It feels like high-school presentation day all over again. His palms are damp, but this time he wipes them on his well-tailored dress slacks instead of jeans. There are no more postcards crammed with his tiny script; instead, he has a three-ring binder carefully filled with documentation of his progress in the lab. Every intern was required to take on a personal project and see it through, and now that the business season was coming to an end, they were meant to give a presentation on their efforts. To Tony himself.
“It’s no fair,” one of the other intern gripes just loud enough for him to hear. “Parker is dating Stark. It’s fucking biased.”
Peter’s face gets red, but he clutches the binder tighter. It won’t be biased. Tony probably won’t even be the one who assesses him; surely it will be Pepper. Maybe both of them, together. Ever since he and Tony discovered they had feelings for each other, they’d gone to great lengths to be scrupulous. Peter had transferred to Dr. Banner’s lab instead of Tony’s own; they made sure to disclose their relationship to Pepper and HR. Any decisions on Peter’s salary had to go through Pepper herself. It was by the fucking book. But that didn’t stop people from whispering.
“Hey, Peter,” someone asks. “Are you going to suck Stark’s dick to make sure he gives you an A plus plus?”
Everyone laughs. Peter says nothing. His aunt tried to teach him that if one has nothing nice to say, then one shouldn’t say anything at all. He keeps his unseeing eyes on his binder, pretending to scan his notes despite being half-blind with embarrassment. It hurts a little more than he’d like to admit, years of hard work attributed to sex.
“Don’t you know? Sucking Stark’s dick is how he got the internship in the first place.”
The door opens on the hallway where the interns are crowding, waiting to present. Tony is there in the doorway, cutting the fucking most intimidating figure Peter’s ever seen in his three piece suit. His glasses are tinted, red today, almost dark enough to obscure his eyes completely. The tie around his neck was around Peter’s wrists the night before. He’s absolutely done that on purpose, Peter thinks, shifting. He lowers the binder in front of his crotch.
“Simmons, you’re up. Step to,” Tony barks. One pale intern steps forward and disappears into the room. After that, there isn’t much talking. Without seats, some people sit on the floor, legs crossed, flipping through their notes and making last minute notations in the margins.
One by one they are called in. Only one person leaves in tears, a boy younger than Peter who also works in Dr. Banner’s lab. The mood in the hallways grows even tenser, if such a thing is possible.
Then the hallway is empty, only Peter left.
Tony appears in the doorway again. His tie has been loosened somewhere between intern 9 and 10, his hair even more of a raucous mess than usual (which Peter figures does not bode well for the projects that came before his). He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and enters the room.
Pepper isn’t there. It’s just Tony sitting behind the desk. The walls are glass from floor to ceiling, the sun just beginning to go down on this side of the city, turning the sky into a beautiful orange haze. Peter stops, suddenly awkward around this man he’s been dating for months now. This man he’s slept with, dined with, watched Netlix with.
“Shouldn’t Pepper be here too?” Peter asks.
“Why would she be?” Tony asks, blankly. Peter wishes he’d take off those sunglasses. As sexy as Peter finds them to be (and isn’t that mortifying in itself), he’s missing the cues he can read in his older lover’s eyes.
“You know,” Peter says. “Because we’re--we--”
“We’re dating, yes. But I’ve assured Pepper that I will be the picture of objectivity for once,” Tony says. But it isn’t Tony. This is Mr. Stark. His voice is cool, detached. He’s already got a fresh piece of paper in front of him, pen sleek and silver and poised to kill. “Begin whenever you’re ready, Mr. Parker.”
Peter swallows. Mr. Parker. God, why is he getting hard right now? Clearing his throat, he opens his binder with shaking fingers. The words swim in front of his eyes, no matter how many times he blinks to clear them. He becomes aware of a noise, rhythmic, impatient: Mr. Stark is tapping his pen on the desk.
Taking in a deep breath, Peter tries to disengage from his cock (yeah, he’s hard, no denying it, and if Mr. Stark sits forward enough, he’ll be able to see it) and focus on his project. He knows this. He’s been working on this for four months now, and he’s made some progress that had even Dr. Banner excited.
He begins to outline it: the objective first, then the foundation of his personal project. He’s run the numbers; he knows what he’s talking about. The more he talks, the more comfortable and confident he becomes, even stepping back to the whiteboard to write a few equations and demonstrate his thesis.
But then he looks up and sees Mr. Stark, pen still tapping, looking bored.
And his erection, wilted by science, returns all at once.
“Am I making sense, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks, voice low and hoarse.
He sees Tony’s eyebrows lift beyond the dark frames of his glasses. “I can follow along, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I--yes, of course.” Peter presses forward, detailing the progress that had already been made by previous scientists in this area in particular, the biases in their work that he was hoping to avoid. The more he talks, the more Mr. Stark’s stoicism cuts him. Makes him ache in his dress pants. He’s never wanted to impress a man more, never wanted a man’s approval so badly.
“Mr. Parker,” Mr. Stark interrupts--only Peter had stopped talking mid-sentence. He reaches up and lowers his glasses, looking at Peter with cool, amused eyes. They flicker down to his obvious erection. “Do you need a moment?”
Peter licks his dry lips. “For what, sir?” he asks. Mr. Stark’s eyes goes heavy lidded at the moniker, until he gently nudges his glasses back in place to obscure the sight of them. His lips twitch, but then he lifts a hand, motioning for Peter to proceed.
Peter does, feeling full of energy, full of static ready to burst at any moment. He’s attuned to Mr. Stark’s every move, the impatient glance at his watch, when he stops listening to text on his cellphone. It all makes Peter harder, humiliated, more desperate, boxers soaked where the head of his cock leaks. But he channels his desperation into determination.
He starts to discuss the breakthrough he made. He hasn’t even mentioned this to his boyfriend, not even during their pillow talks and dinner dates. It’s been hard keeping his progress a secret, but it’s all worth it now for the deliberate, slow motion as Mr. Stark sits down his phone, steeples his hands in front of him on the desk. Peter has his attention now, and it’s a heady thing. It makes him all the harder.
“Go on,” Mr. Stark says, voice firm. He doesn’t look affected the way Peter is, but he’s obviously interested in what Peter is saying, so the intern presses forward, detailing the implications of what this successful project means.
At last, he’s finished. He’s out of breath. He feels like he was fucked, though he is still aching. For several long second, Mr. Stark continues to sit at his desk, hands clasped, staring at Peter (through Peter? At the board behind Peter? It’s so hard to tell). Abruptly, he stands, and--
He’s hard, cock obscene in the dark pinstripes of his suit. When he speaks, his voice is low and hard, “You’re fucking brilliant, Mr. Parker, do you know that?”
In one motion, Mr. Stark clears the desk. Peter nearly sprints across the office, a little needy sound escaping his throat. Going around the desk will take a half second longer, and it’s a half second too much, so Peter lifts a leg to kneel on the glossy wood and crawls over it to Mr. Stark’s open, waiting mouth. They share the filthiest kiss, all tongues and groans and teeth scraping raw lips.
Mr. Stark grabs him by the hair, wrenches his head back until his cries out, then mouths hotly at his jaw, sucking a bruise beneath his chin. His stubble scratches, just the right side of painful, and when he speaks, his teeth scrape Peter’s skin. “What would those pedestrian interns think if they saw you now? I heard the way they spoke about you out there, saying you sucked the boss’s cock to get where you are. Combine all their brains, and they couldn’t have made half the discovery you did. Smart little shit, aren’t you? Did it make you anxious, baby, not knowing if you were impressing your boss?”
“Yes, sir,” Peter whines.
“You always impress me,” Mr. Stark says. How he can be so tender and filthy, Peter will never know. He drags the younger man to the edge of the glossy desk and then sits back in his chair, scooting closer, pressing himself between Peter’s thighs. Peter reaches out and nudges at the glasses. Words are beyond him, not enough blood in his brain to think with, but Mr. Stark understands what he wants. He always does.
Reaching up, Mr. Stark takes the glasses off, showing warm, aroused eyes. Then, with painful gentleness, he reaches out and puts the glasses on Peter, making sure the arms are tucked properly over his ears.
Mr. Stark reaches for Peter’s belt, undoing it with practiced fingers. “You just sit back, Mr. Parker,” he says slyly. “I’ll do the work.”
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