Just Another Starker Blog

Tony: Oh, wow. Yeah, I guess I see that. They almost tricked Iron Man, though. 10/10. No notes. Great work at scamming people. I'll suggest they hire Kesha for their next party and invite me

Peter: So... you're going to publicly support a criminal operation?

Tony: I'm just a former billionaire looking to be a mascot for the Robin Hoods, out there. I take care of YOU, don't I?

Peter: That was ONE building! They bulldozed a poor neighborhood to build it, sold units for millions of dollars, AND NEVER FOUND ANY FUCKING TENNANTS. IT'S EMPTY AND IT DISPLACED FAMILIES! IT WAS JUST COPPER... and graffiti. Thankyouforsellingstolencopperforme.

What if years after Tony and Peter started dating. Around Tony's 60 and Peter's 28-32. Tony will begin to truly notice the shortcomings of having a great age gap relationship with a boy, now a man, with super powers.

It's like, Tony getting tired of spending 30 minutes standing in the laboratory and Peter running from here to there with his always energetic mind, having too many ideas at the same time and being a man with the possibilities of making them all reality.

As always, Tony's guilt comes into action and begins to feel that he is stealing his golden years from his husband. Tony can no longer fuck him on each surface without thinking about how that will affect his knees or back. He doesn't have an erection just by seeing Peter in the shower. And every day it's harder for his to keep up with her energetic husband. And although his mind is still just as sharp and agile, his body betrays him by not following the rhythm that already seemed slow to him for his high IQ.

Look at me.

Look at me right now.

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“What is this, some kind of anime bullshit,” The Prowler groans as he’s thrown at the feet of a sparkling throne with a dancer or something draped over the arms.

That -dancer- is actually the ruler of the kingdom this super villain unwittingly infiltrated. Peter “Pinker” Parker. Adorable in mood, appearance, and affectation. Brutal in combat. A mind-numbing contradiction.

“Asks the dumbass in the purple cape,” Peter cackles from where he contorts his body around the throne to show off his baby pink, satin suit with its tinsel pinstripes and giant “PINKER” patch across the ass. He takes a slow tumble from the seat’s cushion to the floor. Standing with ease. Graceful as a ballerina. He sneers at the man his guards are holding to the floor. “I heard you had news for me and tried to -bribe- my guards to let you in. What an insult. I love gossip. You could have just slid into my DMs on Twitter.”

Aaron sighs. He hates when people rip on his cape. It’s useful if you know how to use it. It’s not some dumb superhero thing he grew up dreaming about. It’s definitely not to impress his nephew if he ever gets caught and ends up in the newspaper. “Man, I’m just trying to let you know there’s some guy here who’s real name is Tony Stark. He works for the cops and has a whole case built up on you. My contact at the station says you make one more false move and they got you.”

Peter perks a brow at The Prowler and then cuts his eyes to his crew. They don’t share his aesthetics. Just a group of old, tired men. Trying their best to make it in a world that’s been eaten to death by mob men like him. He pities them… but not enough to treat them any better.

Men like them made his life hell before he got enough power to take any and all of them down on a whim.

“Oh, Tony dear… now that you’ve been caught,” Peter offers as he gestures for his guards to let go of their latest capture. For lack of anything better to do, The Prowler simply prowls behind Peter, hoping he can cut toward the door and leave before he ever has to find out why this kid as a reputation for brutality. “I’d hate to have to kill all of my men just to make sure you don’t finish this case. Be a dear and turn yourself in?”

The saccharine sweetness in his high-pitched voice makes it hard for even Aaron, who knows to be terrified of him, to take him seriously. He edges closer and closer to the exit. Most of the room seems to be focused on Peter’s cotton-candy combat boots and shimmering hair. He commands the room with a flirty twinkle in his eye. “New recruits to the front. Everyone, enforce, please.”

Peter gives a dainty clap while turning on his heel back to Aaron. “Oh, Prowler. I didn’t say you could leave. I have a very special job for you.”

Aaron nods to himself as if accepting that the universe hates him and returns to Peter’s side. Hell, at least the kid let him off the floor. “What do you want from me? I came here to help you out. Maybe have you owe me a favor.”

Peter sighs. His shoulders dropping and eyes rolling. “I’ll pay you. Is that enough?”

Aaron shrugs. “Yeah, actually.”

Peter stops in front of the lined up recruits. In front of Tony Stark, specifically. He taps a hand against the center of the man’s chest and looks to Aaron.

“You seem useful. A genuine mercenary,” Peter says rather cheerfully to Aaron as he taps out a rhythm against the traitor’s heart. “See, most of the men here have seen me carry men up buildings and drop them from the top floor. …or maybe strangle a man with string as thin as a spider’s web. Oh, and I do love blood.”

Aaron meets eyes with Tony Stark. The man looks, reasonably terrified… and he almost feels bad for getting him caught. But hey… one less cop out there looking for him. Tony Stark also looks… 

Aaron and Peter look down at the same time. Notice at the same time. Meet each other’s eyes. 

Petere giggles. “I was going to ask you to use one of those claws to pass me his beating heart… but I think I’ll actually dress him up and have a little fun first.”

Tony wouldn’t usually wander into a place with quadruple guarantees of payment. You know the type. Cover at the door. Two drink minimum to sit. An extra bouncer to keep an eye on you and make sure you buy a drink per half-hour watching the dancers.

Not only were those places fucking annoying (what billionaire wants to be constantly nickel’d & dime’d?) they had a habit of not leaving enough cash on customers to pay for the dancers. If just having a seat costs almost fifty bucks, exactly how many stacks does the working class man have left?

That meant the dancers in these places were… a little worse for wear. Not particularly Tony’s type.

But, he was alone. Bored. …and so damn tired of chandeliers and imported gin. Where was the strip club that mimicked the hole-in-the-wall, pool hall he and Rhodey frequented? Where was the place he could sit back, relax, and not run into a “colleague?”

He chose this place out of a phonebook. Shady neighborhood. Cheesy name. Didn’t answer their phone no matter what time he called. Perfect.

“It’s uh… Tuesday night,” the person at the door said uneasily as he passed over a few hundred dollar Bill’s and asked to not be approached for more money throughout the night.

“Tuesday? What does that mean? You have to bother me?”

“No, sir. It’s um… just not a night for regulars…” the cashier still hasn’t put his money away. Their eyes search around him as if a better answer might appear.

“Look… it took over an hour to find parking, over here. If it’s a private party, just tell them Tony Stark’s here and he’ll…”

“It’s Total Boylesque Tuesday. Full frontal. Dicks, Mr. Stark,” the cashier blurts out. They open the door to allow Tony a peek inside.

Tony’s mouth opens. Shuts. Frowns in consideration. Even as the cashier allows the rickety door to click shut, he feels transfixed by what he’d seen.

“Don’t bother me, again, for money,” Tony says. Suddenly urgent to get inside. To catch the end of Rihanna’s “Umbrella” and the absolute unit in the cheap wig on stage. “Table close to the stage. Tell anyone I was here and this is my last night coming by. Let me keep this one to myself and you’ll see me every Tuesday.”

Peter makes eye contact with his work-wife, Lowe. It's a little pleasing for the audience to watch him stalk, long-legged and modelesque toward her and dance against her. Feeling either Peter's joy or the interest of the crowd, she shakes her short blonde wig with glee. Hands clapping together for the pleasure of seeing Peter's press-ons part his cheeks for the room though right before her smiling face. The simulation of motorboating his ass sends the crowd into a fit of cheers and jeers.

A sudden silence wipes the raucous crowd and Peter turns quickly on the beat. His plan to so floorwork stopped by the immediate realization that thirty men in starched boiler suits and oil-splattered t-shirts were no longer looking to the gender fuckery on stage but a man in a suit that was in the middle of unbuttoning his jacket and taking a seat just to the left of Lowe's table and chair.

The aong continues as Peter's turn morphs expertly into a face-to-face dip right in front of Tony Stark's manspread and Manhattan.

The billionaire can't help but lean back in the low, wide chair. It pulled his body into this vulgar pose like all the other lechers panting around him. The gigantic, muscle bound blonde to his left is a treat for all eyes behind her. Legs seemingly as long as the boy on stage was tall, she struck an Athenian figure in her white and gold lacey set. Tony only had eyes for the thin but etched body before him. Peter enjoyed writhing backwards against a pole and staring Tony down. The man felt trapped in Peter's gaze. As if the dancer knew exactly how much was in his wallet and had detailed plans to drain every last drop from him.

He liked it when they weren't shy, starstruck, or coy. Peter looked at him with blatant professional interest. A look Tony knew to appreciate in a colleague or villain. No chaos. No random happenstance allowed. Focus.

Peter had no thoughts in the moment. Mind blank. Embodying Rihanna as the woman he dedicated his movements to. For the night, his hips only moved as he'd seen them move in her videos. How did the crowd gyrate around her? Like sailors caught by her siren call. Invoworship. But ecstatic in their worsip.

When his knees spread across the polished lacquer of the glitter stage and Lowe splashes him with a cup of water for both comedic and erotic effect, the crowd is truly done being surprised to share space with a superhero, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Peter and any song that calls for slow floor-humping must be admired to the fullest.

As the song dies down, Peter finds himself climbing up and away from the edge of the stage where he'd usually spend the last thrity-seconds encouraging more tips. Tony hadn't been there for the sexy march of his intro. Hadn't seen his thighs bulge with effort as he worked the pole from ceiling's height. Hadn't admired his traps and lats as he dangled from a wooden beam. Hadn't seen him drop and land with the gracefulness of a cat.

So, as he rushes a 45 second routine into the song's outro, the audience claps for him even harder than before. After all, a group of working men can't help but love a working boy. Some of them considered stripping for Tony the moment they caught a glimpse. Hell, two of the guys that left when he showed up probably weren't running from a superhero. They were running towards showers and cuter outfits. If they weren't already collectively in love with both Lowe and Peter, the younger man bouncing into the rafters for a chance at a bigger tip would have won them over.

They also weren't surprised by him taking a back-end off the stage right onto the man's lap. That's their Peter. A beauty and a demonic tease.

Some keep their eyes on the newly forming transaction. After all, no eyes can pry into the champagne room once the two of them disappear. Others let their eyes fall to Lowe as she takes the stage with a bedazzled broom to sweep up dollars and flirt. As her collected money gets passed on to be counted, a song about magic thumps into the room. Her body immediately turning the functional prop into a vulgar facsimile of a cock to be ridden and licked.

Peter taps Tony's cheek. The man's eyes flickering from cream fabric on cream skin to Peter's much pinker face beneath the heavy black wig. His eyes. So perfect to Tony's senses he had no clue how he'd ever been distracted by the angel on stage.

Peter rewards the returned attention by letting his body's weight actually settle onto Tony's thighs. Too far back for contact where all men want it most, but his arms drape over the man's shoulders and he smiles.

Though Peter's mind left him upon first spotting Tony Stark, he was fully back to his senses and dreaming of treating Lowe to a fancy breakfast and new shoes. They could probably pay their rent in advance instead of scraping it together. It was hard to keep the dollar signs out of his eyes.

Harder still was Peter's barely covered cock. Black lycra stretching across the obvious bulge in his skinpy costume. It didn't make sense that his professional disinterest couldn't override how much he'd crushed on Iron Man for years.

Peter wasn't exactly new to the job. He'd seen many a beautiful man in this place. The man he fucked regularly was on stage behind him deep-throating a broom-handle and she was never able to get him hard at work. And boy did Lowe try.

It had to just be anticipation of a payout. It wasn't like a person could fall in love before they met a guy. It wasn't like hearing anyone's voice had ever turned him on beyond reason. Even if anyone's had, he heard Tony talk all the time. Interviews. Social media posts. A collection of clips he kept on his phone just to admire the man.

♥︎Royal AU / King!Tony♥︎

Peter is Tony's son who is to be wed soon. The only problem is: Tony refuses to select a suitor for the boy. Nobody's good enough. Tony will always find some excuse to deny an arrangement. He'll negotiate before ultimately refusing the deal, or he'd make unreasonable requests, knowing that his terms won't be agreed with. Truth of the matter is, nobody's good enough for his prince. Nobody but himself, that is.