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the perks of being an avenger, or: how peter parker learned to stop worrying and love the cock
marvel comics: tony stark (iron man)/peter parker(spider-man). // (6.801) // NC-17
includes voyeurism and snowballing.
posted to marvel_slash and parkerstark.
The first thing that Peter thinks when his phone goes off in the middle of the night, rudely waking him, is: don't be angry. Tony Stark doesn't do timezones. But then, as he actually answers the phone, he thinks of a more accurate explanation: what Tony Stark doesn't do is common decency. Most times, he just acts the way he wants to and lets other people adapt to him. If they don't, he bends them into shape. So Peter answers the phone with barely a grumble.
The reason that Tony is calling in the middle of the night might be a number of things, Peter thinks as he hurriedly tries to get into his Spider-Man costume. A sudden unexpected HYDRA stunt, or someone stealing the Horn of Gabriel and making a kraken attack the Brooklyn Bridge, or even Doc Ock getting his tentacles in a bunch and attacking the mayor like he did last week. As Peter struggles into the tight material, the phone wedged between his shoulder and chin, Tony tells him that what it's actually about is throwing Jessica Drew a surprise birthday party. Peter nearly drops the phone then. Nothing fancy, Tony says, just us and a hundred or so other capes, and also Peter should not forget that it's black tie.
"But I don't have a suit," Peter says. Well, this is not a hundred percent true, not really: he owned suit jackets and suit pants, but much like it was always the case with his socks, he did not own two pieces of clothing which, paired together, would make a respectable looking suit. And he didn't really mind, since his outfit of choice had always been jeans and a t-shirt.
"What do you mean, like not a designer suit?" Sometimes it is difficult to get these things through to Tony, but Peter supposes this is what it must be like inside the heads of multi-billionaires.
"No," he says, "I don't own a real suit, the kind you wear for weddings and accounting jobs." And the kind Tony wears for day-trips to Las Vegas on company time, occasions when he plays Guess What I'm Wearing Under the Iron Man Suit with giggling women, and parties which are too overcrowded to be private, he doesn't add.
"Accounting jobs? Don't be ridiculous. I'll tell Pepper to arrange something. Swing by Avengers Tower around eight, she'll be there with your measurements," Tony says, and before Peter can ask how is it that they even know his measurements, Tony hangs up.
Peter plops back down onto the bed, half dressed and half in his pyjamas. He doesn't even bother taking the costume off as he starts slipping back to sleep. The fluorescent numbers on his clock say 4:13 and as the three flickers to four, Peter's eyes fall closed and he thinks, how weird must it be, being Tony Stark.
-*
Not as weird as it is being Peter Parker, standing in front of a full-length, three-sided mirror in an unpronounceable French boutique which is so deserted that it's either too expensive for anyone to actually be buying clothes there, or has been bought out by Tony specifically for this occasion - or, most likely, both.
And then there's the suit he's wearing.
Peter didn't think anyone could feel this strongly for a bit of cotton. Not since he was fourteen and got outbid on eBay on that top Kirsty Swanson wore in the original Buffy the Vampire Slayer did he have the aching need to own a piece of clothing. He never wanted to take off the suit. It was tailored perfectly to his shape, and his fingers itched to try and test how it would fare when he was hanging off the ceiling - although, for the amount of money that he figured it could probably be worn in the heart of the sun and feel only slightly warm. Before, Peter thought that one bow-tie was just like another, but this one feels so soft underneath his fingers as he fixes it that it would probably make grown women weep to touch it. Not that Peter's being vain or anything.
Pepper clears her throat and Peter snaps out of it, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She is standing behind him next to the snotty shop owner, who looks like he itches to put Peter down in elaborate French, but is only prevented from doing it by Pepper's stern expression which seems to be permanently fixed to her face today.
"It's gr- it's perfect," he says.
"Great," she says, rather unimpressed and looking like she just wants to get on with it. "Bag it, charge it to Stark Enterprises and take it away," she says to the shop owner.
"No, Pepper, I can't let-"
"Peter," she says, smiling at him with compassion. "It's okay. Mr Stark can afford it." And you can't, she doesn't say.
-*
Jessica is delighted, if a bit overwhelmed. The cake is so big it probably can't fit through Peter's front door, and everyone sings "Happy Birthday" with varying degrees of success. It takes two more people to help her blow out all the candles, and she jokingly says that the number is deliberately that big to make her look old. Peter grins a lot that night: it might be due to the fact that everyone he cares about is there and they're all exquisitely happy for one carefree night, or because he had managed to pull off the birthday dance he had with Jessica without tripping over his own feet or in any other way showing his poor dancing skills.
Spider-Man might be able to climb walls and hang from the ceiling, but pulling shapes on the dance floor was never Peter's forte. So instead he ladles himself some more punch, staying away from the more potent drinks kindly provided by Tony. He's probably compensating since he's not allowed to drink: Peter remembers Pepper politely, but resolutely, prying Tony's fingers off a champagne glass and replacing it with apple juice.
The others don't seem to have the same hang-ups when it comes to controlling their alcohol intake. It's no speakeasy in the thirties, but things are getting a bit fast and loose as Clint Barton leads a gaggle of Avengers into a clumsy, but very enthusiastic and more than a little drunk interpretation of the macarena. Grinning to himself, Peter watches them until Johnny Storm's jump to the left reveals somebody behind the group who catches Peter's eye. It's Tony, nonchalantly holding a glass of what Peter supposes is more apple juice, and he's talking to a tall, imposing figure in an olive drab dress uniform - Cap.
Peter realizes he's never seen Cap wear his old uniform before - but then, it's no surprise he hasn't, since he's never been to a fancy party like this, he thinks to himself. He wonders what they're discussing. Tony's got that grin that he sometimes wears, that grin when one side of his mouth is raised higher than the other, and as he leans closer to Cap to tell him something, he places a hand on his upper arm, just above his elbow, leaning in as close as if the music was louder than it actually is and as if he needed to shout into Cap's ear to be heard. This strikes Peter as kind of personal, and very odd, even for someone like Tony Stark who doesn't get out of bed without flirting with at least three people - but no, Peter thinks as he shakes his head. Stupid, that's Captain America. Tony wouldn't dare, nobody's that forward. But he is Tony Stark, Peter thinks confoundedly as he watches Cap's mouth widen into a grin. Tony pats Cap on the arm, and then Peter notices - he's coming over. He quickly drinks more of his punch, barely avoiding to gag on it in his haste.
"Nice suit, Parker," says Tony, who's somehow managed to cross the dance floor in no amount of time at all. "It's an improvement," he adds. "Not that I mind the scruffy college kid look. But it's good to have a little variety."
"Thanks," says Peter. "You paid for it, you should know."
Tony laughs. "Damn right! Only the best for my favourite arachnid. You know," he grins slyly, "you should wear it all the time. I'm liking the view." Before Peter can react to that, Tony continues. "How's Queens been treating you?"
"Can't complain," says Peter. "There's nothing I have to worry about apart from the leaky ceiling, sticky door and oh yeah, the weird noises the shower makes in the middle of the night." He grins. "But I don't mind it, some people are far worse off."
"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," says Tony. "Spidey shouldn't be living in a dump like that - why don't you move in here?"
"Here?" The question catches Peter by surprise. Live in the Avengers Tower? With the actual Avengers? He'd been a member for a while - he could still remember the day Steve asked him to join as if it was yesterday - but he always felt outside of the rest somehow, because in his own mind he was still a kid, while they were real, genuine heroes.
"Sure," says Tony. "Everyone's already moved in, it's great. Besides, from what you said, it would be an improvement to your bachelor pad. And it would make me happy to have you here." He places a hand on Peter's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. "It would make Steve happy." Tony's grin could span galaxies. His hand is still on Peter's shoulder, like he's thinking of pulling him into a bear hug the second he says yes. Because, with that kind of assertive positivity, how could Peter say no?
"I have to admit, making Cap happy is high on my list of priorities," says Peter. "Right up there with kicking the shit out of the Green Goblin and learning how to make a respectable soufflé." Tony laughs at the joke, and then does something incredibly strange - he strokes his hand down Peter's arm.
"This feels like a cloud," he comments. "Why didn't I buy one of those for myself? Anyway," he continues, placing his hand at the small of Peter's back and manoeuvring him towards the direction of the double doors leading out of the hall, "let me sweeten the deal and show you your new crib." There was a point in Peter's life when he wondered why would Tony Stark build a massive dance hall inside the Avengers Tower when the city was full of perfectly acceptable venues - but this was before he learned to relax a little more and develop a certain fondness, if puzzlement, towards Tony's bizarre whims and his inclination to on occasion misguidedly refer to bedrooms as "cribs".
-*
It's not even a bedroom, Peter thinks as they enter. It's like a house, it's so big. It's most definitely bigger than his apartment; cleaner, too. He's momentarily rendered speechless by the amount of money that must have been spent on the wallpaper - it looks more expensive than a car Peter would like to drive if he could afford it. There's fancy-looking modern art on the walls which Peter can't recognize so he figures it must be worth far more money than he can imagine. It's exactly the place for someone like Tony - opulent, extravagant and completely unnecessary. The bed, for a start.
"That bed looks like it can fit five people," is the first thing he says after they've come in.
"It's actually six," Tony corrects him. "Wanna try it out?" Peter shoots him a look full of suspicion. "What?" Tony asks. "So I can tell Pepper to order a replacement if you don't like it. Go on," he says, "I'll get you something nice to drink." He walks over to a fully-stocked drinks cabinet which Peter had not even noticed was there, being cleverly and elegantly hidden behind some wood panelling. As Tony has his back to him, probably busy with some elaborate cocktail designed to knock unconscious, Peter sits on the bed and gets a start at how easily it dips under his weight, adapting to his shape with stunning precision, and he is instantly made comfortable.
"Here you go," says Tony, handing him an electric blue drink which Peter only knows is called an Aqua Velva because he watches too many movies based on true stories.
"I'm not sure-" he begins, taking the drink anyway as Tony sits next to him on the bed.
"Getting Peter Parker drunk is my mission in life, so indulge me," says Tony. After a smirk, Peter drinks, and he has to admit that it's tastier than it looks - also, much stronger than he anticipated. "Also," Tony continues, looking him over, "making Peter Parker look better in a suit than in tight-fitting spandex is another one of my goals. That one's really difficult."
"Tony, I feel like I'm in a slumber party lesbian porno," Peter comments. "One of those where one girl goes Hey, why don't you take a shower?, and then Oh look! We're both naked!"
"I love those," says Tony, and he has his come-to-bed grin on that Peter's seen him pull on many a starlet, so Peter just takes another sip of his drink, feeling a bit uncomfortable even when sitting on this perfect bed, in this perfect suit. He has an odd feeling of being in over his head. He gives an experimental tug on his bow-tie, which suddenly feels too tight.
"Let me help you with that," says Tony, and he places his hand atop Peter's, moving it away and loosening his bow-tie. Peter feels uncomfortable by this sudden display, and not to mention just plain weird - even though Tony's not looking at him but at what he's doing with his hands, there is still the sense of proximity, which is not as much unwelcome as it is odd.
Tony slides the bow-tie off. "There," he says. Peter realizes that the tie wasn't the problem, because breathing is still difficult. He's had too much to drink, he thinks, that must be it - he shouldn't have drunk so much of that cocktail; the stupid girly colour threw him off and he drank nearly half of it before he realized he was drunk.
Or, at least, drunk enough that it takes him a second to notice that Tony's fingers have unbuttoned his jacket and that his hands are placed on Peter's hips, stroking decidedly over the fabric. Peter's fingers go slack, and the glass he's holding falls silently onto the floor, spilling the remainder of its contents on the carpet. Peter half turns to pick it up, but Tony says "Leave it" with such authority that he obeys, dumbfounded as to what the hell is happening.
"Tony-"
"Peter." Tony's hands go to his shoulders, sliding his jacket smoothly down his arms and off. Tony neatly folds the suit and places it at the bottom of the bed, while Peter just watches. "Wouldn't want to ruin a lovely item like that," says Tony, grin in place. Peter opens his mouth to say something, but then Tony leans into him, right into him, their chests placed flush against each other, and his finely kept goatee is brushing against Peter's clean-shaven chin because Tony has just kissed him, and Peter can feel the metal of the arc reactor even through the fabric of Tony's suit and his own shirt.
It's nothing but confusing, for Peter's kissed only two girls in the entirety of his sex life, which was wondrous, exciting, but also decidedly heterosexual and, at least up until this moment, very stagnant. Now, it is anything but these things. It's all scratchy beard and sharp angles where there should be nothing but smooth skin and curves, and Peter wonders how do girls cope with this because it's just so weird - and then his brain reconnects with the rest of his body, making him notice that Tony has swung a leg over him and is now straddling him, almost sitting in his lap, his fingers popping the buttons of Peter's shirt open, taking his time with them. Peter hears heavy breathing, and it takes him another beat to identify it as his own.
His hands hesitate only the tiniest bit when he pushes Tony's away. "What are you doing?" he asks.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" says Tony, allowing himself a smirk. "It's called 'having fun', Peter; you should try it some time. Like, now," he says, hooking his fingers around the collar of Peter's shirt and inching their faces closer, closer until their noses brush against each other, and Tony gently bumps his forehead against Peter's. "Now would be a good plan," says Tony, and Peter goes slightly cross-eyed while trying to watch him because he's too close. That's no longer a problem when Tony kisses him again: close-mouthed at first, Peter feels slightly chapped lips and the not-so-unpleasant tickle of his moustache. Then Tony's tongue, unfamiliar and exciting because of it, licks at the seam of Peter's lips, and Peter just - he just breathes, and his lips part, which Tony takes as an invitation to kiss him fully.
If Peter had been that kind of person to have expectations about what it would be like to kiss another man, they would have been blown out of the water by Tony Stark's technique. Having none on account of never having dwelt on it, he is just left amazed by how good a kisser Tony is. One of Tony's hands goes to rest on the nape of Peter's neck, his fingers threading into the hair Peter promised himself he would get cut weeks ago. Tony sucks on Peter's tongue, and his hips move in such a way that makes Peter completely put haircuts out of his mind.
"Oh my God," is the first thing Peter manages to say when he breaks for breath. Tony just laughs, the sound muffled because he's busy kissing a trail up Peter's neck to his ear, letting him catch his breath. Which is almost impossible, Peter thinks. He hasn't even noticed that his hand has ended up on Tony's thigh before Tony puts his own hand over it - in a moment of panic, Peter thinks Tony is going to move it to his crotch, but Tony just places it on his own chest, shrugging out of his jacket. The glow of the arc reactor is more evident now, with Tony just in his shirt, and Peter's scientific curiosity gets the better of him.
He removes Tony's bow-tie, sliding it off, and then gets to work on the buttons. Soon, Tony's shirt is hanging open, the reactor lodged in the middle of his chest fully visible and illuminating Peter's face and hands with a blue light. Gingerly, he places his fingertips on the glass. It's alien and smooth under his hands, and only slightly cooler than normal body temperature. He feels the place where the metal joins the skin and the faint scar tissue around it. Tony gives a sharp intake of breath, and Peter quickly withdraws his hand, looking up at him.
"Did I-"
"No," Tony interrupts, "it's fine." To prove, perhaps, just how fine it is, Tony moves to kiss Peter again, and this time Peter doesn't hesitate to kiss back, relaxing into it and letting himself lazily explore Tony's mouth with his tongue while Tony works on unbuttoning Peter's shirt all the way down. He slips it off Peter's shoulders and chuckles to himself.
"I almost expected the Spidey costume to be under there," he comments, giving Peter's chest a slight shove. Obediently, Peter lies down on the bed, again slightly surprised at how readily it accepts and adjusts to his shape - but this time, more preoccupied with Tony. Peter watches Tony's smirk as he leans lower, running his hands over Peter's chest from his waist, and up, with the same kind of fascination Peter had dedicated to Tony's arc reactor before. It's at this point, when Peter watches Tony's chest connect with his, and feels the warm skin against his own, that he realizes what it is that makes Tony such an excellent businessman. He is the kind of person who will make you believe that you are the only person in the world who is able to completely captivate his attention; like he's been waiting his entire life to have a conversation with you. Or, in Peter's case, to have sex with you.
As soon as that word crosses his mind, Peter starts to panic again, worrying because this has never happened to him before, not with another man - and he didn't think it ever would, because, he thinks, after seeing men in tight-fitting spandex as part of your job and not getting a boner from it, you kind of give up on the idea. But it's not men - it's Tony Stark, and he finds it convenient to interrupt Peter's apprehensive train of thought by pushing his hips suddenly down, grinding against Peter, and it serves its purpose as it completely stops Peter forming coherent thoughts.
Tony doesn't need to say anything, he just nudges at the side of Peter's face with his nose, and Peter is already compliant, turning his head. They kiss, and this time it's a bit more fast-paced. Peter would worry about getting stubble rash if he were thinking about things like that: but at the moment, all he can think about is how good Tony tastes, and why the hell had Peter not tried to find this out sooner. The arc reactor bumps against Peter's sternum as Tony presses himself against him, and it should hurt a bit, but Peter simply doesn't mind because Tony's tongue is in his mouth and it's the only important thing right now. He kisses back eagerly and Tony takes that as further encouragement, taking Peter's lower lip between his teeth and tugging on it, sucking it past his lips. Peter makes a small noise at the back of his throat which is not unlike a moan, and Tony grinds himself down against him, making Peter cry out louder.
"Tony," Peter says, taking a moment to calm himself down, get his breath back, or just stop thinking about how incredibly, unexpectedly hot it is to have Tony on top of him, grinding down and kissing him passionately.
"What," Tony breathes. The fingers of one of his hands are in Peter's hair again, and the other is stroking down his chest, ghosting over a nipple and going further down, where their bodies connect.
"I'm not-" tries Peter, but Tony's popping open the button on Peter's pants, and he seems not to hear him because he then slips his hand past the waistband, cupping Peter over his boxers. The X-Men boxers that were a present from a cynical-looking Logan a couple of months back, and Peter is not grateful for the lights being on right now. He is barely half-hard, still somehow more preoccupied with other things than the fact he's making out with Tony Stark, at a party, on an impossibly large and unbelievably expensive bed, his bed. And then, Tony starts palming him over his boxers, setting a very slow rhythm. He moves in to kiss his clavicle, giving the skin a soft nip before taking it between his teeth and sucking. And oh, Peter thinks, that will leave a nasty mark if he keeps it up. So Peter distracts Tony as best as he can. He digs his fingernails into the nape of Tony's neck, getting his attention, and as Tony raises his head to look at him, Peter locks him in another insistent kiss which Tony is eager to accept. Using his free hand, Tony parts Peter's legs, finding a more comfortable position between his thighs, and everything just clicks into place as Peter almost instinctively hooks his leg around Tony's thigh, pushing them closer.
Tony lets out a choked, broken moan as Peter does that, lets it out straight into Peter's mouth; and his hand is still trapped between them, trapped in Peter's very expensive pants as it presses against his growing erection. He breaks the kiss, and Tony's breathing is laboured, his mouth wet and bruised red. It sends a flush to Peter's cheeks when he realizes he was the one who did that to him. Tony grins at him in a lazy, cat-like way, running a thumb over a cheekbone.
"What is that you were saying you're not?" he wants to know as he rubs Peter over his boxers, agonizingly slow and with a grin so self-assured it makes Peter want to throw a sarcastic remark to knock Tony down a peg or two; but then Tony does something with his hand, pushing his hips forward at the same time, and instead of a witty retort, Peter just grunts uselessly, raising his hips to meet Tony's hand, Tony's hips, turning their movement into a grinding push which, on Peter's end, is bordering on the desperate. Tony bows his head, smirking into the skin of Peter's neck, and Peter supposes Tony can feel the heavy heat of his cock against his hand, even through the fabric, because this is sure as hell taking a toll on him. It's not even the physical aspect of the thing as much as it's Peter's mind amplifying everything, from the rub of Tony's hand, the glow of his arc reactor and the metal digging into Peter's chest, to the smell of expensive cologne tinged with a hint of sweat as he turns to kiss at Tony's neck. At that point, Tony pushes his hand past the waistband, into Peter's underwear, wrapping his deft fingers around Peter's cock. He drags his thumb across the head, teasing out the pre-come, and Peter has to bite on his lower lip, hard, in order not to cry out. He can feel Tony's erection against his thigh, rubbing against him in time with Tony's strokes, and Peter tips his head back, eyes falling shut and mouth falling open, because there's not nearly enough air in the room for this.
Spider-sense.
Peter's eyes snap open, because something's moved at the very edge of his senses. He abruptly stills, which doesn't escape Tony.
"What is it?" Tony asks.
"My spider-sense is tingling," says Peter, disbelieving.
"Has little Timmy fallen down the well?" says Tony, obviously disgruntled.
Peter frowns. "There's someone else here," he says. He looks around the room, but can't see anything that might have triggered it.
"You're just imagining it," says Tony, and returns to kiss at Peter's neck and work his hand on Peter's cock, as if deliberately trying to distract him. And then Peter sees it.
Right at the top of the room, in the very corner where the wall connects to the ceiling, there is a tiny red dot underneath a small glass orb. He narrows his eyes, and the glass orb flickers. A surveillance camera. Peter has the sudden image of a darkened room with a wall covered in television screens, each one of them carrying his face. Showing his head tipped back, the curve of his neck exposed to the lens. His mouth hanging open, Tony Stark's hand down his pants.
Frantically, Peter scrambles away from Tony. "I can't believe you h-" he tries, and then thinks better of it. "Okay, I can believe you had the room bugged, but-"
"Oh, come on," says Tony, "it's not even a big deal, all the rooms are like this. Things need to be recorded in case of emergency." He grins. "And Skrulls," he adds.
"And e-everything is recorded?" Peter stammers.
"Yeah," says Tony, making it sounds as though it is the most common thing in the world. Then, his hand starts inching back towards Peter; fingers just dancing along the edge of Peter's open pants, making him tense up.
"Don't tell me you've never filmed yourself before," says Tony as he slips his fingers back inside and, wrapping them around Peter's still hard cock, he starts stroking him again, unhurriedly. Peter thinks of stopping him, but then Tony tugs on the upward stroke, and Peter stops thinking about it. "I have," says Tony, and he's back on Peter, his lips ghosting along the skin of Peter's neck. His other hand goes to the small of Peter's back, holding him for a better angle. "I have with Steve," he says, circling his thumb around the head of Peter's cock and pushing suddenly down. Peter lets out a gasping breath, the pit of his stomach coiling with nerves and arousal. He falters in Tony's arms, nearly collapsing back onto the bed, but the hand Tony's got on his back holds him up. Images that he never thought he would have flood Peter's mind - of Cap, and Tony, on a bed not unlike this one, not much more than blurred, sweaty shapes moving to a common rhythm, muscles flexing and unflexing underneath their skin as above them, and around them, cameras film, and capture Tony's knowing smirk, the blue of the arc reactor shining dull between them.
"Steve likes watching," says Tony, almost as an offhand comment as he speeds up his strokes, using his fingers to spread the pre-come all over Peter's cock to reduce the amount of friction. Peter shudders, his forehead falling forward and bumping into Tony's. His mouth is open again, because he cannot seem to get enough air no matter how much he tries. Tony takes this opportunity to run his tongue along Peter's jawline, biting on his lower lip and ending in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. "Do you like being watched?" Tony says, breathing the words against Peter's skin, and after a beat and a shudder, Peter understands. The looks and the touches that Tony and Cap gave each other at the party, the whispers they exchanged - it was planned. This was all planned.
"Is Steve-?" Peter's never called Cap 'Steve' before; not many people call Cap that, apart from Tony. He doesn't even get to finish his question, because Tony is thumbing the underside of his cock, and Peter stifles a keening noise, rocking into Tony's hand.
"Yeah," says Tony. Peter's cock twitches in Tony's hand and he can feel himself coming completely undone under his touch. "He can come in, if you want him to," says Tony, and Peter can't give a proper reply, so he just nods breathlessly.
The room must have hidden microphones as well, because Tony doesn't even need to say anything for the door to slide open, soundlessly, and Peter would usually be bothered and freaked out by this, were he not preoccupied with other things at the moment. Cap comes in, and Peter feels his cheeks flood with warmth instantly, because this is not a position he thought he would find himself in, faced with someone as important to him as Captain America - Steve, he thinks, and it's incredible how silently he moves for someone of his stature. He's still in olive drab, everything in place apart from his jacket which appears to be missing in action, and Peter instantly feels ashamed for appearing like this before him, completely dishevelled and undone, still painfully hard, with Tony's hand still down his pants.
"Peter," says Tony, feeling Peter's discomfort, "it's okay." His free hand goes to Peter's jaw, cupping his face and making Peter face him, blue eyes on brown. At the corner of his vision, Peter sees Steve sit into an armchair offering the best view of the bed. "You're great," says Tony, and Peter turns his attention to him completely as Tony leans closer to kiss the tip of his ear, the side of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "Steve's just here to watch," he says against Peter's lips as his fingers start moving on Peter's cock again, setting a rhythm. Peter lets his chin rest in the place where Tony's shoulder meets his neck, unable to keep himself steady any other way- he's too far gone, he knows it, and it's the only thing keeping him grounded, keeping him from ending this too soon. His eyes, inevitably, go to where Steve is sitting, his legs parted just so, one of his hands working on loosening his tie, and the other on unfastening his pants.
Steve catches Peter's eyes. "Touch Tony for me," he says, and although softly spoken, it's not a request: it's an order.
Almost of their own volition, Peter's fingers, shaking terribly, go down to the zip of Tony's pants - Tony's painfully straining pants - pop a button open and pull the zipper down, and Peter has no idea what he's doing because he's never done this to someone else, but nevertheless he wraps a hand around Tony's cock. Pushing his underwear down just enough to get access, Peter just does what feels right, what feels good for him, trying to mirror Tony's movement somewhat: and it obviously works, because Tony bows his head suddenly, hissing softly through his teeth. It's strange to have his hand around another man's cock, feel the slick slipping, the hardness and the heat, but Peter gets encouraged by the noises Tony's making, the way he tilts his hips to meet Peter's hand; and Peter wonders, as he has to dig his fingers into Tony's hip to stop him from thrusting too hard, if this feels more intense because Steve is just there, in his dress uniform, slowly palming himself over the fabric. Peter doesn't want to look, but he can't look away. Steve's eyes are set on them, taking everything in. Peter jerks Tony's cock and Tony groans, right into Peter's neck where he's trying to suck at the skin, so Peter feels it more than he hears it, shuddering in response and just holding Tony close, rocking into him. Steve's hand moves into his pants, and Peter's eyes fall shut as his breathing quickens.
"Tony," he pants out, "I'm close." From what he can tell, by the way he thrusts into his hand with shallow, desperate movements and by the way the sweat slides down the skin of his back, Tony is too. Peter doesn't know, he has no idea what it's like to have another man come just because of his touches, but at this moment, as his cock brushes against Tony's and his own hand wrapped around it, he is very eager to find out.
"No," says Steve, and Tony stills with almost immediate and frightening accuracy. "Listen, Peter." There is such command in the tenor of Steve's voice that at that moment Peter understands why men would have followed him through ice and fire, and why he himself just about mechanically obeys, the only noise in the room the laboured sound of their breathing. There's the faint rustle of upholstery as Steve shifts in the chair, placing his hands on his knees, fingers digging firmly into the fabric of his pants. "I want you to suck Tony off," says Steve. "Could you do that for me, Peter?"
Peter looks from Steve, to Tony, and then back to Steve again, feeling his heart hammer furiously in his chest. "I'm not sure-" he says, because he's honestly not, since this is so very, very far from anything he has ever tried or ever thought about, going down on another man - going down on Tony Stark. The thought of pinching himself crosses his mind for an instant.
"I'm not asking," says Steve, his blue eyes dark. Peter feels a shiver of trepidation run down his spine.
"Come on, Peter," Tony says softly, successfully turning Peter's attention away from Steve. His fingers touch the nape of Peter's neck as his thumb strokes Peter's cheek. "Don't worry," he says, his thumb stroking over Peter's bottom lip, reddened and worried from the kissing. "Steve'll guide you," he says, and Peter shudders again as Tony's thumb goes past his lips, into his mouth. Tentatively, he slides his tongue over it. "Like that," says Tony, grinning encouragingly. Peter sucks on his thumb, coating it with his saliva, and then Tony replaces it with his forefinger, followed by his middle finger which Peter eagerly sucks into his mouth, licking between them and gently biting on the skin. Then Tony withdraws his fingers, inclining his head just slightly to reassure Peter further. He doesn't move to do anything else, though, waiting for Steve's command.
"I need you to take his pants and underwear off, Peter," says Steve. "And when you start sucking him off, I want you to do it slowly." Peter's hands go to Tony's hips, the waistband of his underwear, and he pushes it down completely along with Tony's pants, freeing his erection. Tony scrambles, and Peter think that this must have taken a lot of practice, because Tony is quickly sitting in front of him on the bed, completely naked, completely hard, and utterly pleased with himself. Peter's eyes go from Tony's face and his expression to the arc reactor glowing in his chest, until they are drawn to Tony's cock, flushed and wet with pre-come. His fingers wrap loosely around the base, and he places his other hand on Tony's hip, fanning his fingers over the hipbone. He gives the tip of the head an experimental lick, just to get a feel of the taste, at which point Tony draws in a sharp breath, his chest rising. Encouraged by this, Peter takes Tony into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. The taste is heady on his tongue, and Peter closes his eyes, breathing through his nose, head buzzing. He bobs his head once, twice, and then pulls off almost completely to tighten his lips around the head, sucking until his cheeks hollow and Tony's hips buck upwards, causing Peter to shove him down roughly for fear of gagging.
"Use your tongue more," says Steve, leaning forward. "Make him beg."
Tony keens at the back of his throat as Peter wraps his hand more firmly around the base of his cock and takes him out of his mouth, pumping him. He slides his tongue down the underside of Tony's cock, and Tony throws his head back, his fingers bunching the sheets together as he grips them, trying not to thrust. Peter feels his own neglected cock rub painfully against the fabric of his pants, and he ruts his hips into the mattress, seeking at least some release.
"Peter, please-" It doesn't take Tony a long time to do as Steve asked, and he's soon past words, just letting out begging noises as Peter draws circles with his tongue on the head, sliding his lips wetly against the tip, only applying more pressure when Tony lets out a deeper groan.
"He's close," says Steve. "When he comes, I want you to keep it in your mouth." Peter's blood runs faster, his head swimming. He does as he's told, though, and when Tony's stomach clenches and he starts coming, Peter's mouth is back on his cock, taking it all in. Just as Peter thinks how he can't hold it in, that he has to spit it out, there's a hand at his wrist and Steve's pulling him up, away from Tony and to his chest. Peter nearly chokes, but then Steve says, "Open," pulling their lips together - and Peter opens his mouth just as Steve's closes over it, Tony's come spilling from Peter's mouth into Steve's. Peter watches a trail drip from Steve's mouth down his chin and without thinking, moves in to lick it off, his tongue ending up in Steve's mouth almost not of his own volition. Steve's- Steve's firm, and large, but his kiss is gentle and warm and not at all what Peter needs right now. He needs release, or he feels like he will burst at the seams. Then there's a hand on his crotch, palming him roughly over his pants, and Peter doesn't know if it's Tony's or Steve's - or his own, and he doesn't care, he just desperately bucks into it over and over. Steve groans into his mouth, and it's the straw which breaks the camel's back: Peter shudders violently, his orgasm staining his underwear, leaving him sticky and spent.
He collapses on the bed, out of breath. Tony throws himself down next to him, laughing.
"So, I guess you'll be moving in then?"
marvel comics: tony stark (iron man)/peter parker(spider-man). // (6.801) // NC-17
includes voyeurism and snowballing.
posted to marvel_slash and parkerstark.
The first thing that Peter thinks when his phone goes off in the middle of the night, rudely waking him, is: don't be angry. Tony Stark doesn't do timezones. But then, as he actually answers the phone, he thinks of a more accurate explanation: what Tony Stark doesn't do is common decency. Most times, he just acts the way he wants to and lets other people adapt to him. If they don't, he bends them into shape. So Peter answers the phone with barely a grumble.
The reason that Tony is calling in the middle of the night might be a number of things, Peter thinks as he hurriedly tries to get into his Spider-Man costume. A sudden unexpected HYDRA stunt, or someone stealing the Horn of Gabriel and making a kraken attack the Brooklyn Bridge, or even Doc Ock getting his tentacles in a bunch and attacking the mayor like he did last week. As Peter struggles into the tight material, the phone wedged between his shoulder and chin, Tony tells him that what it's actually about is throwing Jessica Drew a surprise birthday party. Peter nearly drops the phone then. Nothing fancy, Tony says, just us and a hundred or so other capes, and also Peter should not forget that it's black tie.
"But I don't have a suit," Peter says. Well, this is not a hundred percent true, not really: he owned suit jackets and suit pants, but much like it was always the case with his socks, he did not own two pieces of clothing which, paired together, would make a respectable looking suit. And he didn't really mind, since his outfit of choice had always been jeans and a t-shirt.
"What do you mean, like not a designer suit?" Sometimes it is difficult to get these things through to Tony, but Peter supposes this is what it must be like inside the heads of multi-billionaires.
"No," he says, "I don't own a real suit, the kind you wear for weddings and accounting jobs." And the kind Tony wears for day-trips to Las Vegas on company time, occasions when he plays Guess What I'm Wearing Under the Iron Man Suit with giggling women, and parties which are too overcrowded to be private, he doesn't add.
"Accounting jobs? Don't be ridiculous. I'll tell Pepper to arrange something. Swing by Avengers Tower around eight, she'll be there with your measurements," Tony says, and before Peter can ask how is it that they even know his measurements, Tony hangs up.
Peter plops back down onto the bed, half dressed and half in his pyjamas. He doesn't even bother taking the costume off as he starts slipping back to sleep. The fluorescent numbers on his clock say 4:13 and as the three flickers to four, Peter's eyes fall closed and he thinks, how weird must it be, being Tony Stark.
-*
Not as weird as it is being Peter Parker, standing in front of a full-length, three-sided mirror in an unpronounceable French boutique which is so deserted that it's either too expensive for anyone to actually be buying clothes there, or has been bought out by Tony specifically for this occasion - or, most likely, both.
And then there's the suit he's wearing.
Peter didn't think anyone could feel this strongly for a bit of cotton. Not since he was fourteen and got outbid on eBay on that top Kirsty Swanson wore in the original Buffy the Vampire Slayer did he have the aching need to own a piece of clothing. He never wanted to take off the suit. It was tailored perfectly to his shape, and his fingers itched to try and test how it would fare when he was hanging off the ceiling - although, for the amount of money that he figured it could probably be worn in the heart of the sun and feel only slightly warm. Before, Peter thought that one bow-tie was just like another, but this one feels so soft underneath his fingers as he fixes it that it would probably make grown women weep to touch it. Not that Peter's being vain or anything.
Pepper clears her throat and Peter snaps out of it, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She is standing behind him next to the snotty shop owner, who looks like he itches to put Peter down in elaborate French, but is only prevented from doing it by Pepper's stern expression which seems to be permanently fixed to her face today.
"It's gr- it's perfect," he says.
"Great," she says, rather unimpressed and looking like she just wants to get on with it. "Bag it, charge it to Stark Enterprises and take it away," she says to the shop owner.
"No, Pepper, I can't let-"
"Peter," she says, smiling at him with compassion. "It's okay. Mr Stark can afford it." And you can't, she doesn't say.
-*
Jessica is delighted, if a bit overwhelmed. The cake is so big it probably can't fit through Peter's front door, and everyone sings "Happy Birthday" with varying degrees of success. It takes two more people to help her blow out all the candles, and she jokingly says that the number is deliberately that big to make her look old. Peter grins a lot that night: it might be due to the fact that everyone he cares about is there and they're all exquisitely happy for one carefree night, or because he had managed to pull off the birthday dance he had with Jessica without tripping over his own feet or in any other way showing his poor dancing skills.
Spider-Man might be able to climb walls and hang from the ceiling, but pulling shapes on the dance floor was never Peter's forte. So instead he ladles himself some more punch, staying away from the more potent drinks kindly provided by Tony. He's probably compensating since he's not allowed to drink: Peter remembers Pepper politely, but resolutely, prying Tony's fingers off a champagne glass and replacing it with apple juice.
The others don't seem to have the same hang-ups when it comes to controlling their alcohol intake. It's no speakeasy in the thirties, but things are getting a bit fast and loose as Clint Barton leads a gaggle of Avengers into a clumsy, but very enthusiastic and more than a little drunk interpretation of the macarena. Grinning to himself, Peter watches them until Johnny Storm's jump to the left reveals somebody behind the group who catches Peter's eye. It's Tony, nonchalantly holding a glass of what Peter supposes is more apple juice, and he's talking to a tall, imposing figure in an olive drab dress uniform - Cap.
Peter realizes he's never seen Cap wear his old uniform before - but then, it's no surprise he hasn't, since he's never been to a fancy party like this, he thinks to himself. He wonders what they're discussing. Tony's got that grin that he sometimes wears, that grin when one side of his mouth is raised higher than the other, and as he leans closer to Cap to tell him something, he places a hand on his upper arm, just above his elbow, leaning in as close as if the music was louder than it actually is and as if he needed to shout into Cap's ear to be heard. This strikes Peter as kind of personal, and very odd, even for someone like Tony Stark who doesn't get out of bed without flirting with at least three people - but no, Peter thinks as he shakes his head. Stupid, that's Captain America. Tony wouldn't dare, nobody's that forward. But he is Tony Stark, Peter thinks confoundedly as he watches Cap's mouth widen into a grin. Tony pats Cap on the arm, and then Peter notices - he's coming over. He quickly drinks more of his punch, barely avoiding to gag on it in his haste.
"Nice suit, Parker," says Tony, who's somehow managed to cross the dance floor in no amount of time at all. "It's an improvement," he adds. "Not that I mind the scruffy college kid look. But it's good to have a little variety."
"Thanks," says Peter. "You paid for it, you should know."
Tony laughs. "Damn right! Only the best for my favourite arachnid. You know," he grins slyly, "you should wear it all the time. I'm liking the view." Before Peter can react to that, Tony continues. "How's Queens been treating you?"
"Can't complain," says Peter. "There's nothing I have to worry about apart from the leaky ceiling, sticky door and oh yeah, the weird noises the shower makes in the middle of the night." He grins. "But I don't mind it, some people are far worse off."
"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," says Tony. "Spidey shouldn't be living in a dump like that - why don't you move in here?"
"Here?" The question catches Peter by surprise. Live in the Avengers Tower? With the actual Avengers? He'd been a member for a while - he could still remember the day Steve asked him to join as if it was yesterday - but he always felt outside of the rest somehow, because in his own mind he was still a kid, while they were real, genuine heroes.
"Sure," says Tony. "Everyone's already moved in, it's great. Besides, from what you said, it would be an improvement to your bachelor pad. And it would make me happy to have you here." He places a hand on Peter's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. "It would make Steve happy." Tony's grin could span galaxies. His hand is still on Peter's shoulder, like he's thinking of pulling him into a bear hug the second he says yes. Because, with that kind of assertive positivity, how could Peter say no?
"I have to admit, making Cap happy is high on my list of priorities," says Peter. "Right up there with kicking the shit out of the Green Goblin and learning how to make a respectable soufflé." Tony laughs at the joke, and then does something incredibly strange - he strokes his hand down Peter's arm.
"This feels like a cloud," he comments. "Why didn't I buy one of those for myself? Anyway," he continues, placing his hand at the small of Peter's back and manoeuvring him towards the direction of the double doors leading out of the hall, "let me sweeten the deal and show you your new crib." There was a point in Peter's life when he wondered why would Tony Stark build a massive dance hall inside the Avengers Tower when the city was full of perfectly acceptable venues - but this was before he learned to relax a little more and develop a certain fondness, if puzzlement, towards Tony's bizarre whims and his inclination to on occasion misguidedly refer to bedrooms as "cribs".
-*
It's not even a bedroom, Peter thinks as they enter. It's like a house, it's so big. It's most definitely bigger than his apartment; cleaner, too. He's momentarily rendered speechless by the amount of money that must have been spent on the wallpaper - it looks more expensive than a car Peter would like to drive if he could afford it. There's fancy-looking modern art on the walls which Peter can't recognize so he figures it must be worth far more money than he can imagine. It's exactly the place for someone like Tony - opulent, extravagant and completely unnecessary. The bed, for a start.
"That bed looks like it can fit five people," is the first thing he says after they've come in.
"It's actually six," Tony corrects him. "Wanna try it out?" Peter shoots him a look full of suspicion. "What?" Tony asks. "So I can tell Pepper to order a replacement if you don't like it. Go on," he says, "I'll get you something nice to drink." He walks over to a fully-stocked drinks cabinet which Peter had not even noticed was there, being cleverly and elegantly hidden behind some wood panelling. As Tony has his back to him, probably busy with some elaborate cocktail designed to knock unconscious, Peter sits on the bed and gets a start at how easily it dips under his weight, adapting to his shape with stunning precision, and he is instantly made comfortable.
"Here you go," says Tony, handing him an electric blue drink which Peter only knows is called an Aqua Velva because he watches too many movies based on true stories.
"I'm not sure-" he begins, taking the drink anyway as Tony sits next to him on the bed.
"Getting Peter Parker drunk is my mission in life, so indulge me," says Tony. After a smirk, Peter drinks, and he has to admit that it's tastier than it looks - also, much stronger than he anticipated. "Also," Tony continues, looking him over, "making Peter Parker look better in a suit than in tight-fitting spandex is another one of my goals. That one's really difficult."
"Tony, I feel like I'm in a slumber party lesbian porno," Peter comments. "One of those where one girl goes Hey, why don't you take a shower?, and then Oh look! We're both naked!"
"I love those," says Tony, and he has his come-to-bed grin on that Peter's seen him pull on many a starlet, so Peter just takes another sip of his drink, feeling a bit uncomfortable even when sitting on this perfect bed, in this perfect suit. He has an odd feeling of being in over his head. He gives an experimental tug on his bow-tie, which suddenly feels too tight.
"Let me help you with that," says Tony, and he places his hand atop Peter's, moving it away and loosening his bow-tie. Peter feels uncomfortable by this sudden display, and not to mention just plain weird - even though Tony's not looking at him but at what he's doing with his hands, there is still the sense of proximity, which is not as much unwelcome as it is odd.
Tony slides the bow-tie off. "There," he says. Peter realizes that the tie wasn't the problem, because breathing is still difficult. He's had too much to drink, he thinks, that must be it - he shouldn't have drunk so much of that cocktail; the stupid girly colour threw him off and he drank nearly half of it before he realized he was drunk.
Or, at least, drunk enough that it takes him a second to notice that Tony's fingers have unbuttoned his jacket and that his hands are placed on Peter's hips, stroking decidedly over the fabric. Peter's fingers go slack, and the glass he's holding falls silently onto the floor, spilling the remainder of its contents on the carpet. Peter half turns to pick it up, but Tony says "Leave it" with such authority that he obeys, dumbfounded as to what the hell is happening.
"Tony-"
"Peter." Tony's hands go to his shoulders, sliding his jacket smoothly down his arms and off. Tony neatly folds the suit and places it at the bottom of the bed, while Peter just watches. "Wouldn't want to ruin a lovely item like that," says Tony, grin in place. Peter opens his mouth to say something, but then Tony leans into him, right into him, their chests placed flush against each other, and his finely kept goatee is brushing against Peter's clean-shaven chin because Tony has just kissed him, and Peter can feel the metal of the arc reactor even through the fabric of Tony's suit and his own shirt.
It's nothing but confusing, for Peter's kissed only two girls in the entirety of his sex life, which was wondrous, exciting, but also decidedly heterosexual and, at least up until this moment, very stagnant. Now, it is anything but these things. It's all scratchy beard and sharp angles where there should be nothing but smooth skin and curves, and Peter wonders how do girls cope with this because it's just so weird - and then his brain reconnects with the rest of his body, making him notice that Tony has swung a leg over him and is now straddling him, almost sitting in his lap, his fingers popping the buttons of Peter's shirt open, taking his time with them. Peter hears heavy breathing, and it takes him another beat to identify it as his own.
His hands hesitate only the tiniest bit when he pushes Tony's away. "What are you doing?" he asks.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" says Tony, allowing himself a smirk. "It's called 'having fun', Peter; you should try it some time. Like, now," he says, hooking his fingers around the collar of Peter's shirt and inching their faces closer, closer until their noses brush against each other, and Tony gently bumps his forehead against Peter's. "Now would be a good plan," says Tony, and Peter goes slightly cross-eyed while trying to watch him because he's too close. That's no longer a problem when Tony kisses him again: close-mouthed at first, Peter feels slightly chapped lips and the not-so-unpleasant tickle of his moustache. Then Tony's tongue, unfamiliar and exciting because of it, licks at the seam of Peter's lips, and Peter just - he just breathes, and his lips part, which Tony takes as an invitation to kiss him fully.
If Peter had been that kind of person to have expectations about what it would be like to kiss another man, they would have been blown out of the water by Tony Stark's technique. Having none on account of never having dwelt on it, he is just left amazed by how good a kisser Tony is. One of Tony's hands goes to rest on the nape of Peter's neck, his fingers threading into the hair Peter promised himself he would get cut weeks ago. Tony sucks on Peter's tongue, and his hips move in such a way that makes Peter completely put haircuts out of his mind.
"Oh my God," is the first thing Peter manages to say when he breaks for breath. Tony just laughs, the sound muffled because he's busy kissing a trail up Peter's neck to his ear, letting him catch his breath. Which is almost impossible, Peter thinks. He hasn't even noticed that his hand has ended up on Tony's thigh before Tony puts his own hand over it - in a moment of panic, Peter thinks Tony is going to move it to his crotch, but Tony just places it on his own chest, shrugging out of his jacket. The glow of the arc reactor is more evident now, with Tony just in his shirt, and Peter's scientific curiosity gets the better of him.
He removes Tony's bow-tie, sliding it off, and then gets to work on the buttons. Soon, Tony's shirt is hanging open, the reactor lodged in the middle of his chest fully visible and illuminating Peter's face and hands with a blue light. Gingerly, he places his fingertips on the glass. It's alien and smooth under his hands, and only slightly cooler than normal body temperature. He feels the place where the metal joins the skin and the faint scar tissue around it. Tony gives a sharp intake of breath, and Peter quickly withdraws his hand, looking up at him.
"Did I-"
"No," Tony interrupts, "it's fine." To prove, perhaps, just how fine it is, Tony moves to kiss Peter again, and this time Peter doesn't hesitate to kiss back, relaxing into it and letting himself lazily explore Tony's mouth with his tongue while Tony works on unbuttoning Peter's shirt all the way down. He slips it off Peter's shoulders and chuckles to himself.
"I almost expected the Spidey costume to be under there," he comments, giving Peter's chest a slight shove. Obediently, Peter lies down on the bed, again slightly surprised at how readily it accepts and adjusts to his shape - but this time, more preoccupied with Tony. Peter watches Tony's smirk as he leans lower, running his hands over Peter's chest from his waist, and up, with the same kind of fascination Peter had dedicated to Tony's arc reactor before. It's at this point, when Peter watches Tony's chest connect with his, and feels the warm skin against his own, that he realizes what it is that makes Tony such an excellent businessman. He is the kind of person who will make you believe that you are the only person in the world who is able to completely captivate his attention; like he's been waiting his entire life to have a conversation with you. Or, in Peter's case, to have sex with you.
As soon as that word crosses his mind, Peter starts to panic again, worrying because this has never happened to him before, not with another man - and he didn't think it ever would, because, he thinks, after seeing men in tight-fitting spandex as part of your job and not getting a boner from it, you kind of give up on the idea. But it's not men - it's Tony Stark, and he finds it convenient to interrupt Peter's apprehensive train of thought by pushing his hips suddenly down, grinding against Peter, and it serves its purpose as it completely stops Peter forming coherent thoughts.
Tony doesn't need to say anything, he just nudges at the side of Peter's face with his nose, and Peter is already compliant, turning his head. They kiss, and this time it's a bit more fast-paced. Peter would worry about getting stubble rash if he were thinking about things like that: but at the moment, all he can think about is how good Tony tastes, and why the hell had Peter not tried to find this out sooner. The arc reactor bumps against Peter's sternum as Tony presses himself against him, and it should hurt a bit, but Peter simply doesn't mind because Tony's tongue is in his mouth and it's the only important thing right now. He kisses back eagerly and Tony takes that as further encouragement, taking Peter's lower lip between his teeth and tugging on it, sucking it past his lips. Peter makes a small noise at the back of his throat which is not unlike a moan, and Tony grinds himself down against him, making Peter cry out louder.
"Tony," Peter says, taking a moment to calm himself down, get his breath back, or just stop thinking about how incredibly, unexpectedly hot it is to have Tony on top of him, grinding down and kissing him passionately.
"What," Tony breathes. The fingers of one of his hands are in Peter's hair again, and the other is stroking down his chest, ghosting over a nipple and going further down, where their bodies connect.
"I'm not-" tries Peter, but Tony's popping open the button on Peter's pants, and he seems not to hear him because he then slips his hand past the waistband, cupping Peter over his boxers. The X-Men boxers that were a present from a cynical-looking Logan a couple of months back, and Peter is not grateful for the lights being on right now. He is barely half-hard, still somehow more preoccupied with other things than the fact he's making out with Tony Stark, at a party, on an impossibly large and unbelievably expensive bed, his bed. And then, Tony starts palming him over his boxers, setting a very slow rhythm. He moves in to kiss his clavicle, giving the skin a soft nip before taking it between his teeth and sucking. And oh, Peter thinks, that will leave a nasty mark if he keeps it up. So Peter distracts Tony as best as he can. He digs his fingernails into the nape of Tony's neck, getting his attention, and as Tony raises his head to look at him, Peter locks him in another insistent kiss which Tony is eager to accept. Using his free hand, Tony parts Peter's legs, finding a more comfortable position between his thighs, and everything just clicks into place as Peter almost instinctively hooks his leg around Tony's thigh, pushing them closer.
Tony lets out a choked, broken moan as Peter does that, lets it out straight into Peter's mouth; and his hand is still trapped between them, trapped in Peter's very expensive pants as it presses against his growing erection. He breaks the kiss, and Tony's breathing is laboured, his mouth wet and bruised red. It sends a flush to Peter's cheeks when he realizes he was the one who did that to him. Tony grins at him in a lazy, cat-like way, running a thumb over a cheekbone.
"What is that you were saying you're not?" he wants to know as he rubs Peter over his boxers, agonizingly slow and with a grin so self-assured it makes Peter want to throw a sarcastic remark to knock Tony down a peg or two; but then Tony does something with his hand, pushing his hips forward at the same time, and instead of a witty retort, Peter just grunts uselessly, raising his hips to meet Tony's hand, Tony's hips, turning their movement into a grinding push which, on Peter's end, is bordering on the desperate. Tony bows his head, smirking into the skin of Peter's neck, and Peter supposes Tony can feel the heavy heat of his cock against his hand, even through the fabric, because this is sure as hell taking a toll on him. It's not even the physical aspect of the thing as much as it's Peter's mind amplifying everything, from the rub of Tony's hand, the glow of his arc reactor and the metal digging into Peter's chest, to the smell of expensive cologne tinged with a hint of sweat as he turns to kiss at Tony's neck. At that point, Tony pushes his hand past the waistband, into Peter's underwear, wrapping his deft fingers around Peter's cock. He drags his thumb across the head, teasing out the pre-come, and Peter has to bite on his lower lip, hard, in order not to cry out. He can feel Tony's erection against his thigh, rubbing against him in time with Tony's strokes, and Peter tips his head back, eyes falling shut and mouth falling open, because there's not nearly enough air in the room for this.
Spider-sense.
Peter's eyes snap open, because something's moved at the very edge of his senses. He abruptly stills, which doesn't escape Tony.
"What is it?" Tony asks.
"My spider-sense is tingling," says Peter, disbelieving.
"Has little Timmy fallen down the well?" says Tony, obviously disgruntled.
Peter frowns. "There's someone else here," he says. He looks around the room, but can't see anything that might have triggered it.
"You're just imagining it," says Tony, and returns to kiss at Peter's neck and work his hand on Peter's cock, as if deliberately trying to distract him. And then Peter sees it.
Right at the top of the room, in the very corner where the wall connects to the ceiling, there is a tiny red dot underneath a small glass orb. He narrows his eyes, and the glass orb flickers. A surveillance camera. Peter has the sudden image of a darkened room with a wall covered in television screens, each one of them carrying his face. Showing his head tipped back, the curve of his neck exposed to the lens. His mouth hanging open, Tony Stark's hand down his pants.
Frantically, Peter scrambles away from Tony. "I can't believe you h-" he tries, and then thinks better of it. "Okay, I can believe you had the room bugged, but-"
"Oh, come on," says Tony, "it's not even a big deal, all the rooms are like this. Things need to be recorded in case of emergency." He grins. "And Skrulls," he adds.
"And e-everything is recorded?" Peter stammers.
"Yeah," says Tony, making it sounds as though it is the most common thing in the world. Then, his hand starts inching back towards Peter; fingers just dancing along the edge of Peter's open pants, making him tense up.
"Don't tell me you've never filmed yourself before," says Tony as he slips his fingers back inside and, wrapping them around Peter's still hard cock, he starts stroking him again, unhurriedly. Peter thinks of stopping him, but then Tony tugs on the upward stroke, and Peter stops thinking about it. "I have," says Tony, and he's back on Peter, his lips ghosting along the skin of Peter's neck. His other hand goes to the small of Peter's back, holding him for a better angle. "I have with Steve," he says, circling his thumb around the head of Peter's cock and pushing suddenly down. Peter lets out a gasping breath, the pit of his stomach coiling with nerves and arousal. He falters in Tony's arms, nearly collapsing back onto the bed, but the hand Tony's got on his back holds him up. Images that he never thought he would have flood Peter's mind - of Cap, and Tony, on a bed not unlike this one, not much more than blurred, sweaty shapes moving to a common rhythm, muscles flexing and unflexing underneath their skin as above them, and around them, cameras film, and capture Tony's knowing smirk, the blue of the arc reactor shining dull between them.
"Steve likes watching," says Tony, almost as an offhand comment as he speeds up his strokes, using his fingers to spread the pre-come all over Peter's cock to reduce the amount of friction. Peter shudders, his forehead falling forward and bumping into Tony's. His mouth is open again, because he cannot seem to get enough air no matter how much he tries. Tony takes this opportunity to run his tongue along Peter's jawline, biting on his lower lip and ending in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. "Do you like being watched?" Tony says, breathing the words against Peter's skin, and after a beat and a shudder, Peter understands. The looks and the touches that Tony and Cap gave each other at the party, the whispers they exchanged - it was planned. This was all planned.
"Is Steve-?" Peter's never called Cap 'Steve' before; not many people call Cap that, apart from Tony. He doesn't even get to finish his question, because Tony is thumbing the underside of his cock, and Peter stifles a keening noise, rocking into Tony's hand.
"Yeah," says Tony. Peter's cock twitches in Tony's hand and he can feel himself coming completely undone under his touch. "He can come in, if you want him to," says Tony, and Peter can't give a proper reply, so he just nods breathlessly.
The room must have hidden microphones as well, because Tony doesn't even need to say anything for the door to slide open, soundlessly, and Peter would usually be bothered and freaked out by this, were he not preoccupied with other things at the moment. Cap comes in, and Peter feels his cheeks flood with warmth instantly, because this is not a position he thought he would find himself in, faced with someone as important to him as Captain America - Steve, he thinks, and it's incredible how silently he moves for someone of his stature. He's still in olive drab, everything in place apart from his jacket which appears to be missing in action, and Peter instantly feels ashamed for appearing like this before him, completely dishevelled and undone, still painfully hard, with Tony's hand still down his pants.
"Peter," says Tony, feeling Peter's discomfort, "it's okay." His free hand goes to Peter's jaw, cupping his face and making Peter face him, blue eyes on brown. At the corner of his vision, Peter sees Steve sit into an armchair offering the best view of the bed. "You're great," says Tony, and Peter turns his attention to him completely as Tony leans closer to kiss the tip of his ear, the side of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "Steve's just here to watch," he says against Peter's lips as his fingers start moving on Peter's cock again, setting a rhythm. Peter lets his chin rest in the place where Tony's shoulder meets his neck, unable to keep himself steady any other way- he's too far gone, he knows it, and it's the only thing keeping him grounded, keeping him from ending this too soon. His eyes, inevitably, go to where Steve is sitting, his legs parted just so, one of his hands working on loosening his tie, and the other on unfastening his pants.
Steve catches Peter's eyes. "Touch Tony for me," he says, and although softly spoken, it's not a request: it's an order.
Almost of their own volition, Peter's fingers, shaking terribly, go down to the zip of Tony's pants - Tony's painfully straining pants - pop a button open and pull the zipper down, and Peter has no idea what he's doing because he's never done this to someone else, but nevertheless he wraps a hand around Tony's cock. Pushing his underwear down just enough to get access, Peter just does what feels right, what feels good for him, trying to mirror Tony's movement somewhat: and it obviously works, because Tony bows his head suddenly, hissing softly through his teeth. It's strange to have his hand around another man's cock, feel the slick slipping, the hardness and the heat, but Peter gets encouraged by the noises Tony's making, the way he tilts his hips to meet Peter's hand; and Peter wonders, as he has to dig his fingers into Tony's hip to stop him from thrusting too hard, if this feels more intense because Steve is just there, in his dress uniform, slowly palming himself over the fabric. Peter doesn't want to look, but he can't look away. Steve's eyes are set on them, taking everything in. Peter jerks Tony's cock and Tony groans, right into Peter's neck where he's trying to suck at the skin, so Peter feels it more than he hears it, shuddering in response and just holding Tony close, rocking into him. Steve's hand moves into his pants, and Peter's eyes fall shut as his breathing quickens.
"Tony," he pants out, "I'm close." From what he can tell, by the way he thrusts into his hand with shallow, desperate movements and by the way the sweat slides down the skin of his back, Tony is too. Peter doesn't know, he has no idea what it's like to have another man come just because of his touches, but at this moment, as his cock brushes against Tony's and his own hand wrapped around it, he is very eager to find out.
"No," says Steve, and Tony stills with almost immediate and frightening accuracy. "Listen, Peter." There is such command in the tenor of Steve's voice that at that moment Peter understands why men would have followed him through ice and fire, and why he himself just about mechanically obeys, the only noise in the room the laboured sound of their breathing. There's the faint rustle of upholstery as Steve shifts in the chair, placing his hands on his knees, fingers digging firmly into the fabric of his pants. "I want you to suck Tony off," says Steve. "Could you do that for me, Peter?"
Peter looks from Steve, to Tony, and then back to Steve again, feeling his heart hammer furiously in his chest. "I'm not sure-" he says, because he's honestly not, since this is so very, very far from anything he has ever tried or ever thought about, going down on another man - going down on Tony Stark. The thought of pinching himself crosses his mind for an instant.
"I'm not asking," says Steve, his blue eyes dark. Peter feels a shiver of trepidation run down his spine.
"Come on, Peter," Tony says softly, successfully turning Peter's attention away from Steve. His fingers touch the nape of Peter's neck as his thumb strokes Peter's cheek. "Don't worry," he says, his thumb stroking over Peter's bottom lip, reddened and worried from the kissing. "Steve'll guide you," he says, and Peter shudders again as Tony's thumb goes past his lips, into his mouth. Tentatively, he slides his tongue over it. "Like that," says Tony, grinning encouragingly. Peter sucks on his thumb, coating it with his saliva, and then Tony replaces it with his forefinger, followed by his middle finger which Peter eagerly sucks into his mouth, licking between them and gently biting on the skin. Then Tony withdraws his fingers, inclining his head just slightly to reassure Peter further. He doesn't move to do anything else, though, waiting for Steve's command.
"I need you to take his pants and underwear off, Peter," says Steve. "And when you start sucking him off, I want you to do it slowly." Peter's hands go to Tony's hips, the waistband of his underwear, and he pushes it down completely along with Tony's pants, freeing his erection. Tony scrambles, and Peter think that this must have taken a lot of practice, because Tony is quickly sitting in front of him on the bed, completely naked, completely hard, and utterly pleased with himself. Peter's eyes go from Tony's face and his expression to the arc reactor glowing in his chest, until they are drawn to Tony's cock, flushed and wet with pre-come. His fingers wrap loosely around the base, and he places his other hand on Tony's hip, fanning his fingers over the hipbone. He gives the tip of the head an experimental lick, just to get a feel of the taste, at which point Tony draws in a sharp breath, his chest rising. Encouraged by this, Peter takes Tony into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. The taste is heady on his tongue, and Peter closes his eyes, breathing through his nose, head buzzing. He bobs his head once, twice, and then pulls off almost completely to tighten his lips around the head, sucking until his cheeks hollow and Tony's hips buck upwards, causing Peter to shove him down roughly for fear of gagging.
"Use your tongue more," says Steve, leaning forward. "Make him beg."
Tony keens at the back of his throat as Peter wraps his hand more firmly around the base of his cock and takes him out of his mouth, pumping him. He slides his tongue down the underside of Tony's cock, and Tony throws his head back, his fingers bunching the sheets together as he grips them, trying not to thrust. Peter feels his own neglected cock rub painfully against the fabric of his pants, and he ruts his hips into the mattress, seeking at least some release.
"Peter, please-" It doesn't take Tony a long time to do as Steve asked, and he's soon past words, just letting out begging noises as Peter draws circles with his tongue on the head, sliding his lips wetly against the tip, only applying more pressure when Tony lets out a deeper groan.
"He's close," says Steve. "When he comes, I want you to keep it in your mouth." Peter's blood runs faster, his head swimming. He does as he's told, though, and when Tony's stomach clenches and he starts coming, Peter's mouth is back on his cock, taking it all in. Just as Peter thinks how he can't hold it in, that he has to spit it out, there's a hand at his wrist and Steve's pulling him up, away from Tony and to his chest. Peter nearly chokes, but then Steve says, "Open," pulling their lips together - and Peter opens his mouth just as Steve's closes over it, Tony's come spilling from Peter's mouth into Steve's. Peter watches a trail drip from Steve's mouth down his chin and without thinking, moves in to lick it off, his tongue ending up in Steve's mouth almost not of his own volition. Steve's- Steve's firm, and large, but his kiss is gentle and warm and not at all what Peter needs right now. He needs release, or he feels like he will burst at the seams. Then there's a hand on his crotch, palming him roughly over his pants, and Peter doesn't know if it's Tony's or Steve's - or his own, and he doesn't care, he just desperately bucks into it over and over. Steve groans into his mouth, and it's the straw which breaks the camel's back: Peter shudders violently, his orgasm staining his underwear, leaving him sticky and spent.
He collapses on the bed, out of breath. Tony throws himself down next to him, laughing.
"So, I guess you'll be moving in then?"