hi! i'm the anon from the earlier starker request (78). maybe seventeen and eighteen? or just eighteen and eighteen, if you're more comfortable with it. i think ill pop up more often, so ill use an emoji. does 🌻 work? - 🌻 (possibly)
Hope you’re still around Anon! Here’s your request (from like four months ago…😅)
78. “Don’t fucking touch what is not yours.”
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Peter can take care of himself just fine. He’s been doing it his entire grade school career, doubly so since he presented as an omega; he definitely doesn’t need some knothead alpha to fight his battles for him.
But, oh man, Tony Stark is hot when he’s angry.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Beck?”
And the alpha over Peter by his locker is an idiot, because he seems to interpret Tony’s nearly prowling approach as non-threatening.
Peter shivers involuntarily when Tony gets close; the alpha smells like petrichor and ozone and the tang of saltwater, a literal force of nature.
Beck snorts and doesn’t put any distance between himself and Peter. “I don’t see your name on him, Stark. Get your own.”
And Tony must be near a rut, because Peter’s hardly spoken to the other teen outside of class, and Tony’s kind of an ass, but he wouldn’t just slam one of his teammates into the lockers with teeth-rattling force over some random omega…but against the lockers is where Beck ends up, the collar of his shirt twisted in Tony’s fists.
“He’s mine,” Tony snarls. “You get your own.”
The (somewhat redundant) warning growl that follows rumbles deep in the alpha’s chest, a sound that calls to something in Peter…
…which just serves to piss off the omega.
‘Mine’? Who the hell does he think he is?
Peter scowls, pushes off from where he’d been pinned. “Yeah…I’m just gonna go.”
He’s at the end of the hall, almost to the front doors, when he realizes Tony’s following him. There’s no sign of Beck, but it’s not that surprising; there aren’t a lot of guys who would push a fight with Tony.
(It’s not attractive, it’s not–it’s macho alpha crap, and it is never appealing, not even when Peter’s alone in bed…at night…with his inflatable knot. *cough* Never.)
Peter rolls his eyes. “No thank you.”
The alpha just looks at him with exasperation that is definitely not warranted, and it makes Peter’s hackles rise.
“I’m fine, Tony. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“You do when you smell like you’re about to roll over.”
Peter’s not sure what his face is doing, but when he looks at Tony, the alpha blanches and takes a step back.
“Shit, I’m sorry, that was–”
“That was some designationist bullshit, and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone.”
With a last glare, Peter turns and stalks off towards the doors, pushes his way outside–
–to be faced with a torrential downpour.
The doors open and shut behind him, and Tony comes to stand beside him, his still apologetic (and a tiny bit smug) thunderstorm scent blending almost perfectly with the rain.
“…You sure you don’t want a ride? Not like that–ow, Jesus–”
Getting into Tony’s car was a mistake.
It smells amazing inside, a blend of clean leather and Tony and alpha. Peter’s still irritated, but he loosens up, melting into the seat with a sigh he doesn’t mean to let out.
Tony smirks over at him. “Cozy?”
“…No,” Peter says, facing resolutely forward.
Tony doesn’t say anything else, just starts the car, but Peter can feel the alpha’s amusement.
He huffs quietly and lowers himself slightly in the seat. None of this should feel nice, none of it should feel so comforting or safe or–
“You wanna tell me where I’m going?”
Peter opens his eyes (hadn’t even realized he’d closed them), and sits up a little straighter, clears his throat, face heating. “Right. Address. You need that.”
He rattles it off and goes back to trying to ignore…well,Tony, but also the obvious warmth in his own face. His own…everywhere, actually. He’s warm. Overly warm.
Oh no. Maybe Tony wasn’t so far off, as crudely as he’d put it.
They’re about halfway to his house when Peter finally gives up, turns to ask Tony to shut off the heat (maybe it’ll make the scent less intense, everything smells like Tony but stronger; is it getting stronger?) but the words catch in his throat.
Tony’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his jaw tight, eyes a little brighter, wild.
“Are you…are you okay?” It’s another thing Peter wants to deny, isn’t sure why he asks, why he…fuck, why he wants to hear Tony say it. To hear him say anything. Why he wants to hear the bass notes of arousal that match the increase in Tony’s scent.
“Peachy,” Tony answers tightly, not looking over.
The shortness doesn’t matter; by the time they pull into the (thankfully empty) driveway, Peter’s struggling with conflicting impulses to get as far from the alpha as possible or to just straddle him right there in the driver’s seat.
“Thank you, for, you know. The ride.”
Tony’s scent flares, the leather of the wheel creaking under his hands. “No problem.”
Getting out of the car is the next logical step, but Peter is glued to his seat (not literally, thank god; he can’t feel any slick yet, but he can tell it’s a near thing). The only way he’s getting out is–
No, nope. He’s not going to invite Tony inside, he’s not going to do that.
Swallowing, Peter rubs his palms down his thighs, uses the texture of the denim to ground himself. “Well, um. Yeah. Thanks. I’m just…bye.” He un-clicks his seatbelt and climbs out, trying to ignore the tug low in his belly insisting he get back into the cocoon of good-smell.
It’s better this way, obviously; he doesn’t actually know Tony, doesn’t actually like him. Just because the alpha’s hot…and an impressive rubgy player…and on Peter’s level in all the advanced classes…doesn’t mean he wants to spend a heat with him (a heat Peter wasn’t even supposed to be having right now, what the heck is going on with his suppressants).
He’s at the front door, fumbling with his keys, when he hears the car shut off. A door opens and closes with a bang, followed closely by the slap of sneakers pavement.
The infuriatingly intoxicating scent of thunderstorms thickens when the porch steps creak with Tony’s approach, and Peter already knows what’s going to happen. Feels it with a terrifyingly right sense of inevitability.
Tony stops behind him, not touching, but close enough Peter can feel his warmth.
Peter doesn’t turn around. “I don’t…Did you need something?” he asks inanely, a little breathless.
“I…need you to tell me to leave.”
It’s not what Peter expected. If he’s being entirely honest, he’d been half hoping Tony would just shove him up against the door (or try, anyway); that he’d give Peter a reason to fight back, to shove him away, to deny the instincts pinging like electricity under his skin.
Peter swallows. “You can go.”
The key slides into the lock, finally, the click of the latch somehow audible even through the sound of the rain pattering on the overhang above them.
The blend of their scents, of Tony’s stormy, feral arousal and the sweetness of Peter’s slick, is delicious–filthy and thick and everywhere, and Peter knows he’s going to have the scent in his sheets, deep in his mattress, in his skin, for days, maybe weeks.
But, the memories…those are going to be seared in his brain for the rest of his life, probably.
He rocks his hips forward, groaning. “You feel so good–so tight, god–”
Tony just stares up at him, whines around the soaked boxer briefs crammed in his mouth. He looks gorgeous like this, flushed, eyes hooded and dark, gripping Peter’s headboard as tightly as he had the steering wheel, earlier.
When they’d first stepped inside, Peter had been surprised. Tony had kept his hands to himself, followed Peter up to his bedroom without comment, without pushing. The only thing that gave away Tony’s understanding of the situation was his weirdly polite request that Peter give him a quick tour of the kitchen, so he’d know where to go to get Peter food and water, later.
It didn’t jibe with the alpha posturing at school, and not with the smug boldness that is Tony. Did not compute.
Tony had obviously been aroused, his very much alpha-sized cock straining obscenely in his jeans, but he’d just stood there when the got to Peter’s room, shifting restlessly foot to foot, just…waiting, until Peter had finally asked if Tony really wanted this, why he wasn’t doing anything.
The characteristic smirk had made an appearance, weighed down just a little by nerves, and then Tony had asked Peter to tell him what to do.
Peter had definitely been amenable to that request. And to every one that led them to this moment, to Tony on his back on Peter’s bed, flushed olive skin against the navy blue of Peter’s sheets.
It’s beautiful. It’s breathtaking and amazing and so many other things. He can’t believe he gets to do this, that Tony’s letting him inside, in more ways than one. It’s satisfying and weirdly humbling, and Peter’s going to have to process everything later, but right now…right now, it feels good.
When one of Tony’s hands leaves the headboard, Peter feels a rush of anticipation. “Ah ah, no,” he says, smacks it away before it can touch the erection Peter’s been deliberately neglecting.
Tony makes a helpless apologetic sound through his mouthful, snapping up to grab the headboard again, and Peter shivers, fucks into the alpha’s tight heat a little harder, a little faster, a reward and a punishment.
He won’t be able to maintain this much longer; it’s early enough in his heat that he’s not yet reduced to a single-minded mess of near-delirious want, but Peter thinks he has just enough time to say what he’s been thinking about since he’d been given permission to handle Tony this way.
Curling forward, he leans in to nip and suck at Tony’s chest and collarbones, Tony’s small huffing breaths and pleading sounds in response sending showers of sparks low in Peter’s spine, through his own hot, needy insides.
“You know better than that,” Peter admonishes, voice a little unsteady. “Or, I thought you did.” He sits back, trails his hands down Tony’s chest, his stomach. “You seemed pretty clear on it with Beck.”
Peter shivers, smirking when Tony glares, growling; he can feel the vibrations where they’re connected, and he suddenly very much gets the appeal of angry sex. But he can’t get distracted.
“Shh, Alpha,” he soothes, a little mocking. Tony doesn’t seem to mind, going by the precum that drips anew. “I just thought you understood the rules.”
Peter pulls out carefully, heedless of Tony’s noise of complaint, shushes him as he crawls forward until he’s straddling Tony’s hips.
Tony’s hazy, questioning look vanishes with an almost pained groan when Peter wraps a hand around the base of his cock (tries; his fingers barely touch, fuck) and squeezes, right where the alpha’s knot is going to expand, and stands him up.
“Don’t touch…what doesn’t belong to you,” Peter manages breathlessly, “And this is mine.”
The last word ends on more of a moan than anything syllabic as Peter sinks down–full, full, so fucking full, fuck–and he has to take a second to adjust to the girth, to his…fuck, his first time with an alpha.
Everything’s starting to get hazy and euphoric, now, heralding the point of Peter’s heat where he’ll cease to notice almost anything besides whatever’s pumping inside him, filling him up. But he’s still clear enough to feel a burst of appreciative affection for the way Tony’s trembling with the effort to not move, to not just buck up into Peter’s heat.
Peter reaches out and pulls the underwear from Tony’s mouth, tosses them somewhere off the side of the bed. Leaning down, he claims Tony’s mouth in a deep, sloppy kiss, moaning at the sensation from just a minor change in angle.
When he pulls back, the taste of Tony and himself flooding his senses, he grins.
“Now let go of that headboard and show me who you belong to.”
