Chapter Text
Peter woke to the sound of his door clicking open.
He'd been sleeping pretty deeply, after patrolling late had turned into following some shady guys that set off his Spidey-sense to what turned out to be a for-real actual secret lab, and that had turned into calling in Mr. Stark for back-up to figure out what they were working on, and that had turned into kicking ass to bring the whole operation down in the process, and that had turned into waiting around for SHIELD to come secure the lab and clean up the crooks. (The crooks that were apparently working on like fifteen different projects to crack mind control, and why was it always either mind control or genetic mutations with secret labs, seriously?) It had been nearly 3am by the time his head hit the pillow in his bedroom at the tower, and he'd been so tired that it hadn't even bothered him when Mr. Stark brushed off his question about what he was heading back to the lab to work on instead of going to bed when they both got back.
And it was weird, these days, for Mr. Stark to brush him off when it came to his work-- Mr. Stark always let him in on what he was working on, since Titan.
A lot of things had changed since Titan.
Mr. Stark spent a lot more time with him now, which was-- awesome. Mostly in the lab, but also just hanging out, having movie nights and trying new places for lunch, and it was so awesome. Sometimes on missions, too, like that night, but Mr. Stark was still sticking to the story that he was semi-retired, so Peter tried not to bother him too much with bad guy stuff even if he loved teaming up with Iron Man. Something about knowing Mr. Stark was getting to see him in his element, when Peter felt like he was doing exactly what he was meant to do, in the heat of the moment instead of on grainy cellphone footage-- it was his favorite thing. Like, if only Mr. Stark got to see him like that enough, he might actually start seeing Peter as an adult.
Even if-- well, Mr. Stark did look at him different, now. And Peter knew that it was just because of the five years he had been gone. Mr. Stark had missed him (Mr. Stark had missed him), and done incredible things to get Peter back, and-- if sometimes Peter caught Mr. Stark watching him, eyes dark but a million miles away at the same time, that was why. Same for the moments when Peter would glance up at Mr. Stark after telling a joke to see not a grin, but a soft half-cocked smile and eyes crinkled with what almost looked like pain.
So Peter knew it didn't mean anything, he really did, but if it made his heart race whenever it happened-- well, sue him. He and Mr. Stark had enough pain between them that he felt like he deserved a little bit of self-aware indulgent fantasizing. The way that he looked at Mr. Stark had changed since Titan, too, and it wasn't just a rabbit-hearted crush fluttering in his chest anymore. That had been easy enough to ignore, to know for a fact that it would never happen and that he'd grow out of it eventually, but--
Instead, he'd grown into it. He'd faded to nothing in Mr. Stark's arms, the last thing he saw being a red sky and eyes wide with disbelief and dawning horror. And then what felt like only moments later, he'd been pulled back into those arms, but Mr. Stark's eyes had been dark shadows of old, rusted-over grief, then. And seeing Mr. Stark like that-- older, and sad and tired, but still looking at Peter like he was somehow a dream come true-- something had shifted, in Peter. Some desire to scrub that grief away, to be someone bright and shining that could keep those shadows away from Mr. Stark, and it hadn't taken Peter long to realize that wanting to make Mr. Stark happy that way-- to be the one to make him happy that way-- meant that his feelings had only matured, instead of fading away.
And he knew it would never happen, so maybe he should have tried to put some distance between them. But he hadn't. Even if he couldn't be someone that Mr. Stark loved, he could still try his best to make Mr. Stark's life a little lighter and better in whatever ways he had at his disposal. So he came around, with stories and science jokes and ideas for projects and movie recommendations and lunch that he'd picked up on the way, trying to be someone bright and easy to be around, and his favorite days were the ones where Mr. Stark let him sleep over and he got to wake up to even more time with the person he loved.
But for all the times he'd slept over, no one had ever come into his room at night. That click seemed to echo against the quiet walls, and Peter's exhausted brain somehow struck on the thought that he was pretty sure the tower was empty tonight other than he and Mr. Stark, with everyone else away on missions or trips.
He blinked blearily in the direction of the door, his mind torn between the barest whisper of 'pay attention' from his senses and the seductive call of sleep. As the door clicked again, closing once more, he made out the shape of Mr. Stark in front of it, wearing the same grease-stained t-shirt and jeans he'd been wearing earlier as he parted ways with Peter to head off to the lab.
Peter did his best to also push away his exhaustion as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, not even bothering to fight his yawn as he slurred, "...'r Stark? What's up?"
Mr. Stark didn't answer right away, and he was hesitating by the door in a way that had Peter struggling to sweep away the cobwebs of fatigue from his mind. Peter glanced at the clock-- it was only 4:30, god, no wonder he was so tired-- and then back at Mr. Stark, urging his brain to come back online.
Mr. Stark was-- he was breathing a little unevenly, and the sound of his heart was faster than his norm. Peter frowned and pushed himself up higher, sitting instead of reclining, and repeated, "Mr. Stark? Is something-- do you need something in the lab? Are you okay?"
That finally got Mr. Stark moving, but he still didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked further into the room, steps hesitating occasionally, and Peter was seriously about to panic when Mr. Stark sat heavily on the edge of his bed, and reached out to card his fingers into Peter's hair.
Peter's breath hitched, and goosebumps erupted up and down his arms in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with his Spidey-sense and everything to do with the fact that, now that Mr. Stark didn't seem in danger of collapsing on his floor, this scenario was abruptly incredibly familiar. Familiar, in that variations of it had featured in his jerk-off fantasies for the last three years of his life.
Mr. Stark's hand was hot. Not normal-body-heat-warm, and not "hot because Peter's hypersensitivity interpreted even the most casual touch from Mr. Stark as blindingly intense." And-- his hand was heavy where it gripped, rather than brushed, the side of Peter's head. But when Peter took a tiny, shuddering breath, Mr. Stark didn't smell like alcohol, and his eyes--
They weren't glassy with the haze of liquor, or even with exhaustion. They were intense, and dark, and darting down to watch as Peter wet his lips against the sudden dryness of his mouth.
"Mr. Stark," he whispered for the third time, his voice now airless where it had previously been rough from sleep. "Are you okay?"
Mr. Stark's thumb was slowly tracing back and forth over Peter's temple, but it stopped its trek as he finally took a deep breath, the first sign that he was really hearing what Peter was asking.
Voice rough with something other than sleep, Mr. Stark said, "No," and leaned in to kiss him.
To say that Peter gasped would be an understatement. That would be at least a little dignified, but the high, breathless sound that Peter made as his body responded to the feeling of Mr. Stark's lips against his own was nothing short of a moan. He curled his hands desperately into Mr. Stark's t-shirt to keep himself from just immediately dropping back against the bed out of shock and pure instinctive invitation both-- and that invitation would have been more than honest, but he couldn't imagine purposely creating any distance between himself and Mr. Stark right now. Mr. Stark's hand sank deeper into his hair and gripped as he pressed to explore Peter's mouth from different angles of tongue and lips. Peter moaned again, barely with the presence of mind to even be embarrassed about it even if he was making full-on porn sounds in response to nothing more than making out.
But it was making out with Mr. Stark. He thought he was probably allowed to overreact a little in the face of his literal, actual wet dreams coming true. Which-- holy shit, his literal, actual wet dreams were coming true.
Mr. Stark finally broke away from tasting Peter's mouth to pull his head back with the hand in Peter's hair and suck his way down Peter's throat. Peter whimpered, and Mr. Stark growled, "Haven't been okay for a while, kid. Can't stop thinking about you."
It was so much everything Peter had ever wanted to hear that he was abruptly gripped with an absurd panic, and even as he arched his neck for Mr. Stark to lick into the hollow of his throat, he scrambled his hands up to Mr. Stark's shoulders, needing something more solid than a cotton t-shirt under his hands.
"Is this--" He gasped, cock jumping from where it was already fully hard as Mr. Stark skated his lips and teeth back up to the curve of Peter's jaw. "How is this happening, is this seriously--"
"Couldn't wait anymore," Mr. Stark said, and his hands were everywhere, squeezing at the back of Peter's neck just like he did in the lab when Peter had impressed him, smoothing down the planes of Peter's back, one sliding down to grab at the swell of Peter's ass on the bed while the other made its way up the front of Peter's shirt--
"Mr. Stark," Peter moaned, squirming as he tried to untangle his legs from where they were still nestled under his blankets without doing anything that would actually pull him away from Mr. Stark. His body jolted when Mr. Stark bit him in response, a sting that traveled from the site of the mild bruise that would never have a chance to form against Peter's healing factor and went directly to his dick. He was already leaking precome all over the front of his boxers, exhaustion compounding against the fact that this was the hottest thing that had ever and probably would ever happen to him making his control over his hair-trigger even more lax than usual.
But that did mean that it really was uncomfortably sticky and warm underneath the blankets, and if Peter was going to end up coming in his sleep shorts like this really was nothing more than a wet dream, he at least wanted Mr. Stark against his body while he did it. Chasing that instinct, Peter wrapped his arms fully around Mr. Stark's back and shoulders and rolled Mr. Stark underneath him onto the bed properly.
Mr. Stark let out a gust of breath against Peter's neck as his back hit the mattress, and Peter pulled back, worried that he had shoved him down too hard-- he didn't think he had, but he knew he could get a little less careful with his strength when he was really tired or distracted, and both of those would have been understatements at the moment--
But Mr. Stark didn't look winded or pained. His eyes were totally dark, locked with Peter's, and hungry, staring at Peter like he could actually drink him in if he tried hard enough.
"Fuckin' incredible," Mr. Stark murmured, and Peter almost missed it because Mr. Stark was also leaning up to kiss him again, deep and filthy, rough hands cupping either side of Peter's face. Peter's head was swimming from the two-hit combo of those words of praise, in this context, and the slide of Mr. Stark's tongue against his own when Mr. Stark rolled them, settling directly on top of him. He could feel the shape of Mr. Stark's cock grinding against him through the material of expensive jeans, and it was paradoxically something about just how unbelievable that seemed that drove it home for Peter that this was, somehow, actually, truly happening.
"God," Peter gasped into Mr. Stark's mouth, the sound punched out of him, and he was helpless to keep his hips from rutting up against Mr. Stark's weight above him. "Mr. Stark-- sorry-- know it's not sexy but I'm gonna--"
Mr. Stark just grunted in answer, catching at Peter's lips between his gasps, but he also slid a hand down to grip the back of Peter's thigh and pull it up against the line of his hip so that Peter could wedge their rocking hips even more tightly together, and that seemed as good a blessing as any.
Objectively, it wasn't that comfortable-- too many layers of fabric between their bodies simultaneously causing too little sensation and too much friction, but that hardly mattered with the rasp of Mr. Stark's voice murmuring fuckin' incredible echoing in his ears, and the knowledge that it was Mr. Stark's body pressing his into the mattress, Mr. Stark's beard scratching his mouth and neck red, Mr. Stark's cock grinding down against his body because Mr. Stark wanted him, Mr. Stark wanted him--
He'd imagined it a million times, and no pair of jeans or sleep shorts could change the fact that it was perfect, better than he'd ever imagined because it was real. Peter had zero defenses as Mr. Stark sunk his other hand into Peter's hair and pulled it for him to expose his throat, the bass of his growled, "Yeah, like that, kid," vibrating through Peter's skin and sinking into his bones. He had a moment to wonder if the tenor of his answering groan was vibrating against Mr. Stark's lips and tongue the same way before he was coming, hips rocking erratically as he gripped Mr. Stark close, close, finally as close as he wanted.
"Jesus, look at you," Mr. Stark breathed as Peter's limbs went relaxed and useless in the aftermath, and Peter forced himself to blink his heavy eyelids open because he had to know, abruptly, what Mr. Stark's face looked like as he said it.
He was nearly pained, brow furrowed above eyes that were still blown wide with want. Peter's breath hitched, and he reached up to press a hand alongside Mr. Stark's cheek, his stubble deliciously almost too-rough against Peter's oversensitized skin. Mr. Stark closed his eyes, breathing heavily-- he still hadn't come-- and his breath hitched further when Peter quietly said, "I've thought about this."
"Kid--" Mr. Stark groaned, and Peter was filing that memory away forever, and then Mr. Stark pulled at Peter's shirt, kissing him desperately the second it was over his head. He actually left the shirt tangled around Peter's arms where they were raised above his head, abandoning it there to tug down Peter's sleep shorts and boxers in one quick motion, and the act of being not just exposed but spread out cut through Peter's exhaustion like a hot knife through butter, his cock already beginning to fill for a second time.
And then Mr. Stark abandoned licking into his mouth to pull back and look at him, eyes roving hungrily from where Peter's arms were stretched above his head down over his exposed chest and abs and finally settling on his come-slick, rapidly-hardening cock. Peter felt it twitch under the weight of Mr. Stark's gaze, and he flushed deeply at the way his body gave him away even if his words hadn't, at the way there was no hiding just how badly he wanted Mr. Stark after this.
"Fuck," Mr. Stark swore, and he moved toward the edge of the bed, but Peter's flash of panic and dismay was over in an instant as he saw that Mr. Stark was only digging into the top drawer of Peter's bedside table with clear intent.
Peter's mouth dropped open and he froze against the mattress, mind stalling out as he watched Mr. Stark try and fail to find-- lube-- condoms-- something, something like that, because he wanted to--
He wanted to have sex. Not just-- sloppy rutting, getting used to each other, giving Peter something without actually touching him, he wanted to actually-- he wanted to fuck Peter, and it wasn't even going to take the carefully-composed speeches that Peter had fantasized about, all I'm an adult now and I've saved the world, surely I can be trusted with choosing who I want to have sex with and who else is really going to get the Spider-man thing, Mr. Stark, who better than you, in those moments when he was actually forcing himself to be realistic instead of just jumping straight to the self-indulgent idea of Mr. Stark bending him over in the lab, letting Peter suck him off in the shower, opening him up on Mr. Stark's king mattress--
But apparently mentally penning out those speeches was just Peter making himself put off the good stuff for no reason, because here he was, spread out on his own mattress about to have Mr. Stark's cock inside of him-- his dick jumped again at the thought-- and it hadn't taken any convincing at all. And if there was that brush of a whisper from his senses again-- pay attention-- it was overpowered by Mr. Stark turning back toward him, saying, "Kid, do you--"
Peter's jaw clicked closed and he nodded, swallowing hard, as he sat up to fully pull off the rest of his clothes from where Mr. Stark had only bothered to bare his skin. Mr. Stark went back on his knees as Peter rolled to reach over the edge of his bed, pulling the small bottle of lube from where he kept it discreetly strapped along the underside of the bedframe.
"You and May dig around in my stuff too much," he explained himself, just slightly pointed, as he pulled back onto the mattress and moved to set the bottle on his nightstand so that Mr. Stark wouldn't have to take it from his hands.
But Mr. Stark reached out to take it from him before he could, almost unthinkingly, and Mr. Stark letting Peter hand him something shouldn't have made his breath catch the way it did. The look on Mr. Stark's face, though-- like he was being handed something precious instead of a cheap bottle of lube, like seeing Peter in front of him like this was something that was almost hurting him from how badly he wanted it-- that would have done it, regardless.
Mr. Stark pressed himself back over Peter, clutching the bottle in one fist, and said, "Pete, tell me you want this."
Peter's mouth went dry with want, and his first answer was almost a whisper.
"I want this," he promised, and his voice was stronger as he continued, "I want-- I want this so much, Mr. Stark, for so long, I've literally dreamed about-- please, please just--"
And that must have been enough, because Mr. Stark was on him again, kissing him like he needed it to live, and the places where Mr. Stark's body was pressing against his naked skin felt so good that Peter almost couldn't stand it, his mind zeroing in on every point of contact and elevating it to something indescribable. The only thing that could possibly be better was if Mr. Stark were naked too, and Peter let that thought guide him into pulling Mr. Stark's shirt up--
"Oh, shit," he gasped into Mr. Stark's mouth at the sound of ripping fabric, "I'm sorry--"
"Doesn't matter," Mr. Stark grunted, and he finally pulled back, shrugging off the flaps of his shirt and then reaching for his belt. Peter's heart felt like it stopped, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows to watch, his breath harsh and revealing in the quiet night air.
Mr. Stark didn't make a show of it, though. He stripped himself efficiently, kicking his jeans and boxer-briefs off the edge of the bed and then settling back on his heels between Peter's spread legs to pop open the cap on the neglected bottle of lube, like Peter could even begin to think about that when he was still taking in the sight of Mr. Stark's cock.
Peter had seen the sex tapes, before. It was a shameful secret, something that he did his best to only rarely acknowledge even to himself, since-- he'd watched them even after he'd met Mr. Stark in real life, after he'd become a real person, a person that Peter cared about and that cared about him, instead of just the fantasy of an idealized, sexy genius celebrity. So he'd technically seen Mr. Stark's dick before, knew its size and the nest of dark curls at its base, even knew what it looked like inside Mr. Stark's fist as he stroked himself to full hardness.
But none of that even compared to seeing it in real life. Mr. Stark was already fully hard, the head of his cock slick with precome and flushed dark enough that Peter could tell it had to almost hurt even in the darkness of his bedroom. And Peter had done that, somehow, through nothing more than rubbing up against Mr. Stark's body through their clothes like-- well, teenagers-- and letting Mr. Stark look at him.
He swallowed again, hard, and tried to push the thoughts of swallowing around that out of his mind as Mr. Stark slicked his fingers with lube, because down that path definitely lead the way to coming again before even getting any part of Mr. Stark in him, and he was determined not to let that happen. He leaned back against the bed, breath fluttering out of him, and spread his knees further apart, tense anticipation fighting with the knowledge that he needed to relax for this.
And-- either his arousal really was hurting him or Peter wasn't the only one who was feeling some nerves, because Mr. Stark's hands were shaking as he tossed aside the bottle of lube and then reached for Peter, stroking one hand along his inner thigh and pressing the other up to massage a finger against Peter's hole. Peter let out an embarrassing rush of breath even at that simple touch-- Mr. Stark wasn't even in him yet-- but it felt good, and more than that, it felt intimate. Like he was giving Mr. Stark the opportunity to destroy him, literally showing his belly, and Mr. Stark was instead using it to make him feel good. He took that thought and let his muscles deliberately relax, letting some of his exhaustion wash back into him, because-- that was okay. He could be a little bit out of it. Mr. Stark would take care of him.
Apparently feeling Peter's change in tension, Mr. Stark finally, finally slid a finger into him, and underneath his own groan of pleasure Peter heard Mr. Stark's breath hitch. The evidence of Mr. Stark's desire dragged another drip of precome out of him, and Peter shuddered as he felt it roll down to join the sticky mess coating his cock, and it was like the dam holding back his thoughts broke.
"Mr. Stark," he whined, shifting his hips to feel the drag of Mr. Stark's finger inside him, "please, please, kiss me, I need, I wanna feel you everywhere--"
Mr. Stark shook his head, and his voice was rough as he answered, "Can't, kid, let me do this," but he did hook his free hand under Peter's knee and drag it up to press a kiss to the inside curve as he added another finger.
"God," Peter gasped, and he let his head fall back against the pillow, nearly dizzy with the conflicting sensations of Mr. Stark's fingers smoothly working him open and the scrape of his stubble against the soft curve of his knee. "God, feels so good, can't believe this, don't stop--"
Mr. Stark sighed unevenly, a gust that Peter could feel against the leg Mr. Stark still had a hand hooked under, and he actually leaned his head against the side of Peter's knee as he thrust his fingers into him-- not like he was tired, but like he needed something to keep himself grounded, holding himself back. Peter's toes curled at the thought that Mr. Stark was feeling just as frantic as he was and only doing a better job at playing it cool, and let himself jump ahead in his mind, imagining that it was already Mr. Stark's cock stretching him wide and pressing deep inside him--
And that was a mistake, because fuck, he was already close again and getting too self-indulgent with his mind's eye wasn't helping and he was leaking precome like a goddamn tap--
"More," he pleaded, because he didn't know when to quit.
He couldn't regret it, though, because a third finger was inside him almost before he finished getting the word out, and the delicious stretch of it was better than anything. Better than his own fingers-- Mr. Stark's were wider, and rough from hours of work inventing the world's next big technological advances, and he'd be lying if he said that thought wasn't just as hot as the gentle drag those calluses created inside him with every thrust. It was better than the vibrator Peter had discreetly bought with some of his 18th birthday money. And it was a hundred, thousand times better than jerking off while watching a sex tape of those same clever fingers slipping inside someone else instead.
Peter angled the leg that Mr. Stark didn't have ahold of even wider, spreading himself so that Mr. Stark could push into him as deep as he needed, only distantly aware that he was still gasping out a breathless litany of yes, Mr. Stark, please, so good, more between whimpers and full-on moans. Adrenaline always put his mouth on autopilot, and Peter had just enough time to recognize that apparently it didn't matter whether the source was sex or fighting before Mr. Stark turned his head to press another kiss into the crease of Peter's knee, and then followed it with a swipe of his tongue. Peter's hips snapped up, taking Mr. Stark's fingers deeper, and the sensory overload of that-- the press and slide of fingers against his walls, brushing his prostate just enough to tease, the stretch those fingers made of his rim, the heat of skin-on-skin-- along with the puff of Mr. Stark's hot breath over skin sensitized by his lips and tongue and stubble had Peter rushing abruptly over the edge.
He gripped his sheets as he came a second time, body shaking, but Mr. Stark didn't stop fucking him on his fingers despite the way Peter tightened around them in his pleasure.
"Ah, ah, Mr. Stark--" Peter gasped, eyelids fluttering and body arching with the conflicting impulses of more and too much from the steady, unyielding thrust of Mr. Stark's fingers inside him on the heels of his orgasm. He felt like he was melting down, in the best way possible-- his head swam with a combination of pleasure and exhaustion, he was on fire from the inside out, and every thrust sent bolts of sensation through him that had his mind blanking out, too intense to process as anything more than yes, yes, yes.
"Pete," Mr. Stark answered, voice rough in contrast to the gentle way he kissed his way down Peter's inner thigh as he finally pulled his fingers free. Peter moaned, the loss of sensation nearly as intense as the having, his body reeling from the change in the reality it had already adjusted to. He looked down his own heaving chest and the sight of Mr. Stark's head bent between his legs sent another aftershock through him. Mr. Stark looked up at the sound of his hitching breath, and the naked desire in his face-- lips parted with his own harsh breaths, pupils blown wide, dim moonlight from the window catching on the sweat at his hairline-- rocked Peter back from his dazed overstimulation, chest tight. He wanted so bad to-- to not get rid of that expression on Mr. Stark's face, but to take it, to claim it, to transform it by making Mr. Stark feel just as good as Peter did, two orgasms in and already feeling the tightening in his groin that meant he could go again.
"Let me," he said nonsensically, and reached down for Mr. Stark. "Let me--"
Mr. Stark surged up to meet him, kissing him hard, once, and breathing, "Ready? You're--"
"Yeah," Peter breathed back, "yeah, just slow, let me--"
And maybe that didn't make sense, but it didn't have to, because he wrapped his arms around Mr. Stark and rolled them, wrestling a few last dregs of energy from his sleep- and orgasm-heavy body to straddle Mr. Stark once he had him on his back.
Mr. Stark's eyes were wide, wide, wide.
"Peter--"
"Let me," Peter repeated again, and he took a deep, bracing breath before starting to lower himself onto Mr. Stark's cock. He went slowly, closing his eyes against the aftershocks of overstimulation that jolted through him as he felt Mr. Stark's head slip past his rim, hot and slick from lube. There was a part of him that wanted to sink all the way down and just let himself be overwhelmed, or let Mr. Stark roll him over and pound into him-- especially when Mr. Stark let his head fall back against the mattress and he groaned, a sound that scraped through Peter's gut like a physical touch--
--But he knew that if he rushed it he would really blow out his senses and end up a weepy mess, flinching away even from the brush of his sheets on his skin, because maybe he'd gotten a little too enthusiastic with his vibrator the first time he'd had the apartment totally to himself after he'd bought it and found that out first-hand. And even that was an appealing thought, imagining letting Mr. Stark take him to the brink of what was bearable and then pushing him even further, but he didn't want that now. He wanted to remember every moment of this.
"Kid," Mr. Stark groaned, hands scrabbling at Peter's hips and body tensing like he was going to arch up to tip them over. Peter grabbed at his wrists and shook his head, slowly settling himself further on Mr. Stark's cock, the shape of it filling him in an entirely different way than Mr. Stark's fingers had.
"Just for a minute," he said, and leaned his upper body forward so that he could press Mr. Stark's wrists to the mattress even as he inched his hips further down, a whine catching in his throat at the electrifying change in angle. "Just-- just for a minute, and then you can, I'll let you--"
"Fuck," Mr. Stark gasped, and after that it was like when he'd been fingering Peter open, like his mouth was on autopilot, because he just started talking. "Fuck, Peter, you're perfect, jesus, you can't imagine what you've been doing to me--"
"Oh," Peter breathed, and settled himself fully on Mr. Stark's hips, his cock big and blunt and everything inside of him. It wasn't like his fingers-- it was hot, and wide all the way around, and Peter could even feel the way it twitched as Mr. Stark watched his jaw drop open with pleasure.
And it was pleasure alone, now-- the aftershocks of overstimulation had started to pass almost as soon as he'd gotten Mr. Stark's wrists pressed to the bed, and he was well on his way to getting hard again from the string of praise and swears and pleas Mr. Stark panted at him.
"Shit, you feel so good-- so good, Pete, you're amazing, knew you'd be good for me, almost couldn't wait to get inside you, please let me--"
He cut off with a strangled moan as Peter's hips raised and then slammed back down almost on their own, like he was on puppet strings attached to the vibrations in the air from Mr. Stark gasping knew you'd be good for me and then please.
"Mr. Stark, fuck," Peter gasped himself, thighs trembling as he started to ride Mr. Stark's cock, straining to keep his thoughts straight. "Do you mean-- do you mean it, are you really--"
"Yes, yes, yes, kid, you're-- you're everything, you're perfect," Mr. Stark said again, and his wrists squirmed in Peter's grip as he rocked his hips in time with the rise and fall of Peter's. "Want you so bad, wanted you so bad, let me make you feel good, how you deserve, please, kid, I need--"
"Yeah," Peter said, but now that he'd started it was hard to stop, and he kept fucking himself on Mr. Stark's cock even as he promised, "yeah, okay, okay--"
"Need it, need you, always needed you, please Pete," and Mr. Stark's voice broke on the please, and Peter let go of his wrists and threw himself forward, needing more, even more than Mr. Stark inside of him.
And Mr. Stark kept him close even after he rolled them over, pressing kiss after sloppy kiss to Peter's mouth as he took control, fucking into Peter with as little space between them as he could manage. Peter buried a hand into his hair, still being driven by that same impulse to be close, and that way Peter could not only hear Mr. Stark's growls and grunts and-- words, some sweet and some filthy, amazing, kid, you're amazing flowing into taking my cock so well, Pete-- but he could feel them, vibrating against his skin, and it was almost, perfectly, too much. They were touching everywhere, chest-to-chest, Peter's legs bracketing Mr. Stark's hips, Mr. Stark's arms bracketing Peter's shoulders, Mr. Stark's stomach gliding against Peter's cock and smearing precome on both of them when he rocked himself particularly low, Peter's hands in Mr. Stark's hair and scrabbling over his back, Mr. Stark's cock stretching Peter full.
"Please," Peter finally panted, when he couldn't take it anymore, desperate with the need to come but his body exhausted, the sound of Mr. Stark murmuring so good for me, so fucking perfect ringing in his ears, "please, touch me, I wanna come."
He could do it himself, he realized distantly, since his hands were free and it would be a lot more awkward for Mr. Stark to try and wedge one of his between them, but-- Mr. Stark hadn't touched him yet, at all, and Peter needed it, needed to feel the drag off those calluses against his cock, needed to be able to remember how it felt every time he watched Mr. Stark reach for another tool in the lab, needed it before this-- ended, and tomorrow came, and whatever was going to happen between them tomorrow came.
"Not yet, kid," Mr. Stark said, and Peter whined, clutching Mr. Stark closer to him. "Not yet, don't want you passing out on me, just a little more, Pete, I know you can do it."
It was almost embarrassing how those words affected him, Peter's unvoiced protests immediately transforming into a breathless, "Okay, okay," as he nodded frantically. He could wait. He could wait. Mr. Stark needed him to wait.
"Good," Mr. Stark praised him, and he rocked forward that little amount he needed to hammer into Peter's prostate instead of brushing it in a steady tease. Peter cried out, throwing his head back, but he panted through all of the pleading words that were cluttering his mind instead of screaming them into the air like he wanted to.
And Mr. Stark rewarded him, coupling sharp snaps of his hips with panted murmurs, that's it, Peter, you're so good, just like that, let me do this for you, I'll give you what you need, you're being so good, and Peter glowed under the praise, keeping his orgasm at bay through sheer willpower even as tears started to gather at the corners of his eyes and his panting breaths started to shudder in his chest, wet.
"Mr. Stark," he cried, over and over again, not letting himself say please but letting himself have this, "Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, Tony--"
Mr. Stark shuddered, and his hand was on Peter before he could even process it, any anticipation he might have felt from noticing Mr. Stark shifting his balance fuzzed out to nothing against the onslaught on his senses.
"Ah," Peter moaned, and after that he was incoherent even to himself, arching between the rock of Mr. Stark's hips-- sloppier, now, from the new angle, but no less relentless-- and his grip on Peter's cock. He didn't know if he actually said anything, actually voiced any of the Mr. Stark god please perfect more love you love you love you pounding through his skull, or if he just made noise, but he only lasted for a few short strokes before he came, spilling onto Mr. Stark and himself alike.
He would recognize later that Mr. Stark's fear about him coming too soon had been a valid one, because he only remembered vague impressions of anything that happened after that. He didn't remember how much longer it took for Mr. Stark to come, but he remembered that it felt good, and that Mr. Stark was holding his hand when he did. He remembered that Mr. Stark pressed his face into his neck and groaned, "Peter." He remembered wet heat inside his body even after Mr. Stark pulled out, and how he'd breathed one last shivery moan at the feeling.
He remembered a moment of sleepy concern when he noticed a jump in Mr. Stark's breathing and heart rate, even though Mr. Stark had already curled up to rest next to him on the bed. He remembered how softly Mr. Stark had said, "Don't worry, kid, just go to sleep," and how he'd brushed Peter's hair back from his forehead when he'd made a quizzical sound and molded himself to Mr. Stark's side.
He didn't remember that Mr. Stark's hands had been shaking.