#rea-writes

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Peter doesn’t flinch when the hand snakes around his waist. Warm and all encompassing and too low to be remotely professional. He’d recognize the gait anywhere. It’s almost pathetic- he’s only known the man for weeks and he can pick him from a crowd. But he’s Tony Stark. Peter has spent years thinking about the man. About his smell, his muscles, his everything. It’s hardly a surprise that in the few times they’ve interacted Peter can tell from the sound of creaking Italian leather and heavy rubber soles exactly who’s been trailing behind him for the last few corridors.

It’s just the two of them now. Peter can just barely hear the sounds of the bustling offices surrounding them over Stark industries sound proofing. But there hasn’t been a soul in at least the corridors and Peters sure Tony had a part in that if his tightening grip means anything. He lets the man take the lead- no longer walking aimlessly- aware but unable to act. Peter is slightly taller than the man, but hunched in on himself and leaning into the too low touch it’s barely noticeable.

Before long Peters being shepherded into a storage closet and shoved against the metal door. Tony’s lips are at Peters neck in an instant. Peter melts into the door a desperate pant leaving glistening lips as Tony’s beard scratches at the junction of neck and shoulder. Tony is a quick study- he’s learned the ins and outs of Peter in the few sessions they’ve spent together?

“There’s no cameras right?” Peter asks voice breaking mid sentence. Even though he’s sure he’s been splayed on a hundred different cameras already- the thought makes him squirm. Makes him think of Aunt Mays disappointment if, if, if.

Tony laughs into his neck, and ignores the question while he continues on- mapping every inch of Peters bared throat with teeth and lips and tongue and heat.

“Sweet heart this is Stark tower,” Tony whispers harshly into his ear in a perverse act of privacy they both know is unnecessary. As if he’s given a single shit about Peters modesty since the moment he saw chocolate eyes and indecent fucking lips chewing at the bottom of a pen. “There’s not an inch of this place where I don’t have eyes and ears.”

With that the man turns Peter- and fists at loose curls pulling his head up from where he’s been smushed against the cold metal door. He’s met with the sight of smooth wall- no tiny red lights, no obvious protrusions but Tony is a genius after all and Peter is left blinking away tears of mortification.

“So why don’t you smile for the camera?” Tony’s voice is louder and more demanding- punctuated with the sound of skin and fabric as his slacks and boxers are shoved down in a single move. Everything is too much. Every sound echoing in Peters ears right down to the beat of Tony’s pulse which picks up at the sight of him.

The man’s chuckles reverberate throughout the room. A shiver runs down Peters spine and wines into the door, now warm from the red of his cheeks.

The plug in his ass is pulled out and tossed aside in one fell swoop. Replaced with something- someone else in an instant as Tony drives into him like a starving man.

“Good boy, my good boy. God you look so good like this,” Filth keeps spewing from Tony’s lips as the man sets a punishing pace. One hand gripping bruisingly at his hip and Peters addled brain hates that the proof of this all will be gone come morning. The other still tangled around soft curls forcing Peter to stare directly at the camera even as he’s sobbing and coming undone. “Tell the camera how much you love it. How much you love being my perfect boy, my favorite fucking intern.”

“I love it Mr. Stark. I love being your good boy.” The words come out in barely discernible gasps. Peters sobbing openly at the point. Overstimulated and wanting no needing more.

Tony groans at the title shoving into Peters heat faster and harder.

“You gonna be my little movie star Petey? God cry just like that for the camera so I can watch this any time I think about this ass, these fucking lips,” The hand in his hair releases and shoves into Peters mouth. “So I can fall asleep listening to all these pretty little sounds.”

Tony pulls his fingers from Peters mouth rubbing them on the boys button up before gripping his unattended hip. Trusting without purchase. “You fucking tease. That’s what you want isn’t it baby? Can’t handle just being my favorite intern gotta be my favorite porn star too. Can’t handle me thinking about anything else. You’ve fucking ruined me.”

“Yes, yes, yes, please, please- just me, just me. I want,” Peter mumbles the same words, stumbling over them, coherency lost on him as his orgasm takes hold. “I want to be your favorite porn star.”