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lonelysilverbeatle-rlsh · 4 years ago

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Customer Service

(Here's some indulgent BS lol be gentle)

Based on this anon prompt request:

Idk about you but I'd sell my soul for an AU where Tony is a tech fix-it guy and Peter's laptop breaks one day, only he finds the tech guy at the store super hot so he keeps deliberately breaking his stuff and leaving his nudes in open folders to try and 'flirt'

And away we go...

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Peter is Tony's favorite customer. Adorable, and apparently a complete klutz. Comes in once a week with a laptop that’s seen better days, always with some issue or another, blushing faintly and looking so endearingly awkward it about kills him.

Tony generally tries to maintain his customers’ privacy as much as possible, doesn’t dig anywhere that’s not absolutely necessary for repairs or debugging. But he finds himself wishing more often than not that Peter would come in with a major software or system issue, something that would give Tony a reason to dig around more than is cursory.

As it is, he’s gotten small glimpses of who Peter is: the Star Wars desktop background, the biochemistry resource pages that are always in his most recent history.

There’s also, of course, porn. Tony doesn’t follow any of the links, but it’s hard; he wants to know if they’re into the same things, or maybe into things that complement each other’s tastes, because Tony has a feeling they could get into all kinds of trouble together. Peter is attractive, in a sweater vest, messy, hair, wide-eyed shy twinky kind of way, Tony’s favorite kind of way.

It’s been a little over a month since Peter first came in with some minor cosmetic damage (“I’m a little clumsy,” he’d said, a comment that came after him nearly dropping the laptop when he’d walked in stumbled over the mat just inside the door.).

The 'Your Eyes Only' folder appeared on the desktop the week after the very first repair.

Tony’s not oblivious; Peter’s shy, but his eyes flicker down to Tony’s lips too frequently to be anything but interest, and every flicker is accompanied by the smear of a blush.

Tony only has so much self control. When he opens the folder, there's no going back.

Peter was Tony’s favorite customer.

Now, the adorable, funky little nerd is Tony’s dream.

Peter comes in, no more (or less) flustered than normal, describes the problem, blushes a lot, and leaves the laptop with Tony. Never asks if he's looked.

But, every time, Tony has definitely looked.

There’s always one more photo, the collection growing over the weeks.

The first is a teasing snapshot of fingertips slipping under the hem of a shirt or waistband. The second is Peter, bare-chested, jeans undone and pushed down far enough that the hard line of his cock is visible straining under the fabric of his boxer briefs.

The third week, there's no fabric in the way, and from there, they just get filthy:

Peter’s hand around his own cock, at first just holding himself, but the next week, there’s cum dripping from the darkened pink head and down over his fingers.

Week four is Peter's fingers buried in his own ass. The fifth week is a pretty decent-sized metal plug stuffing his hole, instead.

Week six deviates from the pattern, and it about kills Tony: an amazing side shot of Peter with his head tilted back, throat bulging just a little, the fairly realistic balls at the base of the dildo he’s deepthroating resting against his lower lip and chin, drool shiny and smeared down from the corner of his stretched lips.

Tony pretends he hasn’t seen a thing; they’re probably not for him, no matter how much Peter blushes each time drops off the laptop. There’s been no explicit (hah) statement of intent--it's not like Tony's name is on the folder or anything. The photos could be for a partner, or they could be a personal hobby of Peter's, or any of multiple possibilities that would make it insanely inappropriate for Tony to say a word about them.

So he doesn’t.

***

Week seven into this strange game they’re playing, things change.

There are no new photos. Disappointing, yes; but this week, Tony gets a question.

“What’s your favorite color?” Peter asks.

The shade of your face, right now.

“Red,” Tony answers easily. He smirks as he hands back the laptop. “See you next week.”

The blush on Peter’s cheeks intensifies (like it always does). “Um--sure, yeah--Bye, Tony.”

“Bye, Pete.”

Fuck, he’s ready for whatever that means.

***

It’s week eight, and Tony’s speechless. Staring at the screen, heat rushing under his skin. It’s actual work to not put a hand down, rub himself through his slacks.

He thought he’d been ready, but this is too much. These photos are too much, and so not enough.

Red. So red. So...big.

The dildo is enormous, a thick, red monster, suction-cupped to a wall. Peter’s on his knees in front of it, head and shoulders dropped, supporting himself on his elbows, his forearms flat to the bed, steadily coming unraveled as Tony flicks through the photos.

The kid put some effort into this. The pics are artistic in their artlessness, the slow build of tension so real and so raw as they go on, until the last photo.

The last photo isn't a photo. The last photo is a still frame with a play button in the center.

The last photo is a video clip.

Tony stares at it…and then emails it to himself from Peter's laptop. After a moment of hesitation, he goes back and copies the photos and emails those, too.

He can't think of anything flirtatious to say when Peter picks up the laptop this time, can't manage anything beyond the generic customer assistance spiel (a polite rendition of 'here's how to stop fucking up your computer, but if it happens again, you know where to go').

Well...he does tell Peter to have a great night. If the words come out a little lower than normal, if it comes out weighted, neither of them mention it.

But Tony does get to see the bloom of his favorite color spread across Peter's cheeks.

The video is short. Not surprising, given how long the kid had to have been prepping himself and playing beforehand. But it doesn’t need to be long to sear itself into Tony’s memory. Not when Peter comes practically sobbing Tony’s name.

***

When Peter walks in the next week, Tony’s pulse jumps.

It’s later than normal, just before Tony’s about to close the store for the evening. The kid’s already blushing, standing just inside the door, biting his lip and obviously struggling a little to make eye contact, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He doesn’t have his laptop.

Tony doesn’t say a word. Kind of can’t.

All he can think about is how hard Peter’s cock had jumped, how he’d looked, coming untouched and moaning Tony’s name.

After another beat of silence, Peter lets out a puff of breath and slowly approaches the counter. “Did you…?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

“Oh. Good. Um…”

“...Do you want to see the back room?”

“God yes. Please.”

Fuck, Peter looks good bent over the worktable, painted-on jeans yanked down to mid-thigh. The heart-shaped red jewel nestled between his cheeks had been perfect, gorgeous, mouthwatering--

--but Tony thinks watching his own cock sink into that heat, almost effortlessly, is even better.

The kid even brought red condoms.

Tony fucks him hard enough the table beats rhythmically against the wall, Peter scrabbling at the surface, cheek pressed to metal, and crying out with each thrust, gasping Tony’s name and begging (more, fuck--harder, please, please Tony--)

Peter cums first (because Tony’s nothing if not service-oriented), spills wet and warm in Tony’s fist and on the floor, moaning Tony’s name exactly like the video--

Tony goes over the edge right after him, slamming in one last time and falling forward to drape over Peter’s back, breathing hard into the sweaty curls at the kid’s nape.

There's nothing but the sound of them each catching their breath, until, after a moment, Peter clears his throat breathlessly.

"So you liked the pictures, then?"

******************************************************

Everything Tag List:

@the-amazing-spidertwink, @silkystark, @starkercrossedlovers, @hoeforthegays, @problematic-sofatini, @starkeroverlord, @starker-reader, @mrstark-please, @youknowwhoiamx, @aoifelaufeyson, @fastenyourseats, @starkeristheendgame, @smidnite, @femmespidergwen

If anyone wants to be taken off the tag list, please let me know!!

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lonelysilverbeatle-rlsh · 4 years ago

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“Tony,” Happy sighs through the phone and Tony grins around his cheeseburger as he walks down the street. It’s a hot, sunny day and the city is bustling with morning life.

“How’s he doing?” Tony asks gleefully, taking another bite, “is he sweatin’ yet?”

“No, he is not ‘sweating yet’.” Happy sighs again, he sure does sigh a lot, Tony thinks. “Because he isn’t here yet.”

“He isn’t- what?” He stops short, shaking his head. “What do you mean he isn’t there?”

“I mean he hasn’t showed up for the interview.”

“That little shit.”

“Really? Really? You’re not here yet.”

“Yeah, because I wanted him to squirm and- it’s my company! I can be late if I want to be late!” He can’t believe the audacity of some people. To be privileged enough to be offered a position as Tony Stark’s personal assistant and then not to bother showing up? Oh what sure- has he found some better offer? He scoffs. As if.

He hangs up on Happy, grumbling to himself and finishing his burger angrily when he gets to his street. The Stark Building is a gleaming beacon of glass in the middle of the high risers, and he tosses his wrapper into a trash can as he heads towards the doors.

“Hey, hey there, c’mon, it’s okay…” a voice croons lovingly, out of place for the bustling New York working day. Tony frowns, turning around to see a very lovely ass hugged by flattering, if cheap, pants. God, it’s a good ass. Two nice handfuls. They must do cycling or something. On closer inspection, it’s a young man, bent over and peering under a car parked on the street, his hand reaching as if he’s trying to get something out.

Tony’s bemused, but it’s a very, very nice ass and the dipshit that was supposed to come for an interview isn’t here so, why not? He saunters over, clearing his throat, just as the young man sits up- with a white, furry bundle in his arms. But that’s not what has Tony’s attention- it’s the face. He knows that face.

It’s the face from the picture attached to the application. It’s the guy who’s supposed to be here for an interview and-

“Oh my god,” Tony groans, as the boy (because really, how does anyone look that young? The kitten probably isn’t helping) “how long have you been here?”

The boy looks star-struck by the sight of him (which yes, good, that’s the reaction Tony typically expects and wants, especially from pretty boys with cream skin and nice asses) and still a little pleased by having freed the kitten, but he obediently glances at his wrist before his jaw drops and panic wells up in his eyes. “Oh my god- oh my god- I’m late! I’m late for-“ he cuts himself off, and dread and dismay take over and jesus this kid has a seriously expressive face. Tony kinda likes it. “I’m late for an interview with you.” He chokes out. “Mr Stark, I’m so- I’m so sorry, I- oh my god- I-“ his face goes a deep pink and he looks like he wants the ground to bury him whole.

Yeah. Tony likes him. “I just got here.” He says, lifting his eyebrows in offering and the boy stares up at him in awe.

Before he pauses. “But what about Trotsky?” He asks wonderingly.

“What about- have you already named that goddamn cat?”

“Mr Stark, look at him,” he pouts, lifting the kitten and really, the kitten has nothing on how adorable the boy holding him is. He has the biggest, brownest eyes.

Nice eyes, nice ass. Check. Check.

Tony’s impressed. “You’ve got the job.”

He gasps, jumping into the air with glee. It’s like he radiates sunshine. “Mr Stark, thank you, thank you so much, I promise I will not let you down! I’m gonna be the best PA ever, and- it’s such an honour working for you, Sir, really-“

“Yeah, save the flattery for Monday.” Tony teases. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Peter!” He chirps eagerly, stumbling his haste, “Peter Stark- I mean- shit not that- no I-“ he flushes again, and Tony really wants to see how far down that blush goes, and he grins watching the boy stutter. “I just- Parker. My name is…it’s Parker.” He swallows thickly and looks up through this long, girly lashes.

Tony drapes an arm over him, and likes the way he feels tucked into his side. He walks them into the building and another check, Peter just follows him all docile, like a little lamb. “Easy mistake to make.” He consoles, and Peter nods: humiliation and excitement obviously at war with each other. “C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

Mmm, wouldn’t he look nice bent over your desk? A part of Tony chimes, and he hums thoughtfully. Yeah, yeah he would.

“I have this huge Iron Man poster above my bed,” Peter is gushing, and Tony growls approvingly at that. “And I’ve seen- I’ve seen all your interviews ever, Mr Stark…”

Hero worship. It’s good. It’s great. Tony can work with that. “You attached, kid?” He asks, pushing the button for the elevator and catching Peter by the scruff of the neck so he doesn’t keep walking.

The boy falls into line naturally (not questioning the firm hand at his nape at all, another check) and looks surprised. “A-attached?”

“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Tony glances downwards, “cat?”

“Oh! Oh, no- no, I’m not-“

“Good,” Tony growls, pushing him into the elevator.

The blush goes all the way down, and to add to the checklist- he makes the prettiest, prettiest noises.

Except that now, Tony has to buy a fucking litterbox.

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lonelysilverbeatle-rlsh · 4 years ago

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That One Meme

Based off this text post!

“Go fuck yourself”. “Fuck me yourself, coward”.

Think of this as a twisted Homecoming, if you like, in that Tony swoops in the save the day and they fight over Peter’s ability to be a superhero. As always, ignores Civil War and onwards because we don’t need that kind of negativity in our lives. IM Era / Avengers (2012) era looking Tony. But you can pretend it’s silver fox if you want :)

In all honesty, yeah. Peter probably could have done better. He’d been a little sloppy, a little distracted. Had left himself open for a few hits. But, hey. He wasn’t exactly prepared for some dude dressed like an octopus to invade lower Queens. A mechanical octopus, no less.

Peter doesn’t even wanna know what the sticky goo he’s covered in is made out of. His right hip-bone is throbbing and each breath pinched a little, but that and a sore cheek were the extend of his injuries. He stopped the bank from being robbed, saved a group of kids, and absolutely had not needed Tony fucking Stark to swoop in last minute.

It’s only a small victory that the only thing left for Tony to do was escort the hostages back to the general public while Peter slunk off to a dark corner to try and scrape off the goo. His suit is fabric, though, and it felt like a lost cause. He can feel it on his skin, slimy and cold.

“Done sulking, mini-me? Because you look like shit, and like you need a shower. And after you shower, we’re gonna talk. And you’re gonna be…Grounded? Is that the word? Is that what parents do these days?” Tony is walking towards him in nothing but a sharp suit, deep rich red that makes the inky black of his hair and the glossy gold of his tie gleam in the mid-day sunshine.

“You’re not my father” he mumbled back, scowling with all the power he was able to muster as he dragged a hand down his thigh, flicking the thick glop somewhere off to the side. He can’t help but think about it, just for a moment. If he was Peter Stark and not Peter Parker. But then, he would be a biological son with a permanent, raging boner for his actual father and somehow that was worse than being a pseudo-son, an adopted protege.

Tony stopped above him, dark eyes assessing as he held out a hand, metal bleeding down his fingertips as Peter reached for it. “No, but I’m responsible for you. And your gorgeous, terrifying Aunt is away for three days. So I’m extra responsible for you” Tony pointed out as metal crawled determinedly across his chest.

Tony wiggled a foot pointedly and Peter heaved a long-suffering sigh, stepping forwards to place his left foot on Tony’s right. His right leg he lifted, curling around the back of Tony’s calf as he gripped broad, unforgiving shoulders. Tony wrapped an arm around his waist, and they hit the air as the reporters came rushing forwards.

It was a humiliating position Peter lamented, tucking his face down against Tony’s collar. But…It was also recklessly hot, and he wasn’t sure which part of that was the lesser of two evils, really.

Tony didn’t give him much time to think about it, reaching the Tower at a pace that made Peter’s head spin a little. As always, Ton cradled him close to land, lifting him from his body so they step onto the platform as one. Immediately, mechanical arms extend from the space around them and Peter ducked out of the way, skipping for the doorway that would take him on a safe, concrete route to a hidden shower room.

The sound of spraying water is shut off by the doors closing, and he immediately stooped, peeling off his suit with his nose scrunched. Its difficult; the slime made it stick uncomfortably to his skin and his hair is flat, half-matted down with wetness. At his approach a shower leaps into life, the water warming and falling with enough pressure that it will help push away the dirt.

“Thanks, J” he huffed gratefully, tossing his suit aside and stepping under the spray. The AI’s soft reply was lost to the roaring of water in his ears and he basked in the warmth for a moment before lunging for the coconut body wash, practically bathing himself in it before he set the bottle aside, scrubbing the liquid into a thick lather.

Behind him, footsteps echoed, clearly accentuated by the sound system. The sleek, tinted glass screens slid into a protective box, though it didn’t quite hide the shape of Tony approaching and leaning against a nearby wall. Peter sighed quietly into the steam, massaging the froth around his collar, the crooks of his arms. Slowly, he begun to feel human again. Clean.

“Are you hurt?” Tony’s voice broke through, soft with concern in a way that let Peter know he was in for a real chewing out shortly. He took a moment to take stock of himself. His cheek was tender and his shoulder ached. At his hip, a bruise shaped kinda like a banana is in the pinky-red stage. But otherwise, there was nothing of concern.

“No. Bruises, but I’m fine” he clipped back, standing under the spray to rinse himself off. The screens were one-way glass, and Peter turned to watch the way that Tony shifted against the wall, adjusting his sleeves and his tie. Tony made an affirming sound in response, nodding.

“Good. That’s good, y’know? That you’re not hurt. Because you could have been. Hurt. And if you were, it would have been your fault” Tony replied, voice bouncing from sentence to sentence in the way it normally did when he was 38 hours sans sleep and twelve coffees in.

Peter sighed, rolling his eyes as he reached for the shampoo. “You’re saying that as if you aren’t Iron Man. And an Avenger. Who gets injured on a daily basis. Like, for example, when you burnt your hand on the coffee machine at 3am this morning” he pointed out, dumping a handful of shampoo onto his head. More than necessary, but. Octopus goo.

Tony’s affronted noise and wild hand gesture was worth the guilt of being snarky. “You - That does not count. I’m Iron Man. As in, protective casing. Of metal! Very hard to damage metal!” The man pushed off the wall, walking closer.

“Besides. You getting hurt? That’s on me. I’m letting you do this. I’m practically endorsing you doing this. We had an agreement. You be the friendly neighbourhood anti-mugger and I’m the heavy hitter that deals with things like giant, mechanical octopi” Tony continued and Peter scowled, stomping out from under the spray to drag his knuckles across the glass. In their wake, the tinting faded, allowing him a view of Tony’s face.

Tony jerked back, brows climbing in surprise at the sudden view. Peter knew he couldn’t see anything but from the shoulders up, so he stepped back under the spray, pointing accusingly. “First, Mr. Stark. You aren’t letting me be Spiderman. I was Spiderman for like a year before I met you. I’d still be Spiderman even if we never met, or you decided you didn’t want me around anymore” he pointed out, shoving his hands into his hair to rinse the suds.

“Of course I’m letting you. I’m Tony Stark. I’m Iron Man. You think I couldn’t have you on SHIELD’s watch list with a click of my fingers? Or that I couldn’t tell your Aunt that you spending weekends at the Tower is actually you flitting off at one-am to go stop corner-store robberies?” Tony scoffed, arms folding.

Peter swiped away the suds running for his eyes with a temper, throwing a glare at Tony over his shoulder. It wasn’t often that they fought, especially not like this. It was normally Tony’s guilt flaring into anger and Peter pleading his case, and then make-up takeout on the balcony. Fights like this were rare. Hurtful.

“Stop threatening me with things like that. Just because I’m not forty and a billionaire and Iron Man, doesn’t mean I’m less deserving of being Spiderman or that I’m less capable of being a superhero. And even if you did take away my suit or put me on a black-list or whatever, I’d still find a way to do it” Peter snapped back, reaching for the conditioner. Angry and upset though he was, he wasn’t going to sacrifice the silky-softness of his hair.

“I never said you weren’t capable. Or less deserving. But you’re a child. A fucking baby. And I’m the one responsible for you. You get hurt, that’s my fault. I’m the one who knows you’re running around in spandex and throwing punches. You get hurt, I’m gonna feel guilty” Tony shot back, reaching up a hand to rake through his hair. Peter couldn’t help a snort, rinsing the product through his hair.

“Not everything is about you, Mr. Stark” he pointed out bitterly, ducking his head to hide how his eyes begun to sting with tears. He got it, really. He knew that Tony felt responsible for him, that Tony wanted to protect him. But he was sick of fighting over this. Sick of Tony constantly doubting him, even though it had been Tony who had come to him, asking for help against the alien invasion.

“Oh, kid. Go fuck yourself, you know-”

“Fuck me yourself, coward” Peter shot back, before instantly freezing. Fuck. Fuck. He hadn’t mean that. He shouldn’t have said that. Screw MJ and her razor-sharp bantering skills. He stood under the warm spray, shivering as he wrapped his arms around himself, keeping his gaze to the floor. Tony was silent for long enough that Peter shifted, risking a glance up.

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lonelysilverbeatle-rlsh · 4 years ago

Text

That One Meme

Based off this text post!

“Go fuck yourself”. “Fuck me yourself, coward”.

“Oh, kid. Go fuck yourself, you know-”

Keep reading

2K notes · View notes