Something Little From My WIP Folder
Sweet Dreams Are Made Of These
Tony knew what Peter liked. He understood Peter. That’s why he was standing up straight, looking unimpressed. He put one knee on the bed, close to Peter’s body without touching him. Finally, he looked down at the boy, still feigning disinterest.
And Peter was certainly willing to play the game. He looked up. He had to tilt his head all the way back to look into Tony’s eyes….
Which was when Tony began to stroke Peter’s cheek, his chin. Then he ran his fingers over Peter’s lips…
…then, slowly, he undid his belt.
Just as slowly he pulled it free from his slacks. He didn’t drop it to the floor immediately, but following a sudden impulse, he folded a loop in the belt and used it to stroke Peter’s cheek.
“You like being my ‘good boy’ I think? Do you like being my good boy, Petie?” He leaned over to whisper in the ear, teasing the shell with his beard. And then with the leather of the belt. “Do you think you might be my good boy tonight?
"I know you like to get on your knees in front of me, I know it gets you hard. Would you like to get on your knees for me now?”
“Yes sir,” Peter breathed, barely audible.
“I didn’t hear that, Parker.”
Peter swallowed hard and tried again. “I said, yes sir, Mr. Stark. I would like to be your good boy tonight, sir.”
“But aren’t you taking the bus to work this morning?”
“I want to be your… huh?”
Peter tried to look around, but realized he couldn’t turn his head because his head was caught between his soft pillow and another human being. Another human with a beard who was nuzzling against him and asking him what time he had to get up. Ah yes, that beard. That beard felt very good on his shoulder, where it was nuzzling now. It would feel even better in between his shoulder blades, and if he turned over onto his stomach that beard would certainly be doing exactly that, while the rest of his lover’s body would be doing even nicer things…
…that beard that very much belonged to Quentin Beck. Whom he was dating. Whose bed he was currently sleeping in. Who was getting very amorous, and who had certainly taken Peter’s moans and movement for assent.
“Sorry… bathroom… urgent… gotta go…” Peter said, awkwardly pushing the older man away as he scrambled from the bed.
Inside the bathroom, door safely closed, Peter turned on the cold water in the sink to cover the noise of his not-peeing. He didn’t need to relieve himself, he had to wake up. Cold water on his face and hands helped a little, but not by much. This was no good – he should have never agreed to stay the night with Quentin. Now he was going to have to go back and face that man and…
…but he could do it. He could, he realized.
All he had to do was keep the lights on.
He did, and he did. It was still dark outside, it was barely six am and the city was just waking up, but the room was well lit from the bathroom light and the light of the lamp on the side of the bed Peter had slept on. Quentin whispered to Peter as he reached for him, whispered for him to turn them off, but Peter only shook his head ‘no.’
“I want to see you,” he lied.
Quentin liked that, his handsome face breaking out into a smile. Taking Peter into his arms, agreeing that the light was a good idea. “I love looking at your beautiful body,” he was murmuring, teasing Peter’s ear with the maddening scrape of his beard, pushing the sheets and covers away so Peter couldn’t even hide underneath them. That meant they were going to do it like this, lights on and everything, which would be a first time for Peter. But it had to be that way.
As long as the lights were on, Peter couldn’t pretend that Quentin was Tony Stark.
