Chapter Text
"You may say I have no reason to feel shame,
that I did what I had to do to save my life […]
But shame is like laughter. And inspiration.
It doesn’t knock."
— Fairy Tale, Stephen King
———
The afternoon before the night he’s sure Mr. Stark is going to fuck him, Peter strips himself bare. Wax tugging, yanking. Leaving behind pain and redness, and then — before he can regret it — smooth, hairless, young skin.
Peter kind of hates himself for it, even as he does it. There is nothing wrong with body hair. He’s probably just watched too much porn. He imagines what MJ, who stopped shaving her underarms when she was 14, would say if she knew.
But the thought of Mr. Stark reaching between Peter’s legs, running calloused fingers against skin and finding coarse hair makes Peter’s stomach flip with embarrassment.
Mr. Stark is used to smooth-skinned women like Pepper Potts. Like all the women who came after her. Like Ms. Frost or Ms. Van Dyne or Ms. Romanoff (probably, maybe, he's never been sure what their relationship was, but still—). Peter's certain they would never let a hair follicle grow unsupervised.
That’s just what Mr. Stark liked. It’s what he's always liked.
Peter has memorized the sex tapes from Mr. Stark’s younger days, and every one is filled with toned, sculpted partners. All of them young and carefully groomed, as if they’d walked off the set of a reality TV show.
Peter needs to up his game if he wants to be one of them.
Looking in the mirror, he has a long way to go. The spider bite had given him the gift of abs and a round ass, but it hadn’t fixed his pointy nose or razor-thin lips. It hadn’t polished the dark, messy crop of hair surrounding his wilting dick.
But that's okay. He has other things going for him.
He's young and Mr. Stark does like that. Mr. Stark may never have looked at him twice when he was a kid, but the minute Peter became legal he had looked, and that has to mean something.
It isn't a coincidence that Peter could be slotted into the age-difference porn he studies with a careful, obsessive eye. Videos where older men caress smooth, hairless bodies, and call their partners “boy” with the same tone of voice Mr. Stark now uses when he calls Peter “kid”.
Peter’s pointy baby face and his barely-legal age aren’t a bug, they’re a feature. His adolescence is the only kink he has going for him, especially for someone as worldly as Mr. Stark.
Which is fine. If it gives him an edge, if it makes Mr. Stark want to bed him, Peter will take full advantage. And if Mr. Stark keeps him around long enough to age out of his teenage perks, he’ll find something else.
Mr. Stark had given him a chance. Peter's not going to mess it up.
———
The wax feels weird going on and excruciating coming off.
He follows a detailed instructional from Reddit, and saves the hair around his anus for last. He planned to leave some of his hair intact, trimmed around the base of his penis — but the perfectly symmetric look he envisioned goes out the window when he accidentally spreads the wax too low. Leaving an amateur line of hairless skin right above his dick.
As if warning him to stop there. To go no further.
It might as well all go.
He’s always known he looks best bare, after all.
———
Peter has to wear loose jeans to the Tower. Baggy, horrible, ratty jeans that make him look young — but not in the right way. Not in the way he’d imagined.
And let’s be clear — he had imagined. He’s been imagining for years.
He had visions of himself in tight jeans with a waistline dipping down below his Adonis belt. Dreams of Mr. Stark pulling up his shirt and finding nothing but smooth skin. Of Mr. Stark’s eyes going dark and his hands growing possessive.
Of Mr. Stark taking, taking, taking — until Peter could be certain he wouldn’t let him go.
But Peter’s skin wasn’t up for it.
Despite his rapid healing, he can barely stand the brush of fabric against his junk. It makes him feel vulnerable in a way few things have since the spider bite.
But Mr. Stark doesn’t seem to care about his clothes. He’s too focused on taking them off.
He lets Peter’s baggy pants fall to his feet, pulls his shirt up over his head, and pushes him onto the bed. The whole process takes seconds.
“Don’t think I don’t appreciate tonight’s easy access attire, kid,” Mr. Stark says, yanking Peter’s pants from his ankles and dropping them to the floor.
Peter flushes at the compliment, even though it’s unwarranted.
Mr. Stark pulls at his tie and, god, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Peter's dick twitches beneath his boxers and he squirms. Mr. Stark sees it, and Peter's face heats up when he catches the slight curve of the man’s lips. He’s never felt so embarrassed and turned on at the same time.
He thinks he loves the feeling, but he’s not sure.
Before he has a chance to dwell on the thought, Mr. Stark kisses him.
It’s not like the fleeting kisses Mr. Stark had indulged him with so far. (Always careful, too careful, “there’s no rush, kid”.) Instead, it’s a hot meeting of tongues that strips Peter of his breath and his nerves.
As Peter’s eyelids flutter open, he’s greeted by the sight of Mr. Stark’s bare chest. The ever-present arc reactor casts an ethereal blue glow across his chest, highlighting a beautiful mess of battle scars. It makes Peter want to lick, kiss, fuck. He leans forward, mouth wide, but Mr. Stark stops him with a light hand.
“No.”
“But I want—”
“And you’ll get, but not tonight. Tonight’s all about you and I plan to savor. So lay back and let me enjoy.”
Peter swallows hard and nods. “Yes, Mr. Stark.”
Even consumed by his own desire, Peter hears the way Mr. Stark’s breath hitches at his title. Notices the way his heartbeat skips and then quickens.
“Good boy,” Mr. Stark says, before leaning down to nuzzle Peter’s dick through thin boxers.
(Yeah, Peter is right about his appeal.)
Mr. Stark gets him fully hard and panting, desperate, just by mouthing his covered dick. Peter is ready to beg when Mr. Stark looks up, fingers hooked in the band of his boxers.
“Lift.” Peter readily complies.
The boxers only make it halfway down Peter’s thighs before stopping. Time stretches out, in which Mr. Stark remains ominously quiet. Peter doesn’t want to look at his own skin, foreign and naked in a way it hasn’t been since he was a child, but he forces his gaze down.
Mr. Stark is staring at Peter’s bare groin with an intense expression Peter can’t place.
“Mr. Stark?”
There’s a tremble in Peter's voice that he hates, but it’s enough to jolt Mr. Stark back into action. Mr. Stark tears his gaze away from Peter’s wilting dick and flashes a wicked smile. With a swift, practiced motion, he whips Peter’s boxers off with a flourish.
“Want to flip over for me?”
Peter hesitates. He’d had a vision of his first time, folded in half, ankles bracketing Mr. Stark’s head. His body completely hidden, leaving him only with a view of Mr. Stark.
Mr. Stark, who would look down at him in awe. Or, even better, in love.
It's a pipe-dream, but still. Peter has to try.
“Can we—” he starts. “I mean, could we do it like this?”
He spreads his legs wider, making room for Mr. Stark's body and making his intentions clear.
Mr. Stark leans forward, wraps his lips around Peter’s glans and sucks. Hard. As Peter bucks up at the unexpected contact, Mr. Stark presses a slick thumb against his hole.
The combined sensation makes Peter’s entire body contract. His abs tense, his toes clench, and he’s suddenly worried he might choke Mr. Stark with his thighs.
Peter forces himself to relax. Too much so, maybe, because Mr. Stark’s thumb slips fully into his body.
Mr. Stark lets Peter’s dick fall out of his mouth, and stares at his hand, considering. He flexes his thumb, pushing it further in. Pressing down toward Peter’s spine.
“Sir,” Peter says, voice an embarrassing whine.
Mr. Stark looks up, eyes glazed over in thought. Then he shakes his head.
“Right, no. Never mind,” he says, as if picking up on some earlier conversation. “First time will be easier for you from behind.”
First time? Peter thinks. I get to do this again?
He can’t help but vocalize the thought. “First?”
“Isn’t it?” Mr. Stark says, with a quirk of his head.
That must be a yes.
Peter smiles. “Awesome.”
Mr. Stark gives him another long look Peter can’t quite parse before tapping Peter’s side.
“Then turn over for me, tiger.”
Peter does what he's told.
———
It hurts a lot more than he’d expected. Even with Mr. Stark carefully easing into him, one finger at a time, asking him “how does that feel?” and “are you okay?” and “is that good for you?”
Peter can’t tell him the truth, because the truth would be weird, and painful, and overwhelming. The truth would be stop, stop, stop. Peter’s erection is waning and he’s suddenly grateful Mr. Stark can’t see his body’s reaction.
It feels like they’ve been at this for hours, and yet his ass is still as tight as it was when they started. He stares ahead at the headboard, wishing he could see Mr. Stark’s face instead. Wishing he at least had that to focus on rather than his panic.
He just needs to get through this part, somehow, and then it will get better. Right?
Peter rests his weight on one hand and uses the other to cover his cock, trying to bring it back to life.
“That’s enough, Mr. Stark. You can fuck me now.”
Mr. Stark scoffs. “Like hell, kid. I barely have two fingers in you.”
That may be, but Peter thinks he may die of embarrassment if this goes on any longer. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to summon the supernatural control he has over his body. Concentrating his will on his internal muscles, forcing them to relax. If only for a second.
It works.
Like with Mr. Stark’s thumb, the effect is instantaneous. Mr. Stark’s fingers slip all the way into him, until knuckles are pressing against Peter’s ass.
It’s still uncomfortable, but hearing Mr. Stark curse in surprise makes it worth it.
“I’m ready,” Peter says.
He’s not. Not really. But it would be fine. He’s Spider-Man. Heck, he’d pulled the pubic hair off his balls three hours before. He could handle a cock inside him.
“… Okay. Right. Right. I guess you are.”
Peter focuses all his energy on breathing, on not panicking, while Mr. Stark goes for more lube. If he can just keep that control in place, just stay in the Spider-Man zone, just keep his muscles cooperating — this may be fine.
But then Peter feels Mr. Stark’s rough hands on his ass, pulling his cheeks apart. The head of his cock is against Peter’s hole, hot and hard and impossibly large and– and—
I can’t do this.
All that hard-earned focus disappears. Peter’s body tenses up.
“Here we go,” Mr. Stark says. Just like that, he’s pushing in, settling the tip of his cock inside Peter’s body.
Peter can’t stifle the loud whine that comes out of him.
Luckily, it must have sounded more like pleasure than pain, because Mr. Stark takes it for encouragement. He continues pushing in. But with every movement forward, Peter can feel his body shoving back. Refusing entrance.
God, it hurts.
“Jesus, kid, you’re still so tight. You okay?”
Mr. Stark slows, running a hand along Peter’s flank. As if trying to soothe Peter.
It doesn’t work.
What if Peter can’t do this? What if his body refuses to cooperate and this is it? Everything ending after Tony Stark makes it one inch into Peter’s ass before giving him up as a lost cause.
The thought transforms his panic into adrenaline. His body finally understands that this is an emergency, sending every muscle on high alert. It's ready to take orders, and put to new use the control that lets him scale buildings and cling to ceilings.
He can do this.
He cants his hips so that Mr. Stark is angled slightly above him, and then relaxes every muscle in his ass. Meeting no resistance, Mr. Stark’s slow push transforms into a hard thrust and he almost falls onto Peter. He has to grab the headboard to steady himself.
“Fuck,” Mr. Stark says. His dick — finally — fully seated inside Peter’s loose body.
Except, wait, loose isn’t good either, right? Peter contracts again, making himself as tight as possible without bringing back the pain.
Mr. Stark groans, shifting his weight to more comfortably surround Peter. “Holy shit. That’s one hell of a party trick, kid.”
“Does it feel good, Mr. Stark?”
Peter is genuinely looking for feedback, but Mr. Stark laughs. Incredulous.
“You minx,” he says. “You really can take it, huh?”
No. Maybe. God, I hope so, Peter thinks.
“Yes, Mr. Stark,” is what he says instead.
“Well then.” Mr. Stark pries Peter’s hand off of his cock (which is luckily back online), and brings it up to the headboard. “Hold on.”
It gets better, after that.
Mr. Stark is rough and demanding, but Peter’s control over his body refines enough for him to focus on other sensations. Like the fingers gripping Peter’s hips, his hair, his cock. On the rhythm that Mr. Stark conducts, alternating between quick, shallow thrusts, and hard slaps that shove Peter further up the bed.
The first time Mr. Stark hits his prostate directly, Peter loses his hard-earned control. His body contracts, and he squeezes down tight on Mr. Stark’s cock.
Before he can apologize, Mr. Stark lets out a loud moan and a “fucking incredible” — which is how Peter learns that is a good thing. (Of course it is. Stupid, stupid. He should have thought of that.)
Peter starts a rhythm of his own, trying to squeeze back on Mr. Stark’s cock on every down thrust. Wanting to make it good for him.
It's still nothing like he’d imagined, of course. It is real and awkward, and Peter’s sticky in ways he hadn’t known were possible. But that’s what makes it so much better.
This isn't a dream. That really is Mr. Stark’s cock inside him. That’s his body surrounding Peter, leaning over to grab Peter’s hands at the headboard. Using the leverage to thrust harder, deeper, faster. That’s Iron Man’s chest pressed against his back, arc reactor digging into Peter’s skin.
No amount of porn could have prepared him for the real thing.
In the end, it isn’t the hand around his cock that shoves him over the edge. It’s Mr. Stark’s voice in his ear, growling, “It’s like you were made for me.”
That. Yes. That.
Peter blacks out when he comes.
Minutes, hours, seconds later, his vision returns, giving him a clear view of silk sheets. He’s lying flat on the bed, his arms and legs having given out at last. Mr. Stark is still draped over him.
Still fucking him.
The pace is different, now. Mr. Stark seeking his own pleasure from Peter’s body with hard, erratic thrusts. The sound of their slapping skin suddenly seems loud. Obscene. Peter can smell his own come and wonders how he managed to keep himself loose enough for Mr. Stark to enjoy while passed out.
Maybe my body really is made for him, Peter thinks, wild.
“Mr. Stark,” he whispers into a pillow. A plea and a thank you all rolled into one.
At his words, Mr. Stark slams into him, hard, once more, and stops. He groans in Peter’s ear and rolls his hips, as if trying to push further in.
Oh.
Mr. Stark just came.
He came inside Peter.
Did he use a condom? Peter doesn’t remember one. Doesn’t remember asking. Heck, Peter hadn’t even thought about it until now; everything he learned in sex-ed going straight out the window the moment he was on his knees.
Is Mr. Stark’s come inside him? Ready to leak out if he squeezes just right? He lifts his hips, just in case. Hoping to keep it from running out.
Mr. Stark lets out a high, manic laugh. It’s a good sound. A happy sound.
“Jesus Christ, kid.”
He peels off of Peter’s back. There’s a hand on Peter's ass, patting it lightly, before reaching down to slide a finger along his rim.
To where they’re still joined.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter groans again. His vocabulary somehow whittled down to those two words.
“One second. Let me get rid of the condom.”
“… oh.”
So, that answers that.
Peter lowers his hips back to the bed in embarrassment, and then squirms when he realizes he’s in a wet spot. Still, he’s too bone tired to move.
He drifts off, waking again to find himself under the covers. His skin has been wiped clean, and Mr. Stark is lifting the comforter to join him in bed. Peter tries not to think about the fact he had to be tucked in.
“Sorry. How long was I out?”
“Just a few minutes. Don’t worry. It’s normal.”
Is it? Peter wants to ask, but Mr. Stark is crowding him. He’s completely naked and, for the first time, in the dim light under the covers, Peter finally sees him. Sees a thick cock nestled in a dark patch of hair — long but carefully trimmed. A trail leads up and thins below his navel. He doesn’t have anything as absurd as Peter’s six pack, but his chest is defined. The glow of his arc reactor casts defining shadows across his pecs and up to his Adam’s apple. Up to his perfectly groomed goatee, which frames lips formed into a smirk.
That's when Peter realizes he’s been staring.
Peter can’t hide his flush of embarrassment, and is grateful Mr. Stark doesn’t laugh. Mr. Stark slots their bodies together, so they’re lying face to face, and presses a short, sweet kiss to Peter’s lips.
And then another. And another. Peppering his face until Peter is smiling and laughing. Until they’re both laughing.
It’s perfect.
“I gotta say, kid, I wasn’t expecting that.” Mr. Stark draws slow circles along Peter’s lower back. It’s hypnotic.
“Hmm?” Peter says, distracted.
Mr. Stark nips his chin in faux reproach.
“Don’t hmm me. You know what I’m talking about.” The hand on Peter’s back dips down, fingers circling Peter’s hole. Then lower still, teasing at his perineum.
His incredibly bare perineum.
“C’mon,” Mr. Stark growls, voice deep but pressing. “Don’t hold out on me. How long has this been a thing? And where did you learn that trick with your ass?”
Learn?
Just like that, the fog of sex and nerves and hormones lifts. He remembers the confused look on Mr. Stark’s face when he’d seen Peter’s hairless dick.
And later, Mr. Stark hadn’t meant “first of many”. Of course not. He was checking if Peter really was a virgin. When he’d pushed inside, he hadn’t been impressed at how readily Peter could adjust his body. He’d called it a “party trick”.
Of course Mr. Stark used a condom. He doesn’t know where Peter has been.
(You slut, you dirty stupid whore. Look at you, ready to be passed around. A regular party trick. Good for nothing else. Easy, forgettable little bitch boy.)
The thoughts come to Peter unbidden, in a voice he’d thought silenced long ago, pounding a refrain in his mind he can’t shake off.
He can’t meet Mr. Stark’s eyes anymore, but what he sees when he looks down is worse. His bare, soft cock is nestled next to Mr. Stark’s own. A minute ago, he might have found the contrast between the two hot — but now it just fills him with shame.
One of them looks like a man, the other... like it belongs in porn. Bad porn. Free porn. Not even worth a second viewing.
How did I let this happen?
“Peter?” Mr. Stark’s hand has slipped back up to rest against Peter’s hip.
Peter flinches at the sound of his name. Mr. Stark never calls him that unless something is wrong which, shit, means he’s noticed.
Peter only has so long to fix this.
“I didn’t know I could do that,” he says in a rush.
“Do what?”
“The thing with my...” God, he can’t even say “ass” out loud. What the heck is he doing? “The thing with my muscles. Um, internally, I mean.”
Mr. Stark is still staring at him, gaze impenetrable. Peter can’t help but run his mouth.
“I knew I had, like, super fine motor control. That I could redistribute weight and pressure and strength when I needed to. I mean, to swing I have to shift all my weight to my fingertips. But I hadn’t known I could do that with, uh, anything else? Until I tried with you, right now, I mean. But it was okay, right? You– you seemed to like it?”
With a soft laugh, Mr. Stark resumes his gentle, circular motions across Peter’s back.
“Are you kidding?” he says, brushing lips to Peter’s brow. “You were incredible. Of course you were. I’m not surprised you’re a natural.”
The words don’t stop Peter’s rising sense of panic.
“And, like, I know the hair — the lack of hair, I mean — I know that’s kinda weird but it– it happened after I got the spider bite. From the radiation? It just fell out overnight and never came back—” What are you saying, you idiot? “—and it made high school super awkward. It’s why Flash used to call me Penis Parker. He checked me out in the urinals and the name stuck. I used the cubicle to pee after that, but then everyone thought I had some sort of, like, mutant dick. Or none at all.”
Peter’s kind of proud of the lie. The anecdote about Flash is pretty good; something almost true that Mr. Stark might remember from when he was in high school.
“You never told me.” Mr. Stark lifts his hand to gently run it through Peter’s hair. The hair on his head, that is.
Peter still can’t read his expression.
“Well, it was weird.” Peter flushes, grateful, for once, for his reactive skin. Hopefully, his embarrassment can hide the lie. “And– and personal. So. So yeah. Of course I didn’t mention it. But it’s okay, right? I mean, you don’t mind?”
Mr. Stark cradles his face in his hands and gives him a gentle kiss. Peter feels his body relax despite his nerves.
He hopes, desperately, that Mr. Stark buys it. That he’ll give Peter another chance.
“Of course it’s okay,” Mr. Stark says, at last. “I’m sorry someone made you think it wasn’t. I’m sorry you thought I was shaming you for it.”
Guilt swirls in Peter’s gut at the apology.
“No, I– I didn’t think that.”
Mr. Stark brushes a finger against Peter’s lips, shushing him. “It’s okay if you did. You don’t need to lie about it.”
Yes. Yes, I do.
———
Mr. Stark lets him stay overnight, so Peter’s still in the bed he lost his virginity in while he overthinks. He still has the man who had taken it sleeping soundly beside him.
Okay, so maybe that hadn’t gone exactly as planned.
But that was on him. He’d been too nervous. So ready to impress, he’d forgotten that his inexperience was one of the reasons Mr. Stark liked him.
He’d salvaged it, though, with only minimal lying. Next time, he’d be better. He would let Mr. Stark spend longer opening him up. Would let him enjoy teaching Peter, the same way he had when Peter was younger and new in the lab.
Peter will have to keep up the Brazilian, but he’d get better at that too. It was just something to suffer through every few weeks, but he would manage. Mr. Stark never needed to know.
It will be fine.
One little lie never hurt anyone.
———
The next morning, Peter’s proven right.
He wakes to the rough feel of Mr. Stark’s stubble against his abdomen, and then a hot mouth surrounds his cock. Sucking hard and fast, while a skilled hand twists patterns at the base.
Then Mr. Stark swallows him all the way down, nose brushing Peter’s bare skin. Peter wouldn't have been able to hold back even if he'd wanted to.
Though he’s barely awake, he manages to warn Mr. Stark before he comes. Mr. Stark lifts his head and jerks Peter off for those final seconds. Peter’s come shoots up across his chest.
“God, look at you,” Mr. Stark’s voice is even rougher than usual. He uses a finger to swipe up Peter’s come, rubbing it into his skin, almost hypnotized. “Smooth, hard and stunning. It’s like you were carved out of marble for me. Absolutely perfect.”
Though Peter is still catching his breath, he notices Mr. Stark’s choice of words.
Smooth. Perfect.
So was right. Mr. Stark isn’t immune to the aesthetics of his bare skin.
It makes Peter feel a bit less of an idiot.
“Will you fuck me again?” Peter says, still breathless.
“You sure?” Mr. Stark asks, though his fingers are already drifting behind Peter’s balls. The words are just for show.
“Yeah, please.” Peter swallows, his anxiety making an unwelcome return. Then he realizes he should probably lean into that feeling. Mr. Stark might like it. “But maybe we can go a bit slower to start. And– and like this? Face to face?”
Mr. Stark leans in for a kiss. His mouth still tastes of Peter, and just the idea that he has left this smallest of marks on Mr. Stark’s person makes his cock swell. Already stirring back to life.
“We’ll do it however you like, kid.”
———
It’s a lot easier the second time. Mr. Stark opens him up slowly, one finger at a time. Peter is so distracted by the tongue in his mouth, Mr. Stark gets three fingers in before he remembers he could have used his enhanced senses.
And then those skilled fingers bring him to an intense second orgasm that still leaves his dick hard, and he forgets everything all over again.
“How?” Peter asks, panting and unbelieving.
Mr. Stark laughs. It's a warm, comforting sound that Peter wants to live in.
“The prostate is an incredible gift. Just you wait. I still have a lot to show you.”
Peter is happy to be a student forever, as long as it keeps him in Tony Stark’s bed.
———
Mr. Stark fucks him without a condom, the second time.
It doesn’t take much convincing for him to forgo it, easing Peter’s last bit of worry from the night before. Just a whisper in Mr. Stark’s ear, wondering out loud if his Spidey senses would actually let him feel Mr. Stark’s come that deep inside.
It’s true, but he mostly says it for Mr. Stark. To see his eyes go dark. For the hard, possessive kiss he gives him as he tosses the unopened condom across the room.
That’s when Peter finally gets to bend himself in half for Mr. Stark, hips supernaturally canted up and off the bed. Reveling in the way Mr. Stark gazes down at him, telling him he’s “gorgeous” and “amazing” and “so fucking hot, kid”.
“Thank you,” Peter cries out when he comes, eliciting another incredulous laugh from Mr. Stark.
“And perfectly polite,” Mr. Stark says, before coming inside Peter. For real this time.
Peter actually can feel it.
Yeah, things are going to be fine.