided Peter forward toward the altar again. Peter stared down at the floor - it was glowing... had there always been a pattern carved into it?

Peter stopped his feet again, feeling Tony pressed firmly to his back. “You’re so close,” he whispered. “Keep going.”

“I-I can’t...” Peter replied. “This isn’t...”

“You will,” the priest’s voice deepened. “You came to me by no accident.”

Peter’s head spun more and his feet moved on their own. He stepped into the ritual circle. The words, “Good boy,” bolted through him and Peter nearly fell to the floor. But Tony lifted the boy into his arms and laid him across the altar surface. Peter shook his head, trying to clear the fog. He looked over at Tony, who stood next to him. The man’s eyes were glowing red. “Please...” Peter whimpered.

“Hush,” Tony said. He leaned forward and kissed Peter. Heat shot through the boy; he’d never been kissed like this before. “You will be obedient,” Tony said. “You’re already craving my touch.”

Peter nodded, his body still aflame. He squeezed his thighs together, trying to create some friction between them.

“Good,” Tony said. He cupped Peter’s cheek. “Now, Peter...”

His name on the demons tongue caught his full attention. Peter’s eyes snapped to the red glow of Tony’s. “Don’t move.” Tony held up a wickedly jagged knife. He cut through Peter’s clothing, exposing him fully.

Peter blushed and attempted to cover his hard-on. But Tony easily caught both of his wrists. He raised them above Peter’s head. “Stay,” he ordered. And Peter was locked in place.

“Spread your legs.” The boy obeyed.

“F-Father Stark...” Peter whined.

“Patience,” the man replied. “Sacrificing your virginity is a delicate process, pet. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Peter nodded, though he didn’t fully understand what Tony had said. He raised his hips a little, his body on fire. “T-touch me,” he begged.

Tony chuckled. “You’re such a perfect gift.” He stepped between Peter’s legs, his robes seemingly melting away. He lowered himself between the boy’s thighs and dragged his tongue over them. Peter watched, fascinated by the long, forked organ slithering so near to his length and hole.

Tony’s tongue eventually pressed into Peter’s hole, sending the boy arching his back and keening. The demon priest worked him open, thrusting his tongue in and out Peter. He watched the boy’s reaction carefully. Peter squirmed, Though he was still locked in place by invisible bonds. He panted heavily, moaning and whimpering. He could feel it deep inside of his body, hot and exploring him thoroughly.

Then the tongue was withdrawn, leaving him empty. “N-no...” Peter managed. He stared at Tony, confused, wounded.

The demon only grinned. He pressed his own cock to Peter’s swollen, pink little hole. “Don’t fear,” he said. “I’m going to ruin you thoroughly.”

Tony thrust his hips forward, the head of his dick forcing its way inside the boy. Peter gasped, his toes curling. It was huge, but he felt no pain. Only fire, searing pleasure. His arms flexed as he tried to break free from his restraints again.

Tony’s cock sank deeper into Peter, forcing more delicious moans out of the boy.

Peter thrashed as the demon bottomed out. He was so incredibly full, he could feel every inch of the man inside. Then the demon began to move, snapping his hips hard and relentless against Peter. His legs locked around Tony’s waist. “Good boy,” the man praised. “You’re mine now.”

Peter gasped and nodded. He belonged to Tony, body and soul. Finally, Peter’s arms were released and he could hold himself against Tony’s body. He rolled his hips, earning a satisfied grunt from the man. They moved together, faster, Tony thrusting deeper. Peter couldn’t last. He was too full, too hot, too close to bursting. Tony kissed him again, demonic tongue slithering into his mouth. Peter saw stars as he came, groaning against the man’s lips and falling limp.

He clung to Tony. The demon continued to fuck him. He whined again, still feeling the heat. Peter knew his place though. It was clear. He was Tony’s, a doll, a toy for pleasure. So Peter held on, moving his hips to make them both feel good.

Peter came to outside the haunted house, his head clearing finally. He glanced around. He was standing at the entrance gate, fully clothed and only a little sore. Had he passed out? It wasn’t a dream... was it? “Pete!”

Peter glanced up at his name. Ned and MJ were coming out of the Haunt. “We’re Sorry,” Ned said, as he came up to Peter. “We lost you.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said. “I found my way out.”

“You didn’t get too scared, did you?” MJ asked, teasing him softly.

Peter shook his head. “No... one of the performers helped me... I think.”

His friends glanced at him as they made their way back to the parking lot. “Well, you missed a lot of good scares,” MJ said. “Too bad.”

Peter looked back to the haunted house, feeling an ache in his belly. He got a brief flash of memories. “Yeah...” he said softly. “You know, the pamphlet said that every night is a different scare...”

He stared up at the old stained glass window of the abandoned church, a red eyed figure stared back. He grinned. “Let’s just come back tomorrow night. I wanna do it again.”

#starker #peter x tony #nff #Halloween fic #au #demon!tony

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