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In all honesty, yeah. Peter probably could have done better. He’d been a little sloppy, a little distracted. Had left himself open for a few hits. But, hey. He wasn’t exactly prepared for some dude dressed like an octopus to invade lower Queens. A mechanical octopus, no less.
Peter doesn’t even wanna know what the sticky goo he’s covered in is made out of. His right hip-bone is throbbing and each breath pinched a little, but that and a sore cheek were the extend of his injuries. He stopped the bank from being robbed, saved a group of kids, and absolutely had not needed Tony fucking Stark to swoop in last minute.
It’s only a small victory that the only thing left for Tony to do was escort the hostages back to the general public while Peter slunk off to a dark corner to try and scrape off the goo. His suit is fabric, though, and it felt like a lost cause. He can feel it on his skin, slimy and cold.
“Done sulking, mini-me? Because you look like shit, and like you need a shower. And after you shower, we’re gonna talk. And you’re gonna be… Grounded? Is that the word? Is that what parents do these days?” Tony was walking towards him in nothing but a sharp suit, deep rich red that makes the inky black of his hair and the glossy gold of his tie gleam in the mid-day sunshine.
“You’re not my father,” he mumbled back, scowling with all the power he was able to muster as he dragged a hand down his thigh, flicking the thick glop somewhere off to the side. He can’t help but think about it, just for a moment. If he was Peter Stark and not Peter Parker. But then, he would be a biological son with a permanent, raging boner for his actual father and somehow that was worse than being a pseudo-son, an adopted protégé.
Tony stopped above him, dark eyes assessing as he held out a hand, metal bleeding down his fingertips as Peter reached for it. “No, but I’m responsible for you. And your gorgeous, terrifying Aunt is away for three days. So I’m extra responsible for you,” Tony pointed out as metal crawled determinedly across his chest.
Tony wiggled a foot pointedly and Peter heaved a long-suffering sigh, stepping forwards to place his left foot on Tony’s right. His right leg he lifted, curling around the back of Tony’s calf as he gripped broad, unforgiving shoulders. Tony wrapped an arm around his waist, and they hit the air as the reporters came rushing forwards.
It was a humiliating position Peter lamented, tucking his face down against Tony’s collar. But… It was also recklessly hot, and he wasn’t sure which part of that was the lesser of two evils, really.
Tony didn’t give him much time to think about it, reaching the Tower at a pace that made Peter’s head spin a little. As always, Tony cradled him close to land, lifting him from his body so they step onto the platform as one. Immediately, mechanical arms extend from the space around them and Peter ducked out of the way, skipping for the doorway that would take him on a safe, concrete route to a hidden shower room.
The sound of spraying water is shut off by the doors closing, and he immediately stooped, peeling off his suit with his nose scrunched. Its difficult; the slime made it stick uncomfortably to his skin and his hair is flat, half-matted down with wetness. At his approach a shower leaps into life, the water warming and falling with enough pressure that it will help push away the dirt.
“Thanks, J,” he huffed gratefully, tossing his suit aside and stepping under the spray. The AI’s soft reply was lost to the roaring of water in his ears and he basked in the warmth for a moment before lunging for the coconut body wash, practically bathing himself in it before he set the bottle aside, scrubbing the liquid into a thick lather.
Behind him, footsteps echoed, clearly accentuated by the sound system. The sleek, tinted glass screens slid into a protective box, though it didn’t quite hide the shape of Tony approaching and leaning against a nearby wall. Peter sighed quietly into the steam, massaging the froth around his collar, the crooks of his arms. Slowly, he begun to feel human again. Clean.
“Are you hurt?” Tony’s voice broke through, soft with concern in a way that let Peter know he was in for a real chewing out shortly. He took a moment to take stock of himself. His cheek was tender and his shoulder ached. At his hip, a bruise shaped kind of like a banana was in the pinky-red stage. But otherwise, there was nothing of concern.
“No. Bruises, but I’m fine,” he clipped back, standing under the spray to rinse himself off. The screens were one-way glass, and Peter turned to watch the way that Tony shifted against the wall, adjusting his sleeves and his tie. Tony made an affirming sound in response, nodding.
“Good. That’s good, y’know? That you’re not hurt. Because you could have been. Hurt. And if you were, it would have been your fault,” Tony replied, voice bouncing from sentence to sentence in the way it normally did when he was 38 hours sans sleep and twelve coffees in.
Peter sighed, rolling his eyes as he reached for the shampoo. “You’re saying that as if you aren’t Iron Man. And an Avenger. Who gets injured on a daily basis. Like, for example, when you burnt your hand on the coffee machine at 3am this morning,” he pointed out, dumping a handful of shampoo onto his head. More than necessary, but. Octopus goo.
Tony’s affronted noise and wild hand gesture was worth the guilt of being snarky. “You - that does not count. I’m Iron Man. As in, protective casing. Of metal! Very hard to damage metal!” the man pushed off the wall, walking closer.
“Besides. You getting hurt? That’s on me. I’m letting you do this. I’m practically endorsing you doing this. We had an agreement. You be the friendly neighbourhood anti-mugger and I’m the heavy hitter that deals with things like giant, mechanical octopi,” Tony continued and Peter scowled, stomping out from under the spray to drag his knuckles across the glass. In their wake, the tinting faded, allowing him a view of Tony’s face.
Tony jerked back, brows climbing in surprise at the sudden view. Peter knew he couldn’t see anything but from the shoulders up, so he stepped back under the spray, pointing accusingly. “First, Mr. Stark. You aren’t letting me be Spiderman. I was Spiderman for like a year before I met you. I’d still be Spiderman even if we never met, or you decided you didn’t want me around anymore,” he pointed out, shoving his hands into his hair to rinse the suds.
“Of course I’m letting you. I’m Tony Stark. I’m Iron Man. You think I couldn’t have you on SHIELD’s watch list with a click of my fingers? Or that I couldn’t tell your Aunt that you spending weekends at the Tower is actually you flitting off at one-am to go stop corner-store robberies?” Tony scoffed, arms folding.
Peter swiped away the suds running for his eyes with a temper, throwing a glare at Tony over his shoulder. It wasn’t often that they fought, especially not like this. It was normally Tony’s guilt flaring into anger and Peter pleading his case, and then make-up takeout on the balcony. Fights like this were rare. Hurtful.
“Stop threatening me with things like that. Just because I’m not forty and a billionaire and Iron Man, doesn’t mean I’m less deserving of being Spiderman or that I’m less capable of being a superhero. And even if you did take away my suit or put me on a black-list or whatever, I’d still find a way to do it,” Peter snapped back, reaching for the conditioner. Angry and upset though he was, he wasn’t going to sacrifice the silky-softness of his hair.
“I never said you weren’t capable. Or less deserving. But you’re a child. A fucking baby. And I’m the one responsible for you. You get hurt, that’s my fault. I’m the one who knows you’re running around in spandex and throwing punches. You get hurt, I’m gonna feel guilty,” Tony shot back, reaching up a hand to rake through his hair. Peter couldn’t help a snort, rinsing the product through his hair.
“Not everything is about you, Mr. Stark,” he pointed out bitterly, ducking his head to hide how his eyes begun to sting with tears. He got it, really. He knew that Tony felt responsible for him, that Tony wanted to protect him. But he was sick of fighting over this. Sick of Tony constantly doubting him, even though it had been Tony who had come to him, asking for help against the alien invasion.
“Oh, kid. Go fuck yourself, you know-”
“Fuck me yourself, coward,” Peter shot back, before instantly freezing. Fuck. Fuck. He hadn’t mean that. He shouldn’t have said that. Screw MJ and her razor-sharp bantering skills. He stood under the warm spray, shivering as he wrapped his arms around himself, keeping his gaze to the floor. Tony was silent for long enough that Peter shifted, risking a glance up.
Tony was standing just before the glass, head slightly tilted, an unreadable expression on his face. At Peter’s look, he lifted a hand, waving it sideways. The glass screen beeped, and slid back into the wall. Peter gasped, twisting himself against the wall and trying to hide behind the veil of steam, bending a leg to shield himself with his thigh.
“Mr - What are you doing? You can’t just-!”
“What did you say?” Tony demanded, arms folding and chin tipping defiantly as he stared through the steam at Peter, his voice low. Peter shifted, cheeks colouring as he tried to decide what was worse, baring his front, or his back. He decided on the back, huddling against the warm tile.
“I didn’t - Fuck. I’m sorry. I was mad. I didn’t mean to say something like that,” he huffed out, reaching up a hand to push dripping hair from his eyes. His cheeks burned with shame and he couldn’t quite hold the gaze, staring at the floor as the steam begun to seep out, weakening his hiding.
“No, you clearly meant to say it, kid. So go on. Say it again,” Tony replied, his voice slow like dripping honey. Peter hadn’t heard this tone before, not even in all the flirting Tony did at interviews and galas. It was low, dangerous. He glanced up again, brows furrowed. What was Tony gaining from this? Were they still fighting?
“I…I said fuck me yourself. You coward,” Peter stammered back, acutely aware now that the shower had stopped running, despite the fact Peter hadn’t commanded it to stop. Tony’s mouth tilted into the kind of smirk Peter had only seen when he was about to do something dramatic or dangerous.
(Usually both).
“Have you ever known me to be a coward?” Tony asked, tone almost conversational as he reached up, fingers deftly undoing his tie. Peter almost slipped on the tiles, desperately trying to maintain his cover. Despite how scared he felt, how hard his heart was thumping, he could feel the gentle simmer of arousal building, knew soon his thigh wouldn’t be able to hide anything.
“No, but Mr. Stark, what -”
“And do you think I would back down? That I’m a coward when it comes to something like this?” Tony interrupted, letting the silk of his tie slide to the floor before he begun to work on his cuff-links. Peter couldn’t help but follow the movement, eyes wide. Tony was undressing himself.
The realisation sent a little tingle down his spine, body shivering against the tiles like it didn’t know what it wanted to do. Tony was staring at him, head tilted and one brow raised in the way he did when he was waiting for an answer to an obvious question. Cuff-links falling to the floor with delicate little plinks, Tony raised his hands to his collar, popped the buttons in neat succession.
“Um. Really, Mr. Stark. What are you doing? I mean, I know what you’re doing. Undressing. But…” Peter trailed off, cheeks alight as he ducked his head down, watching the way Tony’s fitted shirt begun to slack as the buttons were worked upon. Tony paused, only briefly.
“I’ve got a complex, Peter. And, as you like to say, an ego bigger than the Tower. Do you really think I’d take kindly to someone insulting that? Especially you, the protégé to my entire legacy. The object of my work and affections?” Tony kept his tone almost conversational, but his eyes were a different story, dark and focused.
His affections? Peter turned as much as he felt able, gaping at his mentor as the man continued to undress, apparently appeased by the lack of real objection. “But you…What are you gonna do?” he asked weakly, gaze flicking between Tony’s hands and the way the tight, pressed material of his suit was stretched visibly at the front of his hips.
Tony Stark was hard. For him.
“You called me a coward. You specifically called me a coward in regards to fucking you. You’re smart, not just pretty. So impress me, use those smarts,” Tony shot back, letting his shirt fall open. It wasn’t the first time Peter had seen Tony shirtless, or caught glimpses. But this time it felt different. This time there was possibility.
“You’re going to prove me wrong,” he whispered, throat dry. It kept reoccurring to him that this was a thing. A thing that was going to happen. Tony gave him one of those soft, approving smiles, like he did each time Peter worked a hologram by himself or fixed something without Tony’s help.
“There we go. See? Not just a pretty face. Such a smart boy,” Tony practically cooed, shrugging out of his suit jacket and shirt. “Like I said. You doubted me. Its simply in my nature to prove you wrong”. The way he said it was blasé, off-handed. It made Peter’s floaty mood sour, briefly.
“So that’s it? I insulted your talents so I’m another name on the proven-wrong list?” he bit, cowering against the tiles again, arms coming to wrap around his middle. He knew Tony had a reputation, back then. Still did, these days. Knew Tony hadn’t exactly been celibate since the last break up with Pepper. But he couldn’t help feeling the sting of just being another notch, another name.
“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. It’s less appealing when I know how intelligent you really are. Do you think you’re like the others, hm? That I’m gonna use that pretty little body, make a point, never touch you again?” Tony was working at his belt now, fingers curling over the buttered leather. It took Peter’s breath away.
“Aren’t I?” he challenged, shooting Tony a burning gaze from across the floor. Tony’s head tipped further, expression going from dark and predatory to soft, almost sad. It startled the anger from Peter’s eyes, head lifting a little in surprise.
“Come here”. Tony’s voice was soft, but it left no real room for argument. Peter’s body automatically twisted a little, almost desperate to obey. Except the movement made his hard length nudge into the soft swell of his hip and he huddled back again, shaking his head. There was a soft sound from across the space between them, and then the sound of Tony’s polished Louis Vuitton’s on the wet tile.
Tony stopped close enough that Peter’s down-turned gaze fell square at his crotch, at the half-undone belt and the firm ridge in the fabric that told Peter he wasn’t the only one invested in this. In some way, at least. And then Tony’s hands - hands Peter had dreamt of - came up, cutting off Peter’s view and lifting to cup his cheeks, lifting his head.
Tony’s hands were warm, and Peter could feel the little scar on his right thumb, from Tony’s early Iron Man days. The light scrape on his left palm, from where he’d been making pancakes with Scott, laughing as Thor drowned his in enough syrup to give a regular human diabetes in one shot.
Tony’s touch was gentle but firm as he lifted Peter’s head, giving him no option but to either stare straight at the reactor, or lift his gaze up to Tony’s face. He chose the latter, blinking up into warm, dark brown eyes. This close, Peter could see little flecks of lighter browns and dark blues. It was mesmerising, like fireworks in a night sky.
“Do you really think that?” Tony asked, thumb dragging slowly across Peter’s cheek bone, gaze imploring as he stepped closer. One more short, little step and they would be pressed flush together. As it was, Peter’s aching cock was already dangerously close to the groove of Tony’s thigh.
“I don’t know,” Peter mumbled back, voice cracking with frustration as he turned his eyes to the stubble on Tony’s cheek, the smooth, flawless line that followed his jaw. Tony nudged again, bringing his eyes back up.
“You’re not. Any of it, not just any of it. You’re not just my legacy or my teammate. You’re not just Peter Parker or Spiderman. Fuck, kid. D’you how hard it’s been? Literally. Hard. Running around in that fucking spandex. And then in my suit, that I made. Being all sweet and a little stupid sometimes. And being so fucking smart that sometimes, it makes me feel just a little bit dumb. Watching you in the labs, or with the others. Watching you fight, listening to you talk about school and your tests and going bowling with your friends”.
Tony had done all the talking, but Peter was breathless by the time he stopped, eyes wide as he stared up at the older man. He was smart, sure. But his mind stuttered over all of the words, the sentences they combined. Tony actually felt that way about him, meant it, but the look in his eyes, the way he gripped Peter’s jaw like his touch alone could make him believe the words.
“Say it, and I’ll stop. Say you don’t want this, and I’ll never act on it again. I’ll leave you alone, if you want that. But if you do want, and I’m thinking you do…” Tony trailed off, thumb sliding down to brush the corner of Peter’s mouth as he shifted, bringing a knee forwards to gently nudge against Peter’s cock, pressing it towards his stomach. Peter’s legs shook and he let out a weak gasp, hips twitching.
“O-Okay. C’mon then, coward. Fuck me,” he breathed out, surprised briefly by his own confidence. It surprised Tony too, brow quirking, a smirk that half bared his teeth as he dipped his thumb into the corner of Peter’s mouth, not enough to force his mouth open, but enough to skim his teeth before he pulled away.
“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me you want this. I need to hear it in words, before anything else,” Tony hummed, his voice low, but serious as he moved his hands, ever so gently sliding them to skin over Peter’s shoulders, as though about to draw him in for a hug. Peter nodded, but it took a moment of steeling himself with deep breaths, building his courage.
“I…I want you. I want you to prove me wrong. And…Do it again. If you want. Whenever you want,” he managed, bringing his own hands up, fingertips skating the side of Tony’s torso. The muscle there twitched a little, like a horse shaking a fly. And then Tony took his wrists in a weak hold, guiding them to press his palms flat against the skin, against firm muscle lined over bone. Peter could feel each breath, could feel his heart, fluttering under his touch.
“Since you asked so nicely. We’re gonna talk about this, after. About what we want. But right now, I have a point to prove. I’m feeling mighty underestimated, right now”. And there, there was the dazzling grin, the cheeky wink. Tony’s eyes glittering in the white light as he let go of Peter’s wrists, dropping his own hands back down to his belt.
“How’d you want me to touch you, hm? I know you’re a fresh face at this, sweetheart. So tell me what you’re okay with. Want me use my hand? Get you off, let you fuck my fist? Or d’you want me to use my fingers? Fuck you open on them, nice and slow?” Tony murmured, head ducking to press the softest of kisses to Peter’s temple as he pulled his belt free, tossed expensive Gucci across the floor, the clang on buckle hitting concrete loud in the silence.
Peter’s brain had kind of stopped working at ‘touch you’, eyes a little glazed as he dragged his hands down Tony’s side, stopping to run his thumbs over the V of his hips, digging gently into the arch of muscle. Tony quivered under his touch, his gaze intense as he watched. Waited.
“I…Can I…I want…” Peter couldn’t get a full sentence out, brain stumbling over all the options. What did he want? Did he want Tony to use his mouth? His…There? How did he want to be touched?
“Take your time, baby. No rush. You can keep touching. You can think about it. However long you need”. Something told Peter that last part was a bit of a stretch, with how hard both of them were now, but he nodded, heaving out a sigh as he moved his hands, pressed his palms to the firm space under Tony’s navel.
“Tell me what you’ve done, so far. You don’t have to say names, just acts. Things you like. Things you don’t want to do,” Tony coaxed, hands coming to Peter’s arms, rubbing comfortingly. He kept the distance between them, respectful. Peter nodded again, thinking.
“I’ve…I use my fingers, sometimes. Not often. It’s a little awkward. Doesn’t always feel good. I can’t…Reach,” he trailed off lamely, but Tony nodded understandingly, hands coming up so his thumbs could rub across Peter’s collarbone. “And…I’ve had a blowjob, before. It was quick, at a party. But it was good. And I’ve wanted to try giving one, too. Nobody else has used their fingers, though. That’s about it? I’m pretty sure. I’m not really sure what I don’t like,” he admitted, fingertips skirting Tony’s waistline.
“That’s good, darling. That’s really good. D’you think you’d wanna do any of that?” Tony asked, head tipping to brush his mouth along Peter’s cheek, a drag of soft lips and scratchy stubble that made Peter tip his head backwards, whimpering. Fuck. What did he want? He wanted…
“Can you touch me? And kiss me? Fuck, please kiss me. And I’d…I wanna try it. Giving. A blowjob, I mean. To you,” he huffed out, unable to stop himself from closing the space, pressing their hips together. Tony’s cock was firm, large and heavy against Peter’s lower stomach. It squeezed his own against Tony’s thigh and they groaned in tandem, Tony’s mouth dragging against his skin.
“Yeah, yeah. Fuck, baby. I will, I promise. Anything you want,” Tony agreed, voice guttural and rough as he moved, sliding his hands down Peter’s sides to grip his soft hips, squeezing gently. It was dangerously close to Peter’s flushed skin and he sucked in a breath, fingers twisting in Tony’s belt loops.
“Please?” He asked again, not quite sure exactly what he was asking for. But Tony gave a soft sound in response, pressing Peter back into the tiles. It was enough that their bodies were flush, but not enough to have any real pressure. Light enough that if Peter wanted, he could step sideways, step away.
Tony pulled back, enough to stare at him for a moment, before he dropped his head again, hands pulling Peter’s hips forwards as he stole the softest kiss Peter had ever had. It was barely more than a brief press of lips, warm and outlined by a light prickle of stubble, but it still made Peter gasp, blinking before he chased the sensation. Tony chuckled into the space between them, but ducked again, allowing Peter to take the lead.
Peter wasn’t the most experienced kisser, but he had a good idea of what to do, even against someone with Tony’s experience. He knew from awkward fumbles at school that pressing too hard was weird, and that the odd bite to the bottom lip was good. Knew not to be too sloppy with tongue, and to be mindful to breathe.
What he wasn’t expecting was for Tony’s hands to slip around, pressing into the small of his back and encouraging him to grind firmly, a slow pace as he willingly opened his mouth for the younger boy, letting Peter’s tongue slide over his lip. He couldn’t find it to be ashamed at the way he eagerly went with the touch, grinding against the firm muscle. It wasn’t close to enough, but it was good. So good. He could feel Tony grinning against his mouth and broke away, breathing for a moment.
“Okay. Kissing is good,” he announced firmly, before diving back in. Tony was laughing against his mouth though, body shaking against Peter’s, and soon they were both giggling, breaking apart so Peter could lean back against the wall, Tony’s hands holding his hips firmly forwards as they caught their breath.
“If you think that was good…” Tony murmured, grin wicked before he ducked down again. The kiss was just enough to distract Peter from the fact that one of Tony’s hands moved, sliding around his hip to wrap lightly around Peter’s straining dick. Peter yelped into his mouth, eyes flying open as his hips stuttered into the loose grip, blinking up at Tony was an astounded expression.
“You can tell me to stop,” Tony reminded him, stroking a thumb across the soft skin on the side. Peter wanted to say the last thing he wanted right now was to stop, but he couldn’t form words, lips parted as he stared at Tony’s eyes, the little flecks that seemed to glitter there. Tony looked amused, but also...His gaze was burning, and he licked his lips slowly as he stared back, like he wanted to eat Peter alive.
“Can I…?” He managed, his voice shaky to his own ears as he untangled a hand, knuckles skimming the hard bulge of Tony’s dick. Tony jolted, almost as if he’d forgotten this was a two-man show, but then he was smirking, shifting to allow Peter better access he begun slow, lazy strokes. Peter had to gather himself for a moment, forcing his hips still before he moved shaky fingers, working at the platinum button and the short zip.
Tony remained steady, his expression soft and he worked Peter lightly, enough to allow little waves of pleasure, but nothing more as Peter sucked in a breath, dipped both of his hands into the expensive silk blend and wrapped both sets of slender fingers around the hot skin he found there. “Fuck,” he whimpered, dropping his head to stare as he pulled gently, revealing the long, firm length.
Tony was no porn-video-monster-cock, but he was comfortably above average, cut and well groomed. Through the parted fabric Peter could see the swell of his balls, shaved clean and full. The tip was round and plush, a dark pink, shiny with pre-cum that had been smeared by the soft fabric of his pants.
Peter didn’t have a lot of experience with dicks, outside of porn. But staring at Tony’s, the one thing he could think of was pretty. He shifted his hands, holding just a little tighter as he dragged them both upwards, until he was cradling the soft tip. Above him, Tony let out a shaky breath, holding himself carefully still. When Peter glanced up, Tony was practically chewing his tongue, watching with an intensity that made Peter shiver slightly.
“Anything I want?” Peter asked, voice hoarse as he looked down again, running his thumb slowly over the slit. It twitched in his palms, a thick dribble of creamy white cum rising to the surface. Tony’s own hand tightened, thumb rubbing slow lines up and down. It was almost maddening.
“Anything you want, short of snapping it off,” Tony assured, flashing him a bright grin as he leaned forwards, kissed between Peter’s brows and squeezing his cock gently, dragging his hand down. Peter almost collapsed, pulling one hand away to press his palm to the tile, letting it stick there. He’d be damned if he ruined this by falling over.
“I wanna…I’m gonna suck you off. Taste you. And…You can touch. Anywhere you want. Gently, for now,” Peter decided, glancing up at the older man. Immediately, Tony nodded, pressing forwards to kiss Peter silly again. It was open mouthed, a little wet. Peter could feel his own cock jerk in response to Tony catching his lip with his teeth, squeezing just faintly before releasing, licking over the captured skin.
When Tony pulled back to give him another short, sweet kiss, Peter shifted, nudging some space between them in order to peel his hand from the wall, fingers flexing as he squirmed into a position easy enough to sink to one knee. Tony huffed out a laugh, hands sliding their way up to Peter’s shoulders, rubbing comfortingly.
“In your own time, coward,” he teased, moving a hand to tap a finger gently over Peter’s lips. In retaliation Peter twisted, nipping the digit gently. Tony tapped his mouth again in soft reprimand, but the smile that curved his lips was so utterly fond that Peter had to look away, finding himself eye-level with Tony’s cock.
He was doing this. He was gonna do this. That dick belonged to Tony Stark, and he was gonna suck it like he was trying to suck out his soul.
A fortifying breath, and he reached up again, wrapping both hands carefully around the firm skin, guiding it downwards so he could lick a wet, firm stripe from his knuckles to the soft, wet head. There was nothing inherently magical or gross about the taste. It was just skin, warm and firm, but it wasn’t bad, either, and Peter did it again, letting his eyes fall shut to Tony’s soft curse from above.
Encouraged, he moved his hands a little as he short-licked his way back to the head, stroking what wasn’t touched by his tongue as he lapped at the silky tip, tongue dipping into the large bead of pre-cum there. It wasn’t as salty or bitter as he’d expected it to be, but it wasn’t quite sweet, either. A little tart, a little indescribable.
“Don’t rush yourself,” came from above, but Tony’s voice sounded strained, and his knuckles brushed Peter’s jaw lightly before his fingers buried in Peter’s hair, moving in long, firm strokes. Peter couldn’t help groaning against Tony’s skin, head dropping a little. Oh, that. He liked that.
He was in the prime position for it, and nothing stopped him from sitting up a little, closing his lips over the plush tip, down until they slipped over the rim of the head, until there was a small weight on the tip of Peter’s tongue. It was good, filled his mouth in a way not entirely uncomfortable. Tony’s hips twitched just an inch, but the man had remarkable control, freezing himself before he went any further.
“Kid. Fuck. Peter,” Tony whispered harshly, stroking through his hair again, his thighs taut. Peter made a soft sound in reply before he sucked experimentally, soft, at first. It wasn’t unlike sucking a straw, and he moved his hands again, stroking firmly like he would himself. Tony’s free hand came up, bracing against the wet tile.
It spurred him on, Tony reacting to his movements, so he allowed himself a breath and sunk down a little further, taking as much as he felt he could for sure suck comfortably. Tony practically whimpered above him, shifting his weight a little. They stayed like that, Peter slowly nodding his head and Tony making soft, encouraging sounds from above before Tony gave his hair the smallest of tugs, nudging his hips away and allowing Peter a moment to breathe.
“I’ve got an idea, sweetheart. I want you to feel good too, yeah?” Tony breathed, reverent as he encouraged Peter to stand. He wobbled a little, knees red from the tile, but Ton stepped close, supporting him easily as reaching between them to grasp Peter’s neglected cock, giving it a few gentle tugs. Peter keened, listing forwards and into the kiss Tony caught him with before the billionaire pulled away, a hand on Peter’s arm to bring him from the wet shower space.
When they hit dry concrete Tony shifted, ducking away from Peter to pick up his discarded shirt and jacket, laying them together like a blanket. Catching Peter’s eye, he sunk down, sitting back on his haunches and spreading his legs at the edge of the makeshift blanket. “Between my legs, baby. On your knees. Arch your back for me” Tony instructed, patting his thighs encouragingly.
Peter shifted, hands drifting to cover himself self-consciously before he huffed, smiling weakly as he lowered himself, knees hitting the soft fabric before he crawled across, sinking down onto his elbows and wrapping his arms around Tony’s thighs, parting his own to help in curving his spine as much as was comfortable for the position.
“Christ,” Tony muttered, staring down at him for a moment, before he sat upright a little more. “That’s good, Peter. So good, baby. You’re so precious. Just keep going, okay?” Tony soothed, running his hands over Peter’s shoulders as the boy sunk to his chest, getting comfortable on the soft covering.
He squeezed Tony’s thighs gently as he ducked back down, nosing at Tony’s cock before he used his tongue to draw it back into the wet heat of his mouth, sinking down as much as he was able. He could comfortably fit about half, suckling firmly as he felt the weight of Tony’s palms sliding down, Tony leaning forwards to cup his asscheeks gently.
Peter knew he had a fairly good ass. He did enough patrolling and training with the Avengers to have a pretty decent body in general, but he knew his butt was peachy, proportionate. Had caught a few of them looking enough times. And Tony seemed to agree, grabbing handfuls of firm muscle and kneading softly.
“Look at that perky little ass, hm? Cutest bubble butt in New York,” Tony murmured, squeezing gently. Peter shifted, nudging at Tony’s navel and risking a skim of teeth against the spit-slick skin. Tony laughed above him, one hand leaving his ass to bury in his hair, stroking softly.
“Okay, you got me. It’s the juiciest fucking ass I’ve ever got my hands on,” Tony purred, his other hand giving Peter’s right asscheek a gentle swat. It bounced lightly from the hit as Peter hollowed his cheeks again and Tony’s thighs almost closed around his head.
“Mmph, fuck. Good boy,” Tony rasped, watching in awe as Peter ducked his head again, sucking harshly as he swallowed down. It was then that Tony shifted, sliding his hand down the small of Peter’s back until his middle finger dipped into his tailbone, pressing there gently. Peter’s hips stuttered and he moaned around his mouthful, drool sliding to pool at Tony’s balls as he shifted, his own hands squeezing Tony’s thighs.
“Nice, baby? Tap one for yes, two for no," Tony hummed, rubbing the tender spot, finger close but never close enough to the rosy little bud of muscle.
Peter tapped once, firmly, and Tony chuckled, ran his finger lower, running slow lines up and down the line of Peter’s asscheeks. He skimmed the soft little hole, but never quite touched or pressed, listening to the whimpers from between his legs, Peter’s hips shifting restlessly. Tony took pity after a moment, pressed down on the next pass and ran his fingertip down firmly. Peter’s hips jerked forwards, low whine vibrating against Tony’s cock.
“Good? More?” He asked, voice soft as he rubbed slowly at the tight little ring, feeling how soft it was. Still wet from the shower. A firm tap, then a pause, and another. A clear yes to both as Peter held his breath, sucking Tony down like it was the last thing he might do. Tony had to stifle a shout, hunching over and squeezing two handfuls of asscheek so as not to fuck into the hot wetness.
“Ever heard of anal hooks, darling?” He asked, kneading the soft flesh as he spoke. Peter stilled beneath him, though not in fear, and after a moment he tapped twice, rocking back against Tony’s hands. He hummed lightly; he hadn’t expected the boy to have known. “They were one of my favourite toys, back when I was a bit of a whore. Loved to hook a pretty boy up, attach a little chain to it. Make his body rock as I fucked his mouth, like a desperate little dog on a leash”.
There was a breathless, high mewl from below and he eased back a little, leaving Peter’s ass to cup his cheeks, lifting the boy off his cock. Peter pulled away with a trail of drool, his lower lip and his chin slick with it, eyes glassy and mouth already a little swollen. If Tony was more flexible, he’d have ducked down to steal the boy’s breath again.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t go that hard, not now. But what do you think about me using my finger, controlling that pretty little ass and how you suck my dick, mm?” He asked, swiping a thumb across Peter’s cheek. His hair was drying, skin prickling with cold anywhere Tony wasn’t touching. Peter looked blown away, staring up at him with his lips pursed in a pretty little O shape.
Peter tapped his leg so hard he pushed Tony’s thigh aside and the older man snorted, shushed him when Peter keened. “Okay, baby. I will, I promise. Gonna be all brave and fuck that pretty little hole” he teased, ran his thumb over Peter’s mouth before he moved, pushing his index and middle finger into Peter’s slick mouth. The boy blinked dopily before his cheeks dusted and he glanced away, cheeks hollowing as he sucked, his tongue curling between the two thick fingers. They had the faint taste of metal and salt and Peter licked at it eagerly.
When his fingers were sloppy, Tony pulled them away, wasting no time in delving back between Peter’s cheeks to press his index finger against Peter’s hole, rubbing gently to get it wet. Peter huffed a shaky groan, dropping his head to nuzzle at Tony’s thigh. He let his finger press gently, just enough that the flesh gave a little, before he pulled away, continuing to repeat the motion, as though pressing a button. Peter gave a weak giggle that tapered off into a pleased sigh.
“Still good, sweetheart?” He asked, and Peter shifting, hips squirming and arms rearranging so he could loll his head, gazing up at Tony with a soft, almost sleepy expression and a nod.
“S’good, Mr. Stark. Real good,” he mumbled in response, fingers curling in the fabric at Tony’s knee. As Tony continued to tease the taut little ring, Peter ducked his head, mouthing lazily at the side of Tony’s cock, tongue laving the wet skin. For a beginner, the kid was so damn eager it made up for his lack of technique. With the kid distracted he shifted, pressed a little firmer and didn’t give until the pad of his finger was swallowed eagerly. What he didn’t expect was for Peter’s body to suck, drawing his finger to the first knuckle as Peter’s breath hitched.
“Oh, baby,” Tony rasped, his free hand fisting a handful of peachy cheek. Peter’s hips squirmed, drawing him in a little further as he tongued his way up Tony’s length and Tony had to shift his own hips to slow the boy down, feeling with his middle finger. Peter wasn’t as wet as he could be, but with no lube, it was a limited choice. Peter gave an impatient sounding moan, tugging gently at Tony’s leg and he chuckled, soothed a hand over the reddened flesh of his asscheek.
“Easy, darling. Don’t wanna hurt you”.
Whatever Tony had been expecting, it wasn’t for Peter to make a grumpy sound against his cock, shifting on one elbow to reach back, feeling blindly with one hand. When slender fingers found his wrist, Peter gripped, mouth falling from Tony’s skin as he twisted awkwardly to push.
Tony’s finger slid forwards into the tight grip of Peter’s body, a slow but sure slide home. Peter’s hips jolted, the boy whimpering as he tossed his head back, pressing Tony’s hand firm against his skin, keeping him there at the last knuckle. Tony cursed, loud and unashamed as he felt the way the tight muscle squeezed around him. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to feel it around his cock.
“Suck, darling. Don’t forget, this is a pretty big point I’ve gotta make,” he chided, teasing and gentle as he slowly pulsed his finger, just a fraction each way. Peter may have pushed him there, but Tony knew the male anatomy pretty well, and knew that even his gentle beginnings hadn’t stopped the sure ache of too-little prep. He let his middle finger dip down, swiping any leftover wetness around his wallowed digit.
Peter complied, head lifting to catch the tip of Tony’s leaking cock with his lips, swallowing around the head and suckling, soft. It coaxed out more pre-cum, and Tony knew he wasn’t going to last, so he shifted, got them both into a more comfortable position. He pulled his hand back, down to the fingertip and then slowly, slowly back in. When it hit his last knuckle he kept pressing, forcing Peter’s spine to arch, and the boy to list forwards, swallowing down a few inches before Tony relented, pulling back again.
A groan vibrated around his cock and he grinned. There we go. Now, his baby was getting the idea. The angle was a little awkward though, so Tony used his free hand to push Peter back, lamenting the whine of loss before he shifted, careful not to kick the boy in the face as he got to one knee. This way, he could drape himself over Peter’s back, supporting himself on one hand.
It meant Peter had to tip his head back a little more, but the boy had no objections, diving back in without prompting. He still only took half, but it was more than enough for Tony, who gave a long, low moan as he pushed his finger deep into the soft body below, scooting Peter forwards a little. The boy whimpered in reply and that set the pace, Tony using the act of burying his finger inside Peter to push him back and forth on his cock.
Eventually, Peter could hardly suck any more, jaw aching and mouth open in pleasure, simply a space for Tony to slide. His soft little uh uh, uh moans vibrated down the length of Tony’s dick. Tony twisted and crooked his finger, exploring the plush inside of his body. Peter’s hips were shifting on each thrust, desperately seeking friction.
Tony knew when he found it, finger driving home against a soft little nub and Peter howling, impaling his own throat with Tony’s cock, hips grinding down towards the floor and body pulling taut. It took a brief moment of Peter’s body tightening like a vice around him before Tony realised the boy had cum, soft mewling sounds mixing with his own gasps.
The realisation had him groaning, fingers flexing against the concrete. As though reminded of him, Peter’s cheeks suddenly went tight around his cock, the boy sucking with tired but eager vigour. Tony barely had the strength to gently pull his finger from Peter’s soft flesh, leaning back enough that he could kneel properly, hands coming to rest on Peter’s shoulders. He tried to ignore the build up, low in his gut, tried to coax the boy off his cock because they still had to talk about safe sex, about boundaries.
Except Peter tensed against his push, fought it and swallowed down enough of Tony’s cock that his body twitched with a light gag, and that did it, the way Peter’s throat milked him with the action. He could barely draw back enough to not choke the boy further as he came, his cock heavy, jolting on Peter’s tongue as a wave of thick white flooded his mouth. Peter was quiet in contrast to Tony’s shout, his body shaking as he eased himself from Peter’s slack mouth, drawing the boy hastily onto his knees, hands cupping his cheeks as he searched the boy’s face for discomfort or upset.
The boy looked wrecked, dazed and sloppy. But content, swollen lips curved in a shy smile as he blinked up at Tony, hands coming up to circle the man’s wrists gently. The absence of anything negative soothed Tony’s soul and he huffed a chuckle at the drop of his cum, sliding from the corner of Peter’s mouth. He dropped his head, pressing a firm kiss to the kid’s temple.
“Still think I’m a coward, kiddo?”