I saw this post from @starker-secrets and had to write something.
"I need more of Tony spying on Peter thru his suit"
Hope you enjoy :)
~~
“Sir, Mr. Parker’s suit is transmitting audio that the Baby Monitor Protocol has flagged as potentially distressed. Would you like to hear it?”
“Yeah, give it to me FRI.”
Gasps sounded through the suit’s speakers as Tony flew from the partially built upstate facility back to Avengers tower. It sounded at first like Peter was in pain, and Tony’s heart dropped to his stomach as he sped up. But then a soft moan filtered through, and Tony’s heart dropped even further. Faintly, he could hear slick noises, softly squelching in the rhythm a fist would make over an approximately 5.4 inch long object. Peter wasn’t in distress. Quite the opposite in fact.
Tony’s dick got hard so fast it made him dizzy. He faltered slightly in his flight, overcorrecting when he tilted.
Peter was apparently done with his patrol for the day, if this audio was anything to go by.
A student at NYU, Peter had refused Tony’s offer of a fully paid tuition, and was instead paying for his schooling himself. Because of the whole Neighborhood Spider-Man deal, he couldn’t work enough jobs to pay for both an apartment and the tuition, and have enough time to be Spider-Man and a normal student, so he had accepted Tony’s offer of an apartment. He had initially refused that as well, but after Tony cited his endless supply of wealth, as well as Peter’s need for privacy due to his costumed alter-ego, Peter reluctantly accepted.
That privacy was now being used to its full advantage. The moans currently caressing Tony’s ears were increasing in both volume and frequency.
Feeling guilty and more and more like the creepy old man he pretended not to be, Tony was about to open his mouth to tell FRIDAY to cut the sound, when the slick noises suddenly sped up.
Peter, alone in his apartment that Tony bought for him, jerking off while wearing the suit Tony made for him, was about to come, and Tony was going to hear the whole thing. Fumbling, Tony put the suit in FRIDAY’s control, not trusting his unfocused eyes and racing heart to steer him home. Breathing hard, he turned his full attention to the delicious noises echoing in his helmet.
“Unh, fuck. Ah— ah— ah—“
Peter cut off with a gasp, before he stopped breathing entirely. After a silent, expectant moment, his voice broke on a loud moan as he presumably came, all over his multi-million dollar suit.
Tony’s dick was currently trying to poke a hole through the hard metal casing of his own suit. He was aching, literally aching, to get home and peel it off, and finally indulge in the thoughts he hadn’t let himself think for the past year.
Listening to Peter’s heavy breathing as he recovered, Tony thought back to when he first met Peter.
Freshly eighteen and a new freshman in college, Peter was understandably scared when Tony dropped into his dorm room to accuse him of vigilante-ing, and to ask him to help in Germany. Tony knew Peter had an aunt in Queens, and he was considering using her as leverage, when Peter agreed to fly to Leipzig and miss a week of classes. He had done well, had helped Tony try to keep the Avengers together (which actually did nothing but tear them further apart, but that was in no way Peter’s fault), and had gone back to his dorm room with Tony’s promise of a call.
Of course Tony had found Peter attractive. With big eyes framed by thick lashes, a strong and muscular body hidden under large hoodies and sweatpants, with a bright and easy smile, he was charming in his excitement and naïveté. He was almost too pure, his rosy cheeks and soft skin so obviously a metaphor for an angel it could hardly be called a metaphor anymore.
Peter was legally an adult, yes, but Tony was his mentor, and Peter was almost thirty years Tony’s junior. He didn’t have the weight of thousands of lives and a failed marriage and a broken team dragging down his shoulders like Tony had, either. That shit aged you.
So Tony had locked his impure thoughts away in a little box in his brain, only taking it out sometimes to look at it, but never to open it.
But now, the little box had been blown wide open, and all the thoughts Tony had smothered were back in full force. Thoughts like how Peter would look with tears of pleasure beading at the corners of his eyes, how he would look with cum splattered on his cheeks, how he would moan high and pretty when Tony licked him just so, how his lithe back would arch, how his mouth would drop open when Tony first pushed inside him, how he would look up at Tony in rapture, with love in his eyes— No. That was too far. Tony couldn’t afford to think like that.
When Peter’s breathing finally evened out, Tony cleared his throat and said, “Cut the sound, FRI.”
Taking control of his suit back once he reached Manhattan, Tony angled his way down to the landing pad of the tower. Once he landed the suit opened up, letting him stumble his way out on trembling legs. His slacks were uncomfortably tight. Finally making it back to his room and collapsing on his bed, he shoved his hand down his pants, closed his eyes, and let his hind brain take over. Trying to ignore the guilt settling like acid in his stomach.
—
Peter had known for weeks about the Baby Monitor Protocol. He didn’t know if it was just tracking his location, or sending information, or even recording, so he did a little hunting. Finding in the code and his suit only a tracker and an outgoing connection to the microphone in his mask, he figured that Karen was constantly transmitting audio and general location information to FRIDAY.
Swinging between buildings on his way home one afternoon after patrol, he thought about what that meant. It made him a little hot under the collar knowing that Mr. Stark could hear everything he was doing when he was wearing the suit, could be listening at all times. Listening to Peter helping old ladies across the street, saving a man from a mugging, panting with exertion— would he think his heavy breathing was from something else?
The thought made Peter miss his next web shot and he had to scramble to make sure he didn’t smash into a street lamp. Warmth bloomed into his cheeks and down his neck. His suit was starting to feel uncomfortably tight, and he swung faster.
Making it to his living room window, he dropped in on silent feet. He stumbled his way to his couch, slumping down until his head was resting on the back of it. Opening the secret seam at his waist Mr. Stark made when Peter complained about needing to pee when he was patrolling (and God what Mr. Stark would say if he knew what it was being used for now—) he slipped his hand in to palm at his aching cock. Groaning in relief, he closed his eyes and gave in to the pleasure.
What if Mr. Stark were listening? Would he be disgusted? Would he turn off the audio as soon as he knew what Peter was doing? Or would he be intrigued, aroused, at the thought of Peter defiling his multi-million dollar gift?
Peter did just that when the thought popped into his head, sending streaks up his chest almost to his masked chin. Body still jolting in the aftershocks, what he just did finally registered in his head.
Gasping in panic this time, rather than pleasure, he ripped his mask off and flung it across the room, peeling his suit off next. What was he thinking? There was no way Mr. Stark would he anything other than disgusted with what he heard, if he heard it at all. Not to mention, Peter had violated Mr. Stark. Guilt and panic started to clog his throat, and he resolved to never do it again.
—
A few weeks later, Peter relaxed back on his bed and pulled his mask off. He wiped his sweaty hair off of his forehead and grinned. Fuck. That was good.
He wasn’t sure if Mr. Stark was listening, but honestly it didn’t matter, because that was one of the best orgasms he’d ever had. He’d imagined that Mr. Stark was teasing him, was keeping him balanced on the edge, whispering how Peter’s pleasure was his, his to create and control.
After the last time he jerked off in the suit, he had resolved to never do it again. But that was only until Peter saw the way Mr. Stark watched him. Peter wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, imagining something he only wished was there, but he could almost feel the heated gaze Mr. Stark sent him tingling down his spine. When they worked in Mr. Stark’s workshop side by side, Peter modifying his web shooters and Mr. Stark tinkering on his cars, or making an entirely new Iron Man suit, or just generally flitting between projects, Peter felt that Mr. Stark was doing a lot more tripping over his feet and burning his fingers than actually paying attention to what he was doing. Peter liked to imagine that this distraction was because of him, and not because of something else.
So Peter decided to do what Peter does best; solve the shit out of this problem. After class he changed into the tightest shirt he owned, and some gym shorts with a 5-inch inseam, ones he only bought because MJ slipped it into his basket at Target when he wasn’t looking. He felt distinctly uncomfortable on the subway to Stark Tower, but the thought of Mr. Stark’s (hopefully) flustered face was enough to steel his resolve.
He wasn’t disappointed. Mr. Stark practically did a spit-take when Peter walked out of the elevator into the workshop, eyes tracing up and down his body.
“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter said, dropping his backpack off at his work station and sitting down, projecting a casual air.
“H-hey, Peter.”
Peter grinned down at the desk top. Mr. Stark never stuttered. That was almost a written confirmation of his hypothesis in Peter’s eyes.
The next night before his patrol, Peter settled down onto his bed, wearing his mask but no suit, preparing to have a fantastic next hour.
Which he definitely did.
—
In the weeks that followed the first time, Tony felt unbearably dirty, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. How Peter’s moans sounded. How he might look, wracked with pleasure, his face slack and pink mouth open, eyes rolled back. Peter’s moans and pretty gasps haunted his every waking moment, and most of his sleeping moments too. He’d often wake up with sticky boxers, something that hadn’t happened to him since he was a teenager. A teenager like Peter, oh god.
He’d taken to wearing an earpiece, not visible of course, that connected directly to FRIDAY in case he was out of the tower or away from his suit when Peter next indulged in, ahem. Some personal time.
But it hadn’t happened again since the first time. Unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately. Maybe if Tony didn’t hear it again he would stop thinking about it. Maybe then he could go back to pretending he wasn’t that creepy old man. Who was he kidding, he still was. Peter had walked into the workshop the previous day wearing very short shorts and a tight shirt, his tan legs and leanly muscled chest taunting Tony as they worked. But he could at least try to not creep on Peter electronically.
“Sir, Mr. Parker’s suit is transmi—“
There goes that.
Tony looked around the hallway he was in in the upstate facility, and snuck into an empty conference room. He quickly locked the doors and asked FRIDAY to black out the windows.
“Let me hear it.”
Moans filled his ear again, closer this time, more intimate. It sounded also as if the audio was clearer. Tony could hear more things now. Like how Peter’s breath would hitch on a moan right after the slick noises of his fist slowed down or stopped entirely— was he teasing himself? would he like to be teased for hours if Tony were there? Tony could bring him to the edge over and over, watch the flush move down Peter’s cheeks to his chest, watch his cock twitch every time Tony let go, watch tears of frustration start to fall down his pretty face—
—and how there was also the dry rasping sound of skin on skin, followed by a sharp gasp— was he caressing his chest, running his fingers over his nipples, pinching them? twisting them? did Peter like pain? would he like it if Tony sucked dark bruises all over his body, biting them deeper, leaving his mark—
(—it didn’t occur to Tony to wonder why Peter’s chest was bare but the suit was transmitting audio, meaning Peter was wearing the mask and only the mask—)
—and this time when Peter was about to come Tony heard that the sound of his fist moving over his cock stopped, and instead there was a softer sound, quick and frantic but still gentle and wet— like Peter was rubbing his first two fingers on the spot right under the head of his cock, the most sensitive part, like he was letting the heat build and build rather than letting it take over immediately, letting the warm ache spread out into his pelvis and thighs and lower back, building and building, until the pleasure became too hot and he had to wrap his fist back around the head and squeeze gently, gasping through the waves and waves of pleasure—
Tony gasped through his own orgasm, not realizing that he’d snuck his hand down his slacks while he was listening. He shivered as he came back down.
“Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck. Fuck.” Tony cursed quietly under his breath as he carefully pulled his hand from out of his boxers. “Cut the sound, FRI.”
He looked down at his dirty hand, wondering how he was going to get out of this room and hallway undetected.
“What the hell am I doing?”
—
Peter jerks off in the suit several more times over the next few weeks, each time so full of mind-melting pleasure it leaves him gasping for minutes after. His guard is starting to drop, the idea of Mr. Stark hearing him, and his fantasies of Mr. Stark being there, have made him reckless.
It all comes to a head one Thursday night. Peter had just received an A on one of his midterms, and wanted to reward himself (not that there was any chance he wouldn’t do well on the midterm, but it’s the thought that counts), so he settled in for a long, luxurious jerk-off session.
“Uh— uh— yeah—“
Fuck it felt good. If only Mr. Stark were here. He’d trace his fingers up and down Peter’s flanks, nip possessively at his neck, cover Peter’s fingers on his cock with his own. He’d wring the pleasure out of Peter so skillfully and thoroughly that Peter would be able to do nothing more than shiver and cry under his calloused hands.
Forgetting himself, and who could be listening, Peter gasped out “Mr. Stark—“
“Calling Mr. Stark now,” came Karen’s cool voice.
Eyes popping open Peter yelped, frantically shouting “No! Wait—“
With a gentle bing, the phone call connected. Fast and heavy breathing followed by Mr. Stark’s unusually rough and breathless voice filled Peter’s ears.
commission for @starkerwispymusings cover art for their fic, The Stark/Parker Equation ❤️, thank you!
you can read their wonderful fic here :
https://archiveofourown.org/works/46507687/chapters/117106135…
During the five years Peter is gone, Tony leaves him voicemails.
At first it's when he's drunk. He's always drunk during those early days. He dials the number he memorized years ago and just talks - the drunk ramblings of a grieving man.
He checks himself into rehab exactly six months after Titan. He leaves a voicemail telling Peter he's going to get sober, because Peter would've liked that. Tony remembered distinctly the faces he used to pull when he caught him drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey.
Even when he does get clean he keeps leaving voicemails. He dials the number before he goes to bed each night, his heart doing that painful little clench when Peter's pre recorded voice filters through.
He tells him about his day. About how the world is coping now. He tells him about the team, even if he rarely sees them these days, because Peter would want to know he thinks.
About how he misses Peter so badly it hurts, about how the nightmares won't fucking stop, about how sometimes he can still feel the dust on his hands and then it turns to blood and no matter how long he scrubs and scrubs it's still there.
He tells him through heaving sobs that he fucking loves him. That he had been terrified, a complete coward, and now it was too late and it was eating Tony up inside.
That he just needed Peter back.
Five years of voicemails, and then time travel and the battle and the snap.
When Peter returns to New York after the funeral his phone is in nightstand where he left it.
Peter listens to every single one, phone pressed to his ear as silent tears rain down over his cheeks.
His breath stutters when Tony says 'I love you', and Peter says it back in the dark of his bedroom.
I lovvvveee the trope where Peter doesn't realize he's Tony's sugar baby until someone else points it out. Tony's always buying him fancy jewelry and clothes and taking him out to high end restaurants. On one occasion, Tony even convinced Peter to accompany him on a trip to Tokyo.
Peter, oblivious as always, is internally talking about how nice Tony is and how generous he is. Meanwhile MJ is like, "He's literally your sugar daddy."
This wasn't meant to fucking happen. Not to Peter. Anyone else, seriously. Tony didn't even care if that made him a dick - he would've preferred literally anyone else.
Just not... not Peter.
"Tony? We have to get out of here. God knows how much time we have before he turns," Steve said, laying a hand on his shoulder that's likely supposed to be comforting.
Tony shrugs it off.
He looks at Peter, who is watching him with a terrified expression, and yet he still nods.
"He's right, Mr Stark. You need to get out of here before I... I..." Peter swallowed, eyes flickering to the bite on his arm then to the genius. "I don't want to hurt you," he finished quietly, almost begging.
"I'm staying. Get the others out of here, but I'm staying."
Peter stared at him, eyes wide. Steve sighed.
"Tony-"
"Get out of here, Steve."
The Captain looked conflicted, but Tony just levelled him with a look. The only way he was leaving this place was if Steve literally carried him back to the jet, and Tony would like to see him try.
Steve ran a hand over his face then nodded, squeezing Tony's shoulder again.
"Be careful," he says, and Tony sent him forced smile. "When am I not?"
For the first hour or so, nothing happens. Tony finds a deck of cards in the bunker their currently sitting in and teaches Peter how to play poker using rocks as chips.
Then the fever starts.
Peter's burning up bad, and Tony can feel the heat he's radiating just from sitting near him. He doesn't look great, face pale and ashen.
"Mr Stark, I don't feel so good," he admits quietly. There's a note of fear in his voice that makes Tony's chest ache.
"You're ok, want to take this hoodie off?"
Peter nods, and Tony pulls up the hem until he can slide it off. He lifts a hand to brush through Peter's hair. The locks are damp with sweat, curling slightly, and Tony continues to run his fingers through, untangling the small knots as they appear. Peter's eyes slip shut, his breaths coming as hot little puffs of air.
Tony looks at the bite on his arm. The ridge is purple and angry, and he pulls away to grab the first aid kit but Peter pulls him back, eyes fluttering open. They were shining with tears.
"Stay? Please?"
His voice breaks, the tears begin to fall over his rosy cheeks.
"I'm not going anywhere," Tony says, "I swear."
He brushes the tears away initially, but they keep going, and eventually he settles on pulling Peter into his arms.
Eventually his breathing evens out against Tony's neck. Tony checks his pulse, and while it's rapid it's still strong.
He uses Peter's hoodie as a makeshift pillow, grabbing a damp riddled blanket from the scarce supply closet to drape over them both.
Tony let's himself drift.
---
He wakes up to Peter sobbing, body tensing and shaking.
Victims of this deadly disease will experience severe muscle cramping and spasms prior to the conversion. If you see someone acting this way, get to a safe distance.
Tony sat up and inched closer, and Peter's eyes were unfocused as he reached out blindly.
Tony caught one of his flying hands.
"I'm here, it's ok. You need to try and relax, Pete."
Peter sobbed.
"H-h'rts. J-just k-kill me," he pleaded, and if Tony had actually ate anything in the last 48 hours he would've brought it back up.
Hearing Peter beg for a bullet in his head was possibly the worst thing Tony had ever heard. His perfect and innocent Peter. His mentee, his fucking everything, begging him for death.
Tony was selfish. He couldn't do it.
"I- g'nna hurt y-you. K-kill... me!"
Tony shushed him softly, and hesitated briefly before pinning Peter down. His thrashing was more controlled, but he was still sobbing.
"You could never hurt me," Tony says, although he doesn't think Peter is listening.
The veins around the bite are purple, the skin becoming tinged with a green discoloration. Peter's pulse is weaker beneathe his fingers.
--
In the brief moments free of delirium, Peter begs him to go.
At first it's pleading, then it turns to anger. He screams at Tony to get the hell out, says he doesn't want him there, and Tony just nods silently but doesn't leave.
"Please, I don't- I'm... I'm hungry," Peter says, and he sounds scared. So, so scared.
The delirium returns soon enough, and Peter stares off into space, talks to May and Ben and his parents, skin clammy as he shivers violently.
--
His pulse stops. The purple veins have spread up, and his skin is grey with patches of green and purple.
A corpse, technically.
Tony chains him to the wall. The restraints still let him move around the room, and Tony draws a safe zone with chalk where the chains don't stretch.
Peter isn't conscious much after that. He doesn't even follow Tony with his eyes. He sits slumped against the wall, letting out occasional noises of pain and low growls.
"Peter?" Tony asks tentatively, gently touching his shoulder.
Peter snarls low, jaw snapping, and Tony scarcely backs up in time.
He's hungry. Starving, even - a slave to the disease, and Tony knows he has to make a decision now.
The gun rests heavy in his pocket as Peter snarls and drools over himself. He eyes the chalked line, drags the toe of his boot over it.
As he leaves, he tells himself it's to find the others. There's nothing more he can do, right? He stayed with Peter as long as he could.
Except the first survivor he comes across gets a bullet to the chest, and Tony drags the lifeless body back to the bunker.
Just this one, he tells himself. Just one, and then he will go find Steve.
--
By the time he does find a cure, he's sacrificed dozens. He doesn't regret any of them.
Tony doesn't let anyone touch the arc reactor ever after Obadiah. He can't bring himself to let anyone lay their fingers on it. Sometimes people touching his chest in general can prove quite triggering.
One morning he wakes up to Peter curled up against him as usual, except his fingers are tracing lazy patterns over the reactor.
Instinctively Tony wants to run, but forces himself to stay very still. Peter didn't know about his hang ups with the reactor, and he braces himself for the inevitable panic.
Except, it never comes.
That suffocating feeling doesn't burn in his throat. His eyes don't sting with tears.
Peter's fingers feel nice, even. They're gentle and careful as they trace the scars, following the path to the silver ring and round into the centre.
He must've sensed Tony was awake because his fingers moved to cup his jaw instead.
"Morning."
Tony opened his eyes, and smiled down at him.
"Morning."
Peter sat up, throwing a leg over Tony's waist and sitting on his abdomen, leaning down to press a kiss to Tony's lips, and after a brief pause, one to the arc reactor buried in his chest.
"I love you," Tony blurted.
Peter froze, blinking once, before a grin broke over his face.
I have all these headcanons for what a public Tony/Peter relationship might look like in the press/court of public opinion etc. but I don’t have a fic idea to attach them to so I’m just gonna post them here:
- the popular take at the beginning of their relationship is that it’s Tony going back to his playboy ways as a midlife crisis and Peter just happens to be his newest arm candy/sugar baby, but there’s some like, general confusion over the idea that Peter is just Some Grad Student At MIT (if an admittedly cute one) rather than younger-Tony’s parade of models and starlets
- it’s assumed that Tony will drop Peter pretty quickly, so there’s some further confusion when they hit one month, then three, then six, then a year, etc., as well as plenty of mean-spirited jokes about Peter being a gold-digger, having blackmail material on Tony, or countdowns to when he’s getting dumped; gross entertainment press stuff
snowstark’s end of year celebration!
↳ ⭐️ surprise requested by @carelessannie <3
Peter has three different identities.
His first involves being a student in MIT and working in a deli shop. His second identity is an escort. His third is the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.
Hanging off the arms of rich men and attending charity balls seems like an easy way to earn money at first, but it quickly becomes difficult when Peter finds himself enjoying spending time in the company of Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries.
The situation becomes even more complicated when Peter discovers that Tony is Iron Man. Now, it’s up to him to keep two of his identities a secret — but maybe Tony is just a little too smart for his own good.
