#is there going to be a family unfriendly part 2? mayhaps

[im-a-goner-foryou]

Superior Iron Man x MCU Spiderman, because I am a fucking Whore. That is all

"Frankly, I'm impressed," Iron Man says off-handedly, back facing towards Peter as he continues to decant the bottle of Cheval Blanc in hand into a glass-- his only acknowledgement of the arrival of an uninvited guest being this praise. "How'd you manage to get through the high security protocols on the way up, Spiderman?" Raising the glass of red wine to his lips and downing it in a single gulp, the man sighs contentedly before turning around to face the figure stood in the centre of the room.

"I climbed," Peter replies, and gives himself a mental pat on the back-- he only detects the slightest waver of fear in his voice-- but suddenly realises that perhaps confronting an enemy in their own million-dollar penthouse isn't such a great idea. Still, there's no going back now. He clutches at the back of a chair as support; watches warily as Stark pours himself another drink before offering the glass out to him. Peter stares at the outstretched hand, mind racing. Is this a joke? It probably is, right? To be greeted by a repulsor blast straight to the chest-- that's expectable when dealing with villains like Iron Man; to be offered booze? Not so much. "N-no, I'm not old enough to drink," he says, immediately regretting the words even as they leave his mouth.

Peter's never quite hated himself more than in that very moment, but Stark, on the other hand, just can't contain his hilarity at the entire situation anymore; he lets out a loud bark of laughter, shoots a feral grin over the rim of his glass that has Peter's stomach flipping violently. "Ooh, well aren't you a righteous spirit through and though, Peter Parker?"

And he does falter then-- feels his knees wobble and threaten to give out underneath him, the blood pounding through his veins turning cold. Despite himself Peter takes a slight step backwards, attempts to hide the rising fear choking him with controlled words instead. "You know my name?"

Clicking his tongue in faux disappointment, Stark shakes his head, swallows another mouthful of liquor-- Peter's eyes reflexively track the bob of his prominent Adam's apple, before he quickly snaps his gaze back up to that chiselled face. "You're hurting my feelings here, kid," Iron Man chuckles, and Peter flinches as he slams his glass defeaningly onto the island table. " 'course I do-- I know you're still a junior at Midtown High, I know all about your tragic backstory before you became a crime-fighting vigilante. I know all of your dirty little secrets, and not just yours but just about everyone else's in this goddamn country, too-- I. know. everything," the man says, speaking in a slow, lazy drawl even as his piercingly blue eyes sweep over Peter in a way that has the boy's skin crawling and cheeks flushing warm-- thank god he'd kept his mask on, at least. "And I'd let you in on a little secret, sweetheart: knowledge is power."

Try as he might to not let the condescending pet name affect him, Peter can't help but squirm a little at that singular word alone; Stark's sharp gaze pins onto him, corner of his lips curling upwards into a knowing smirk, and Peter hurriedly attempts to steer the conversation back to what's at hand. "So you must know why I'm here, then."

The older man doesn't reply immediately. He instead leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest; he would have looked almost languid, if it weren't for the slight tightness in his defined jaw giving him away. For several moments Stark silently examines him-- and Peter, not willing to let himself be intimidated, meets those icy blue eyes head on; chin raising a little defiantly as the older man continues to pick him apart with only an intense gaze.

Finally, he pushes himself off the edge of the counter to cross the room in two long strides; stalking so close Peter has to crane his neck to look at him-- and from this much nearer the boy just can't help but notice the flecks of silver glinting among dark hair, the grey stubble dusting Stark's neatly trimmed goatee. Peter swallows, hard; fuck, but the man seems so much bigger in his armour, the metal encasing his entire body a startlingly sleek white and Peter absolutely should not be salivating at how impossibly broader it makes his shoulders look.

He startles when Stark finally breaks the charged silence to say flatly, "you're not a fan of Extremis 3.0, are you?"

"No, I can't say I am."

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised." Tony stares down at him, and with his back to the windows shadowy darkness shrouds all his features-- all except for his eyes, electric blue and drawing Peter in despite himself. "Let's just say that you and I, Parker-- we're different. People like you would never understand, appreciate the true potential behind an idea this big."

The cold undercurrent of Stark's tone is what finally snaps Peter out of it. "I don't have to understand it," he says, heart slamming against his ribcage so forcefully he hears it in his ears. "To want to stop it."

For a long, tense moment, silence stretches out between them like a string pulled taut--

Until it snaps. With an animalistic snarl Stark lunges forward, and Peter only manages to duck just in time; gasping, he aims his webshooters at the other's legs-- or at least, attempts to, before a large hand encircles his arm to shove him backwards. Stumbling on his feet, Peter struggles uselessly as he's manhandled up against the marble walls of Stark's living quarters-- insides twisting with fear as he catches the glint of those canines under the florescent lights.

"Please," the gasp for help reflexively slips past his lips, and Stark gives another one of those cruel laughs of his again; patronizing, grating against the ears. The metal grip around his upper arm tightens to the point of painful, brings tears to his eyes, but Peter refuses to let them fall-- he stares fully back at the man before him instead, who seems to delight in this.

"Begging already, sweetheart?" he croons, reaching up with another hand to caress his mask-covered cheek, gauntlet metal cold and unforgiving as a thumb drags under his jaw to curl around the edges of his mask. "Don't you think it's rude to wear this as a guest at someone else's home?" Stark hums, then with one sharp yank he pulls the fabric off Peter's face-- cold air hits his tear stained cheeks, and he's not given the time to even gasp in surprise before armoured fingers are hooking underneath his chin to tilt his face upwards; his head knocks against the wall behind.

Is it just the tears blurring his vision, but do Stark's eyes seem to be glowing? Glinting, perhaps, with something dark and almost feral as they drag hungrily over every inch of his exposed face. Peter writhes under the hold, but it's unyielding, and all he manages to achieve is the man stepping forward to bodily cage him against the wall-- Stark's armoured chest pinning him down, broad thighs forcing his legs apart.

Their noses mere inches away from each other, the man sighs appreciatively, "oh, you're much prettier when not on a holo-screen."

This was a bad idea-- unarguably his worst one ever. Peter is trapped, helpless, held up against a wall and an absolute madman; he knows when to drop his pride. "Please let me go," he whispers, forcing himself to make eye contact instead of hiding his face-- he can only imagine how wrecked he looks, cheeks a ruddy pink and streaked with tears, matted lashes tangling as he blinks back more. Stark ignores his plead, tilting his chin this way and that; eyes seemingly devouring him whole. "I won't tell," Peter lies, flinching slightly as the man cups his cheek. "I promise I won't."

A long exhale of breath escapes Stark; for a split second amusement shows plainly on his features, before that same darkness takes over again. "Tell... what, exactly? And who, the police? I'm sure they can keep a secret for me," the man says. Then he tilts his head, as though pretending to think it through. "You're going to have to raise your offer, pretty boy."

"I--" Peter gasps, finally tearing his gaze away as he feels the tips of his ears burn; why does hearing an unhinged villain call him pretty in that gravelly voice affect him so much? "I don't--"

"Don't worry, I'll give you some time to think it through," Stark says smoothly, his signature arrogant smirk hanging off his lips now. "In the meantime, how 'bout I share another little secret with you, hmm? Just between the both of us," his voice dips into a low growl, head dropping forward until the sharp curve of his nose brushes against the flutter of Peter's lashes; Peter can almost taste the alcohol on the older man's breath.

"Well, here goes nothing: I have a... thing, for pretty little boys like you," Stark drawls, chapped, cold lips mouthing along Peter's jaw, thumb and forefinger still gripping onto his him so tight he hears a creak. "Y'know, those with the innocent doe eyes, always pleading, always biting on their lips..." A thumb drags roughly over the abused flesh of his red bottom lip, forces his jaw open and slips its way inside his mouth; Peter tastes the tang of metal across his tongue, cold and slippery, and can no longer suppress a loud sob. He squeezes his eyes shut in humiliation as it bursts forth from his lips-- feels Stark groan, shudder against him.

"Oh sweetheart, how'd you know I love it when they cry?" is the final growled confession against his ear; then fingers are twisting in his hair to slam his head backwards against the wall, and blinding pain shoots through his skull-- then everything fades to black.