
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11476413.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Spider-Man:_Homecoming_(2017), Marvel_Cinematic_Universe
  Relationship:
      Peter_Parker/Tony_Stark
  Character:
      Peter_Parker, Tony_Stark
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Underage_Drinking, Underage_Sex,
      Stream_of_Consciousness, Peter_Parker_Needs_a_Hug, Bisexual_Peter_Parker,
      Virgin_Peter_Parker, Tony_Stark_Has_Issues, Tony_Stark_Does_What_He
      Wants, even_if_its_wrong, and_it_really_kinda_is_but_oh_well, spoilers
      for_the_movie, LOTS_OF_SPOILERS, Hurt_Peter_Parker, rewriting_of_some
      movie_events, messy_dubcon_blowjobs, First_Time, Extremely_Dubious
      Consent, but_not_flat_out_noncon
  Collections:
      Anonymous
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-12 Words: 2580
****** Tests Passed & Failed ******
by Anonymous
Summary
     Peter hasn't had life give him such an obvious answer in a while. Liz
     left, and Tony trusts him.
     that's all there is to it.
Notes
     hi im garbage and trash. this is all i will do for these 2 probably
     so i'm sorry its shitty.
     also bi!peter for life. thanks.
See the end of the work for more notes
It isn’t until he's inside the mansion and halfway down the hall towards what
appears to be a wet bar that Peter considers, maybe being summoned to see
Mister Stark at ten in the evening on a Saturday night wasn’t just for training
or a lecture about hacking the suit.
Maybe it was just another test.
When Tony steps out to greet him, cheery and blasé, holding a half empty glass
of something, Peter has to bite his tongue to keep from asking. He's given his
own glass and told to pick whatever he wants. He goes for a beer, the fancy one
with the italian ladies name. His head gets heavy and fuzzy and he wonders if
this is what supposedly everyone at those parties makes a big deal out of.
Mister Stark blinks over at him and pats the couch beside him.
“I was just kidding about the hug thing. You can get a little closer.”
Peter’s hands shake and he's sweaty under his shirt. He's feeling hopelessly
underdressed next to the billionaire and he suspects he always will. Unless,
not while dressed at all. Tony downs his drink and Peter hastens to copy him,
wincing at the burn, before additional warmth sears through him, a hand on his
knee.
“You're really something else, kid. You know that?”
His hand squeezes and Peter blinks down at it, suddenly imagining what it might
feel like it he shifted up higher and cupped over his crotch.
Oh.
That’s bad. Now he's hard and Mister Stark is right there.
“Th-thank you mister stark.”
“Oh C’mon now. You can call me Tony when we're alone. I insist.”
Peter finally puts to words what he’s been wondering all night, seconds before
he lets himself look away from the blue tint of Mister Stark’s glasses and down
toward his lips, that’s dangerous territory.
“Is this a test, Mister Stark?”
 
“It could be. Do you want to pass it with flying colors?”
Peter nods before he can think better of it, and something about Tony’s smile
bites,
“Then go ahead, show me what you're made of. I can see your abs through your
raggedy tee shirt. Why don’t you get rid of it?”
Peter’s stripped in abandoned alleyways and in front of his best friend and his
aunt, but never with such an intimidating audience. He wants to be confident
and cool and calm, but his hair falls in his face and his breathing hitches
when he's manhandled onto Tony’s lap and braced down over broad thighs and a
certain something he can feel between his legs. Oh. Oh god. Mister Stark is
hard too.
He wrestles away the shirt and is freed at last to stare down at the man,
blinking awkwardly and feeling dazed. He runs a hand through his messy hair and
smiles nervously.
“Like this?”
“Perfect.”
Tony eyes him for a good long moment before there's a hand at the back of his
neck, dragging him down hurriedly for a frantic kiss, bitter and sharp, whiskey
and beer mingling in their mouths. All it does is make Peter squirm and wish he
could beg for more. But this man is his hero, his mentor, his everything, how
can he ask him to possibly consider someone as young and inexperienced as he
is?
“Kid, you’re going to make a fool out of me if you don’t get on your knees
right now.”
Peter blinks, and slides out of Tony’s lap in a heartbeat, his own thundering
in his ears, as his hands fumble over the nice fabric of his suit pants,
starched, crisp, and tented obscenely.
“Mist-Tony, you want me to jerk you off or blow you?”
He’s got no fucking idea what he’s doing but he wants to, oh so very badly. His
mouth is actually watering, while seconds ago it was bone dry.
Tony’s swallowing thickly and nodding, one hand on the back of his neck still
and the other carding through his hair, guiding him down to kiss the seam of
the zipper before he’s even got his eyes on the prize. Peter tries not to ogle
it for too long before just leaning down and putting it in his mouth, wincing
slightly at the taste. It’s not worse than beer and it’s not too thick that it
makes his jaw ache yet, like he’s heard some girls gossip about. Or the dicks
in porn he’s watched. Not that he’s watched much porn where girls are giving
head. He prefers things with older guys and younger girls or sometimes if he
can find the right gay porn clip he’ll stick with that and pretend it’s someone
else entirely.
Peter’s gulping down excess saliva, and trying to give the underside a hard
lick, while taking Tony’s cock in as deep as he can without choking. It’s rough
going. Peter’s blinking back tears before he realizes it, and all he can think
is how he’s going to ruin Tony’s pants with his pathetic crying and sensitive
gag reflex if he isn’t careful.
The last time he cried in front of Tony was when he fucked up the worst.
 
*
 
Unconsciousness and pre-entombed in his parachute, that was how Mister Stark
found Peter the first time, and he woke up to cough out excess water and ignore
how his lungs burned while being chastised for stupidly going after some
wannabe arms dealer.
“Why would you do such-”
Peter stopped listening when he realized it was Mister Stark, out of his suit,
dripping wet and leaning over him, frowning down at him.
“Did you-?”
It was too ridiculous, too insane, Mister Stark wouldn’t have done CPR, not
when he had like… things in his suit to bring someone back to-
“Are you listening to a word I am saying? No. The glazed look in your eye says
no.”
“Sorry Mister Stark, I promise I’m listening.”
The glare he gets for that is a thing of beauty and for some reason, he starts
feeling hot under the collar. Until he realizes its the suit, warming and
drying him so he doesn’t have to go home to May and explain what the fuck
happened.
Mister Stark says as much, and Peter tries to nod, and look sorrowful.
He’s just a little too giddy that the man actually came to save his life.
Or his sorry ass, as Mister Stark says.
“Now get out of here. You just failed test number one. Write that down
somewhere when you get home.”
 
*
 
He cries in front of Mister Stark after the ferry disaster, and it’s the worst
he’s ever felt in his life. Flinging himself off the building would hurt less
than this, he thinks. Telling May he’s lost the internship is only half the
truth, and he knows it.
The way the man looked at him, and refused to listen to him just grates at him
so much he doesn’t even want to get up and go to school in the morning, but he
does.
Then its homecoming and he’s learning a huge piece of the puzzle he’s been
missing is standing right in front of him, Mister Toomes is calling Liz
beautiful and telling Peter that he’s answered all the right questions.
When does this nightmare end?
 
When his nose is bleeding and every bit of him hurts, it’s not a mild
concussion, he feels like he’s dying and he can’t ask anyone for help. He only
has himself. So he tries, and strains, and does his best, he wants to make
Mister Stark proud, and that means not dying under a pile of rubble doing what
the man said not to do. He gets up, and gets free, and goes after that
motherfucking son of a bitch who happens to be Liz’s father.
Going up against the dude is worse than he ever imagined. He almost dies about
a dozen times, and in the end, again when he knows he could save Mister Toomes.
He won’t be responsible for a death he could have prevented. Mister Stark
taught him better.
He is better.
He gets the suit back and passes the next test.
Five weeks later he gets the call, the text rather, and he’s ashamed at how
fast he jumps to go see Mister Stark in the new Avengers headquarters again.
 
*
 
“Don’t cry baby. You’re too sexy when you’re crying. I can’t-fuck. Goddamnit.”
Peter barely blinks and there’s salty slime in the back of his throat, making
him cough, his eyes sting and his hand goes tight on Tony’s thigh. He hisses
under his breath, broken on a moan, and Peter knows. He just made Tony come.
“Sorry. I should have warned you. What I like. That is.”
Peter pulls off and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, swallowing
repeatedly to get rid of the gross taste in his mouth.
“S’okay.”
“No, no it’s fucking not. You know how many times I imagined this? Going
better? A shit ton. Get back up here.”
Peter climbs up and sits back down in the man’s lap, his own cock aching
against the seam of his jeans and he doesn’t know how he hasn’t shot off yet,
usually he doesn’t even need to touch himself very long, just thinks of Tony
doing, well, anything to him, and he’s gone.
Instead, Tony’s hand grinds over his crotch and he does come once, shaking
apart and shuddering while the man kisses into his neck, and doesn’t stop
touching him, once he gets his jeans undone, and he touches over his cock, skin
to skin. Peter whimpers and tries to shrink back, away, beg him to stop without
so many words, but they’re moving, shifting so that he’s being pinned onto the
couch, and Tony’s rutting between his legs, grinding their cocks together. He’s
so heavy but this is all Peter’s ever wanted, he doesn’t know how to make it
stop.
‘No’ is replaced by “Please!” and the next second he’s coming, vibrating to
pieces, his cock is dry, rubbing into Tony’s palm, helped only by a bit of
wetness that’s pre come or leftover spit on his cock.
“Baby, baby, christ you’re trembling. Do you want me to fuck you? I could. If
you want.”
Peter knows that he couldn’t handle saying ‘no’ to that, what if he never gets
this chance again? What if, sober Tony decides this was all a mistake, and
Peter only ever got a handjob out of the deal?
“Okay.”
His voice sounds wrecked even to him, and Tony chuckles against his neck,
nipping the skin before pulling up and away, strong arms under his bare back.
“Let’s go baby, let’s go.”
Flat on his back, on Tony Stark’s bed, everything is different and the same,
and Peter’s being helped out of his pants and boxers in a heartbeat, leaving
him in his dumb socks which may or may not have Cap’s shield on them. Tony’s
mumbling under his breath about something with computer jargon in it, and then
grabbing two things from his bedside drawer that make his heart skip a beat.
Condom. Lube.
Oh. Shit. This is happening.
Peter’s head pounds as his cock fills back and throbs on his stomach, drooling
onto his skin, before Tony’s on top of him, kissing him, distracting him while
he nudges his legs open.
Tony’s fingers are thick, cool with lube and slippery against his ass which
even he hasn’t played with much.
Peter’s jaw drops and his back arches at the first press of a fingertip, and
Tony chuckles again, low and dirty.
“Good boy. Look at you. So pink and wet and fuckingtight.”
Well, yeah, he’s fifteen. He’s never been kissed or touched by anyone. It’s not
something freshmen have to worry about usually. He doesn’t need game or notches
on his bedpost till he’s seventeen and about to need to be impressive.
But now? Now he can say Tony fucking Stark accepted his virginity with open
arms and only a bit hazy eyes.
“Baby, fuck, can you take three?”
He doesn’t know when one became two, but Peter’s squirming down and fucking
against the ones inside him, his cock pulsing wetly on him, maybe he came,
maybe he’s just delirious.
“Yes, please, please, please.”
“I’m sure you’re fine but I don’t want things to be awkward tomorrow so I’m
using this okay?”
Peter shakes his head, he doesn’t care, he wants Tony inside him yesterday.He’s
been dreaming of this moment for months.
“Fuck. God. Peter…”
His name sounds like a prayer, maybe it is.
He grunts but it’s more like a squeak to his ears, and he closes his eyes,
hoping Tony doesn’t see how desperate he is, how agonizing it feels. He wanted
this, he wants this, he loves Tony Stark.
But god.
It hurts.
Tony’s going as slow as he can, under the circumstances, it’s good that Peter
blew him first, gave him a chance to cool off, because now he isn’t about to go
off at the slightest touch, or the tight hold of his ass. Peter’s rambling and
pleading and begging and the hand that strokes over his cock isn’t enough of a
distraction from how Tony’s ruthless now, pounding into him like he wants to
break him.
“Are you good?”
It’s usually never like this, hissing in his ear, lips grazing his jaw, and
Peter lies, he nods and he fights off the tears that want to force their way
out, like Tony’s dick is forcing all the way inside him. Until.
Until something is hit, brushed over, and Peter’s coming like a faucet, like he
didn’t know he could. The pain’s being washed away by something else entirely.
“Oh fuck. That feels amazing. Do that again.”
“Please?”
Tony grins against his skin like he’s never heard Peter swear, and maybe he
hasn’t. But this? Oh god this is amazing.
Tony pumps steadily in and out and every damn time it’s like an electric jolt
to his cock.
Now Peter wants to cry from how good it feels, bone meltingly so, and he does,
he puts his arms around Tony’s neck and shoulders and hugs him close, as he
finally feels the man come, stilling only to bury himself as deep as he can.
Peter twitches under him and cries out when another wave steals over him, and
Tony bites down on his shoulder.
“Fucking hell. You’re gonna kill me kid.”
He pulls out, and rolls over onto his back, breathing hard, and Peter forces
his eyes open, so he can stare, memorize every inch of Tony Stark like this,
fucked out, sweaty and with every nerve singing from pleasure.
The scar on his chest is jarring up close, but Peter can’t resist leaning in to
kiss it, the pucker marks and pink line almost beautiful, in a way.
“Tony, is this okay?”
“What?”
“Me, touching you?”
He’s a disgusting mess of lube between his legs and come on his chest, but it
doesn’t seem to matter, when Tony looks over at him and focuses, truly, those
brown eyes flicker to his lips and back up before he speaks.
“You can touch me all you want, long as you don’t tell anyone.”
Peter’s nodding before he realizes why.
The how.
The wrong of what just happened.
No amount of beer can excuse it really. It’s just between them. A secret. Just
like the internship. He can manage. He will.
Peter smiles.
“Okay.”
 
===============================================================================
                                      END
 
End Notes
     fucking guess who its not that hard >.<
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