Archive of Our Own ^beta

Peter sits on the edge of the bathtub, legs lathered in shaving cream with a razor in his hand. At this point, his routine is second nature, shave himself bare, get everything clean and smelling sensual, turn himself from sweet to sexy.

He runs the razor up his leg, the blades glide against his skin like butter, clogging the crevices with thick foam and coarse leg hair. He likes the feeling of bare legs, the way they feel against expensive sheets, the way they feel against expensive men, it's nice. Doesn't mean it's not a pain in the ass.

Speaking of pains in the ass, Peter got his entire groin and rear waxed that morning, so luckily he won't have to contort his body to shave that.

Peter shaves his calves and thighs completely bare before soaking himself in the tub with luxurious oils and salts to clean him, relax him and make his skin silky smooth. Days when he's working, he takes two hot baths, one before work and one after. Today is one of those days.

When his skin goes soft he uses a scrub on his feet, elbows and knees to get them up to par with the rest of him before draining the tub. Before his skin dries, he quickly lathers himself in fragrant lotions from the base of his neck to the tips of his toes.

He spritzes a nice-smelling mist into his hair and on his decolletage, uses a light mousse in his hair to keep it soft and in-place. Then he brushes his teeth and washes his face, applies creams and serums before applying clear eyebrow gel to make his wonky eyebrow almost-match his other one.

He steps out of the bathroom and immediately puts on aloe socks because he might be in uncomfortable shoes all night, before he starts getting dressed.

Every time Peter gets ready for work, he contemplates wearing something that he's comfortable in. As much as he likes dressing up and getting sexy, the specific type of sexy never fails to make him a bit uncomfortable. He slips the black lace thong on and adjusts himself into it comfortably, pulls the matching bralette over his head and tugs it down. Then black lace stockings, a pair of black slacks and a dark gray button-up.

The duffle on the bed receives the majority of Peter's attention, after that. He packs toys, a nice pair of handcuffs, his favorite lube and a long strip of condoms. He's meeting a new client tonight, the excitement and nervousness is almost overwhelming but he pushes through and reminds himself it's work. Professionalism.

Once the duffle is packed, Peter slips on his black pumps and heads to the hotel. It's his most frequented hotel, The Mark, most of the staff seem to recognize him these days. They never make a fuss, so neither does Peter.

The client asked for a full night of 'whatever he can get with ten thousand dollars', which Peter calculates to be just about anything the guy wants.

He double-checks his phone to make sure he has the right floor and room number before getting on the elevator and walking down the hall. When he knocks on the door, it takes the client a moment to answer, but when he does, there stands the son of the merchant of death, Tony Stark.

"Hey there gorgeous," the guy says, leaning on the door frame. "Jeez, you look fantastic."

Peter hums, letting his confident facade slip over him. A guy like Tony Stark must be seeking out the sexy act, a handsome young man with a reputation for bedding only the prettiest. "This is just my outerwear," Peter smirks. "May I come in? Or do you prefer hallway carpet over beds?"

Tony takes Peter's wrist and tugs him inside the room in one smooth motion. "Better?"

Peter nods. "Before we start, any kinks or hard limits?"

"A few. Want anything to drink?" Tony asks, motioning his head towards the wet bar on the other side of the room.

"Water, thank you." Tony brings Peter back a water a moment later, a finger of scotch in his own glass. They both sit on the sofa.

"I trust this will all remain confidential?" Peter nods, maintaining confident eye contact while taking a drink of his water. "I'd like for you to call me daddy."

Peter smiles. "Not a problem."

"I'd like if you um, feigned a bit of innocence. Not necessarily role-play, but definitely a bit of an act." Peter gulps, he's not sure his outfit will suit that kind of play.

"Yeah, just like that."

"I'm dressed for something else, is that um-" Peter's been doing this for almost three years, he doesn't get nervous like this. He's supposed to maintain a controlled image, careful and sexy above all else.

"That's alright, I might have something for you." The man is wearing pitch black slacks and a crisp white button-up, void of wrinkles. His shining, black leather shoes make a powerful sound against the marble floors. Peter can't imagine what a guy like this wants to see Peter in, but he's getting ten grand in the morning, so he isn't inclined to care much.

"Hard limits?" Peter croaks before clearing his throat. Tony just smiles at him.

"Not a fan of receiving, not into any painplay or degradation. I like to keep things sweet, make you feel good, help you make me feel good." Peter's been with doms, been with plenty of filthy old men who wanted Peter to lick their shoes clean, who pressed the bottoms of their shoes against Peter's face while they fucked him, plenty of filthy old men with filthy old fantasies that he was tasked with fulfilling.

Never had he been tasked with nothing but "being sweet", but interpersonally, this is right up Peter's alley. Soft and snuggly and warm, prefering soft pastels over the traditional red and black, prefers cute little briefs over sexy thongs and heels. Peter, while at home, got off on rubbing a blanket or sleeves up and down over his stiff, leaking prick until he came all over the soft fabric. He thinks Tony might like that.

"I think I can do that," Peter chuckles. "Is that everything?"

"Yeah, pretty much. How about you, gorgeous?"

"You saw my hard limits when you set this up?" Peter asks, Tony nods. "Kinks I guess are pretty similar to yours, and I really enjoy getting face-fucked."

The man raises an eyebrow at him. "I can work with that. Why don't you set your glass down, come sit on daddy's lap."

Peter feels a sharp tingling thrill run through him at Tony calling himself daddy, referring to himself by such a title, it gets Peter a little bit discombobulated. But he's been asked for something, and most men like Tony don't like to be kept waiting.

He stands smoothly, nudges his pants a little higher by the belt so he can spread his thighs and straddle Tony's. When he's maneuvered into a position comfortable for the both of them, Tony starts rubbing his hands up and down Peter's sides, veers them to his chest, then up his neck and into his hair.

Peter loves getting his hair pulled, whimpers a bit when Tony's fingernails scritch against his scalp. "You like that, baby?" Peter moves to nod, is stopped by the hand in his hair clenching into a fist. "Words?"

"Yes," Peter gasps.

"Yes what?"

"Yes daddy," he pants.

"Good," Tony murmurs, releasing his grip and stroking Peter's hair sweetly. "You're gonna be real good for me, aren't you?"

"Yes daddy."

Tony hums, trailing his hands back down to Peter's hips. "You kiss, baby?"

"Please," Peter nods, feeling incredibly desperate for affection from the man. Almost immediately, his lips are caught in a hot, wet kiss. Tony's tongue slips in his mouth and rubs against Peter's own, against the roof of his mouth. Peter sucks on it, savors the warm taste of scotch and saliva and man.

For a guy not much older than Peter, Tony has an air of masculinity not too unlike that of a tough businessman, the type Peter is more used to. But Tony is strong in place of mean, uses his confidence to dominate Peter rather than unnecessary aggression.

Tony's teeth nip Peter's lip and bring him back down a bit. "Why don't you show me what you thought I'd like, then we'll see if I wanna put you in something else."

Peter takes a deep breath, grounds himself in preparation for a strip tease. He thinks about what Tony's into, the contrast between it and what Peter's used to. So he goes with what he'd like to do, what comes more naturally to him.

Peter untucks his shirt, carefully schools himself to avoid putting on much of a show, focuses on exactly how he's feeling. Nervous, excited, painfully horny in the presence of Tony. He fumbles a bit with the buttons on his shirt, without the intentional care being put into maintaining sensual confidence, he finds himself fumbling with a lot of things.

Once his shirt is gone, he unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his slacks and shuffles them down his legs before stepping out of them, his high heel catches on the fabric a bit, but he catches himself, shoots an apologetic glance to Tony, who looks more aroused than amused, blessed be.

After that, Peter's stood under the evaluating gaze of his suitor, decked out in black lace that most men would pay extra for. There is definite scrutiny in Tony's eyes. "You don't like wearing all this, do you?" The man swirls a finger in the air, motioning to Peter's get-up.

Peter considers his transparency before shaking his head. "No, daddy."

"C'mere," Tony stands from the sofa and walks through the doorway into the bedroom of the suite. A moment of rifling through the closet, Tony turns to face Peter with a pale blue sweatshirt waving from the hanger in his hand. "Why don't you change into this? I'm gonna step in the bathroom to freshen up."

Tony's treating this faded...MIT sweatshirt as if it were the sexiest treat Peter could wear, wants to see Peter in it almost as badly as Peter wants to wear it. He brings the fabric to his nose and takes in a deep breath.

Peter hurries out of his heels, stockings and lingerie before pulling the soft fabric over his head. It's so soft that it makes his hair staticy, smooths over his skin like silk. It comes down to mid-thigh, covers his delicates beautifully, leaving an obscene tent where his erection is excitedly standing straight out.

When Tony emerges from the bathroom he looks like absolute sin, toned, tanned chest on display, perfect ab muscles covered in a smooth layer of soft-looking flesh. He has probably the sexiest happy-trail Peter's ever seen, slacks still on but his shirt is completely unbuttoned and open, belt unbuckled and hanging on either side of his hips.

"Holy shit," Tony breathes, looking just as entranced by Peter as Peter is by Tony. A slip in either’s power.

"Back atcha." Peter whispers. Tonight is gonna be one for the books. Tony takes a few steps forward, Peter meets him halfway, but Tony takes the final step in pressing their bodies together, Peter's dick slips against the soft sweater before gliding up between them.

"You look so sweet for me, baby." Tony whispers reverently. "Could just eat you right up."

Peter whimpers, clings onto the open shirt framing Tony's chest. "May I have another kiss?"

Tony makes him wait for it, inches in slowly and smirks when it makes Peter huff. Finally, Tony's lips touch his, open-mouthed from the start, sloppy and fleshy when the older man's plump lips close softly around Peter's bottom lip.

Then it's filthy, slippery, tongues lazily rubbing each other's. Peter feels precome leak against the inside of the sweater. "'M gettin' wet on your shirt, daddy."

Tony groans, throws his head back and sweeps his hands over Peter's shoulders. "You're a fucking minx, aren't you?" Tony asks. "Dirty little boy."

Peter moans, hips stuttering from a fondly worded insult. Tony keeps talking, for better or worse. "You gettin' worked up, baby? Little bit of kissing and you're basically humping me, poor thing." The gently condescending tone settles deep inside Peter's belly, he feels like he could fit in Tony’s pocket, cradled against his warm chest like this.

Tony pulls their bodies apart, Peter's dick slides back into its original position, only for Tony to reach down and rub a fingertip over the clothed head. "Oh," Peter stutters out in a gasp.

"Fuck, as much as I'd like to tease you all night, and believe me, I really, truly would, we gotta get to business before I bust in my pants." Tony says, mouthing at Peter's neck.

Peter can only reply with an emphatic "Yes please," before Tony's crowding in on him even more, backing him up until his knees hit the bed and he falls onto his back. He might not get his face fucked tonight, but he’ll be treating whatever he does get like the treasure it is.

"Knees up, baby." Tony murmurs. Peter lifts his knees to his chest just in time to see Tony sink to his knees. Peter's been eaten out by clients before, maybe twice, but the fact that Tony just claimed he was nearly bursting already, and is now lowering his face into Peter's groin has Peter all sorts of surprised.

First thing Tony does is suck both of Peter's balls into his mouth, slurping loudly around them and laving his tongue all over his taint. Peter almost kicks the man in the face, pure shock causing him to jolt. "Sit still sweetheart, let daddy taste."

He barely has a chance to catch his breath before Tony is diving back in and licking fat stripes over his hole. Peter's moans are unrestrained, not for a lack of trying on his part, but Tony is sucking on his rim, licking and slurping with heavy breaths like he's running a marathon.

Peter's never been eaten out like this, like his pleasure is somehow secondary to his partner just generally wanting to. Tony eats him out like a man in famine, like a man who needs, not like the man who can have anything he wants at the snap of a finger.

Tony plunges his tongue into Peter like he can't hold back anymore, rubs his tongue against Peter's walls as he tongue-fucks his hole. Peter cries out, body trembling with tension strung tight, feels like he could snap at any moment, and then what?

"Fuck me, daddy, please fuck me!" Peter wails. Body moving away from the face buried in his crack. Tony says no, not with words but with arms hooking around Peter's thighs and dragging him back, with firmer sucks that feel like hickies on his hole. It's all so, so much, inching towards too much and that's when Tony stops.

The man pulls back, panting for breath, and wipes his mouth on his forearm before standing and dropping his pants and underwear all together. Tony's cock is a sight to behold, long and thick, just on the right side of too heavy. But it's hard like a branch, swaying when Tony kicks his slacks aside.

Peter could cry, it's such a pretty dick. "Want you in me daddy."

"Ask politely, sweetheart." Tony pants while pulling a condom from the night stand. Peter vaguely remembers bringing some, forgotten in the duffle he abandoned by the door, but of course Tony is a perfect client, of course he has his own.

"Please, may I have your cock?" Peter whines, body squirming and shifting against the sheets while he watches Tony roll a condom onto his own erection, watches him lube himself up before slipping two fingers inside Peter.

"Yeah baby, you can have it. Might be a little big on you though." Tony seems just as out of it as Peter feels, wonders if there's a soft, floaty space for people like Tony. Tony fingers him open quickly and efficiently, probably about as fast as Peter could do it, himself.

But Tony's thick fingers stretching his rim open is heavenly, everything Tony does is heavenly. And then he's lining up and sinking in and it's no longer heaven but something better, something grander and more vast than the heavens of all holy books because Tony stares into Peter's eyes the whole journey in, bouncing back and forth between the left and the right

Tony's eyes are wet-looking, like he's overwhelmed, like he's not sunlight beaming from behind darkness. Startlingly beautiful and too bright. But this is a car accident in slow motion, Peter can't stop staring at the golden lining around the moon. The sirens blare, the wrecker trucks are coming.

His retinas may never be the same. Peter knows he's got tears in his own eyes too, feels some drip from the corners and run down into his ears. This eclipse is so beautiful and it may only come around once in a lifetime. How could he possibly close his eyes now?

This is something else. Tony's mouth opens in ecstacy, brows furrowed into an emotion-filled expression while he pulls out a bit and all the way back in, never looking away.

"Tony," Peter whispers wetly, forgoing their agreed-upon titles for a minute while he reckons with the feeling in his chest.

"Yes," Tony whispers, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"You-?" Feel it too?

"Yes," Tony says, blankets his body over Peter's and presses their foreheads together while he fucks into Peter with slow, deep strokes.

"Oh god, right there." Peter gasps, wrapping his arms around Tony's shoulders and threading his fingers into the man's hair.

"Yeah? I'm- shit, Peter." Tony pants against Peter's mouth.

"Me too, just- keep," Peter's so close, so close, teetering off the edge of a peak so steep he can do nothing but cling to the man on top of him, whimper with every thrust, every brush against his prostate. He's gonna come he's- "'M comin', Tony, oh-"

Tony slams into him once, twice before they come in near-unison, Tony groaning while he moves them through it slowly, yet as deep as he could possibly go and Peter, silent aside from harsh, aborted breaths.

This is unreal, there's no way. Peter is a performer, he doesn’t play games like this. To pull something so cliche and dangerous as falling for a client after one time.

"I'm not gonna um, I'm not gonna ask anything of you. I know how this works, ya know?" Tony mumbles after they've cleaned up, laying together side-by-side on the wrinkled sheets.

"Was that different? For you?"

"Cosmically," Tony replies in a whisper. "It's not...conventional, but neither is anything else, I guess."

"I want," Peter dares to whisper to the ceiling, watches his words drift down like the first snow of the year, closes his eyes and waits for them to reach his suitor.

And they do, the sheets move as Tony shrugs. "You have." Simple as anything. The cosmos has smiled upon them.