Ahem, *60s movie-trailer narrator voice*: A starker teacher/student au brought to you by the minds of: @starkerchemistryy and @starkerforlife6969 with fantastic art by @c6h12o6-work. It’s the collaboration you’ve all been waiting for! Featuring: smut, pining, sluttyness, and all the things you need to shake off those endgame blues. Treat yourself this summer with fun for all the family! ;) Mwah. xxx
TW: Cheating (Tony has a wife)
The thing about titrations in AP chemistry is that…they’re easy.
Once you have your burette all set up, and you’re spinning the flask and adding millilitre after millilitre and watching the solution spin as your fingers twist- waiting for that magic amount of acid that’ll make your solution glow vibrant pink- it’s just twisting, spinning, waiting, and then adding more.
If you didn’t have to notice when the solution turned pink, Peter would say you could do it with your eyes closed.
Still, it doesn’t stop him. It doesn’t stop him from clumsily twisting the handle so too much acid spills into his flask and it goes pink immediately without any accuracy at all to the amount that’s been added. It doesn’t stop him from pouting like a little princess and whining just a little too loudly under his breath, blinking sadly at the pipette as he cleans up as if it’s all the equipment’s fault, and not his own orchestrating.
He’s not a brilliant actor, but he doesn’t have to be. Because after a few seconds of fumbling (sometimes less if he’s already caught his eye) Mr. Stark will come over.
Peter’s desk is nestled at the back of the class; suffused in the afternoon light right by the window. He used to sit up at the front; his honey-gaze glued fast on the way Mr. Stark’s shirt stretched over his broad chest, and how he licked his lips when he spoke, or how when all the bunsen burners were on, he’d loosen his tie- just a little sweaty, and Peter had practically spilled into his pants right then and there with the urge to clamber over the desk and lick.
He’s been moved to the back now, under the guise that the gas tap at the front is a little faulty.
Peter knows it isn’t. He just wants to…he wants to kiss him. Wants to taste him. Wants more than the fleeting, mutually hungry gazes and touches.
Mr. Stark comes over, and Peter’s skin prickles deliciously as the fiery body heat that the teacher emits sinks into his back through his lab coat, and he grips the side of the table to stop his knees from buckling. Everyone else is chattering away; unaware, having fun with the experiment or trying to sabotage someone else’s.
“Having trouble, Pete?” Mr. Stark murmurs, far too low to be appropriate, his breath tickling Peter’s neck and ghosting over the shell of his ear and Peter’s fingers tremble for real this time, as he resets his experiment.
