#spiderio

Spiderio in the nutshell 💚🕷️

So after Tony died and when this happened:

UNTITLED

Chapter 1: its done on myway

//its done.  On myway home.  get naked and get raedy//   

Quentin blinked at the message on his phone.  He didn’t know if he should be amused or alarmed.  His boyfriend had only recently gotten bold enough to flirt via text, but… asking him to get naked?    That would have been hot - if it weren’t for the fumbled spelling.  Not exactly ‘typos’ - not when you were ‘typing’ with your thumbs - but Peter hated those.  Always checked his texts twice before sending them - even handing them over to Quentin to double-double check if they were important - before hitting ‘send.’  Sending texts in a hurry wasn’t like Peter.

Also, he wasn’t getting naked before Peter got home.  He preferred for his younger lover to do those honors.

He was just about to text that when his lover’s special chime signaled another incoming message.

//Better get in the shower Im gonna jump on you the moment i get in teh door//

Quentin stared at his phone.

Then he walked over to the window looking down onto the street Peter would take to get to his front stoop.

Wondering, not for the first time, if his assignation [okay, his hook up] with Mr. Stark was really a good idea.

//I’m off the subway.  r u hard yet?//

He couldn’t say that he wasn’t.  Being propositioned via his phone was… well okay it wasn’t something that had NEVER happened to Quentin, but it certainly had never happened before with Peter.  And yes, he was certainly aroused.  He looked around his tiny apartment and did what he could to get ready for Peter’s arrival… but that wasn’t much.  He cleaned up the detritus on the bedroom floor, then on the kitchen table, as if Peter was going to care about that.  The bed was already cleared, as was the shower.  There really wasn’t anything to do until his boyfriend arrived.

Except…

//are you okay?// Quentin was in the process of typing when the next message came in.

//DONT shower first.  I need you on top of me.//

And then, as if to define that non-sequitur….

//I NEED TO SMELL LIKE YOU.//

Quentin blinked at the phone in his hand.  Then he blinked again.  He canceled the text he had typed, baffled.  He looked down at himself…  

He took off his shoes.  He honestly couldn't think of anything else to do.  He reread Peter’s texts, then re-reread them, still unsure if he was more aroused or alarmed.

//on my way to you now//

It was only when Quentin saw Peter running down the street that he took Peter’s very first text seriously.  He shed his pants, and was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt by the time Peter came pelting down the hallway.  He held the door open as Peter entered the room.

He closed the door behind the younger boy.  He asked no questions.  He was bigger than his boyfriend, and he used that to his advantage now.   Bending his knees as he wrapped Peter up in his arms.  Standing, he lifted Peter off his feet and, kissing him, walked him straight into the next room and tumbled them both onto the bed.

“On me, I need you on me,” Peter was whimpering, and Quentin tried to answer.  To say something.  Something about being there for Peter, something about being willing to give Peter anything he needed.  But it was impossible to talk with Peter’s tongue in his mouth.  

They had never done it this way - with Peter stripping himself furiously, pulling Quentin’s shirt off so violently he was in danger of ripping it.  Quentin was kind of a romantic, and Peter had always been shy.  Not afterward, at least not after dark - after the lovemaking he had been happy to lounge around in Quentin’s tiny apartment in the nude, as long as the curtains were carefully drawn and the lights kept low.  But they had never gone straight to sex without at least some kissing first - some kissing, and some working the clothing off one piece at a time.  Peter had been a little timid in the bedroom when they had first started dating… a little hesitant, a little body shy.  He wasn’t inexperienced, he was a good looking guy and had enjoyed a few hookups, but he described Quentin as his first lover.  And Quentin had no problem with that at all.  Foreplay, to him, was the best part.  Although now, after so many months of dating, Quentin certainly knew how to hurry things along when he had to.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he said, or tried to say, but Peter kissed him silent.  

He stopped trying to analyze.  He acted instead of thinking (and hadn’t he once advised Peter to do the same?)  No romance tonight?  Quentin could adjust.  He was, after all, bigger than Peter.  Stronger.  Peter was kneeling on the bed.  Quentin was standing next to it.  Pulling away from the fierce kiss suddenly, he grabbed Peter’s leg with both hands and yanked it forward, causing Peter to fall backward with a little cry of surprise.  Then Quentin jumped onto the bed, forcefully pulling Peter’s hips toward him, and gobbled up his cock without warning.

He hoped Peter was impressed.

But it still wasn’t enough.  “On me, I need you ON me,”  he was panting.  Begging.  Quentin’s mouth was currently full, but still he tried to comply.  Still keeping Peter in his mouth, he moved his body around until he was lying completely on top of his younger lover.  They were in 69 position now, although Peter did not take advantage of it.  Instead he wrapped his arms around Quentin’s waist and moaned, writhing beneath him.

But only for a few moments.  Then Peter was pushing him off again… and that was okay.  He liked it when Peter came in his mouth, but he also liked to make Peter come when they were face to face.  He looked up and tried to understand what Peter was telling him.

“More… no no no, your mouth…” Peter moaned, trying to pull Quentin’s head up toward him while also pushing it down, until finally Quentin got it.  He licked and kissed his way up Peter’s body, thrilling at the feel of Peter’s demanding hand fisting his hair.  They had never done it like this, and Quentin loved it, even though he didn’t understand it.  

“More… I want to SMELL like you,” Peter was growling, and it just made Quentin grin.  

Laying his whole body on top of Peter’s, he began licking every inch of Peter’s face, sucking on both earlobes, licking and nipping at the shell of each ear.

“Oh god yes,” Peter moaned when he felt Quentin’s teeth.  “Mark me.” 

He was whimpering and squirming as Quentin ran his tongue all along Peter’s collar bone.  Quentin was dizzy, he was so hard.  He had never thought of, never imagined Peter like this.  Peter had begged before, but he had never demanded.  Not like now.

“Nonono bite me!” Peter was demanding now.  “Harder…” But he only yelped when Quentin actually bit him hard enough on the shoulder to leave a mark.

“Trust me,” Quentin growled back, taking Peter’s honey curls in one firm hand and forcing his head to one side, holding him still.  God this was hot.  Peter whimpered but compiled.  Giving time for Quentin to settle in to suck bruises into just the right spot.

He chose a spot on Peter’s right shoulder.  Just high enough so Peter would be sure to see it in the morning while he shaved, but just low enough to be properly covered by Peter’s professional dress shirt.

He couldn’t exactly send the boy to his internship at Stark Incorporated with a fresh hickey on his neck, could he? 

Peter whimpered and writhed, his hand trying to scratch down Quentin’s back, up his bicep, comb though his hair.  But there was nothing for him to do but wait-  Quentin was determined.  If the boy wanted to be marked, then by God he was gonig to be marked.  He pulled his mouth away with a loud smack, moved down an inch, licking and kissing before he sank his mouth down in order ot do damage.  Not as fiercely this time, not on this spot that might show under Peter’s collared shirt - a ghost of a bruise.  

To mark him.

To show who he belonged to.

“Yes, yes, mark me Q, make me yours,” Peter was whimpering, and Quentin couldn’t help himself.  Breaking away from Petr’s skin, he lifted his head.

“Baby, what’s wrong…” he started, only to have the words crushed under Peter’s desperate kiss.

“Fuck me,” Peter growled against his mouth, and after that Quentin had no more questions.

He had Peter slicked up, kneeling between spread legs, and had just slicked himself up when Peter surprised him by scrambling to his knees and pushing him down on his back.  Quentin let himself be pushed - for a little guy Peter was surprisingly strong - and didn’t ask questions when Peter pushed him flat onto his back and straddled his cock.  Peter mounted him and had him inside so fast it made him hiss and swear, but when he was fully seated (without being injured!) he put both hands on Peter’ s waist and did his best to comply with his lover’s request, the things Peter was still panting.  He sank his fingers into Peter’s waist hard enough to leave bruises (he hoped) and started fucking upward, trusting his hips hard enough to lift peter off the bed, bouncing him for all he was worth.  For a short time there was no more talking.  Peter closed his eyes and let his head fall backward, making short, breathless moans.   

But even that didn’t last long.  Peter swung his body forward and bent down, cupping Quentin’s face with his hands.  Kissing him first, then moving his skin to Quentin’s mouth.  His neck, his shoulder.  He pulled away from Quentin’s cock (a good thing - at this pace, Quentin wasn’t going to last long - and put his nipple into Quentin’s open mouth.  “Bite me,” he pleaded, and Quentin tried, opening his mouth wide and sinking his teeth into the skin around the pebbled flesh.

It was when he actually hurt Peter that things finally slowed down.  He had moved his mouth to Peter’s ribs for a bite and heard an actual yelp, which led to separating, a little breathless giggling, and a realignment of bodies.  Peter lay his stomach down against the bed and reached back.  “Please… Quentin… give it to me…”

Quentin considered for a moment.  He wanted to ask questions, to find out what had gone wrong on this night, on the Official Night that Peter had, officially, hooked up with his boss, the infamous Mr. Stark himself.  Ask why Peter had left the highly anticipated assignation only to come back, come running back, into his arms.

On the other hand, maybe Peter would be more comfortable answering questions later.

“Oh, I’ll give it to you angel,” Quentin growled.  He climbed over Peter’s body, hovering over him for a few moments the way Peter liked it, letting the smaller man feel the size difference of bodies, teasing him for just a few moments before slipping inside.  He let Peter feel his cock several moments more before laying their bodies together.  It was much better this way – being on top, he could control the pace, which meant this night could last as long as he wanted to.

“You’re going through a 40s crisis, that’s what is it.”

But when Tony throws a party, he spares no fucking expense.

Quentin disappears somewhere halfway through the party and Tony finds him in one of the empty rooms upstairs, cock and balls deep in a cute young thing in a pizza delivery uniform.

“I hired escorts for you, expensive ones, no offense to you, honey-“ He tells the cute boy currently pinned beneath Quentin’s muscled frame, eyes glazed.

“What? He’s not the stripper you hired for me? I thought you wanted it a little cringe - have him in a delivery outfit.”

“If I wanted it to be cringe, I’d have him in a fucking pleated skirt and a white dress shirt with knee-high stockings.”

Jesus, there’s cum streaked on the boy’s face, on his chest, his cheeks are splotched red, but he doesn’t protest when Quentin lifts his legs up to his shoulder and practically bends Peter’s knees against his chest.

“So-“ Quentin says breathlessly. “You didn’t hire him?”

Ah fuck.

Tony vaguely recalls a drunk Natasha and Clint saying they were going to “order so many fucking pizzas”.

“Oh my fucking god-“ The boy does a full body shudder when Quentin really starts pounding into him, and Tony can’t look away from where his red-rimmed (swollen) hole is stretched to accommodate his best friend’s cock. Look, Quentin’s a big fucking man and the small ones don’t really enjoy taking it up the ass that much.

“Fucking hell, Quentin. He’s an actual delivery kid.”

“Could have fooled me.” Quentin grunts out. “His ass is fucking fantastic. Stop bitching, Tony. You wanna have a go? That’s okay, right, Petey? I promise you, Tony’s packing even if his height doesn’t-“

Peter can barely string a coherent sentence together, looking so blissed out.

“You should see the way he sucks cock.”

This is a potentially bad decision, but it’s what Quentin and Tony have always excelled at. He’s already unbuttoning his jeans, taking measured steps towards the bed.

Peter is pretty. Pretty young, his mind supplies unhelpfully.

“How old are you, kid?”

“17.” Quentin throws Tony a “seriously, Tony?” kind of look. “Of course I checked.”

“Glad to know your common sense still triumps over your cock-“

“Hey.” Peter peeks up at Tony from beneath his damp lashes. “Are you two gonna keep talking, or are you gonna fuck my face?”

Quentin shares a grin with Tony and slides his cock out with a half-punched groan, lube and cum giving his cock a wet sheen.

“I like this one.” Quentin dips down and kisses Peter, roughly cupping by him by the nape and squeezing. “Maybe we shoud keep him, Tones.”

Tony knee-walks across the bed, gazing down at Peter’s spit-slicked lips. He could imagine the fun three of them could have together - because hey, of course Tony and Quentin would have the same taste in a fuck toy.

“Well, consider that my wedding gift to you.”

- / -

“Fuck you, Tony. That’s not fair.” Tony laughs when Quentin walks in on one of the empty dressing rooms; Peter’s on his knees, lips wrapped so beautifully around his cock, careful not to get saliva on the suit Tony and Quentin had paid for to be custom-made for the wedding.

“Hey. I’m not the one signing my freedom away.”

Tony watches as his best friend approaches, laying a hand in Peter’s curls, stroking him affectionately. Four months later, and both of them have got quite the massive soft spot for Peter. There are days whereby Tony is amazed how gentle Quentin can be when he’s around Peter.

“Look, you made him sad that you’re getting married. It’s okay, baby.” Tony coos at the boy playfully. “It’s one less cock for a slut like you, but- ouch!”