"Screwdriver, please," Peter shouted over the pounding club music. He rested on his forearms against the bar and added, "A double."
He could feel eyes on him, and he hid his smile behind his hand. Tonight, he was celebrating his new promotion, so he had taken special care on his appearance. When he and MJ had found this pair of leather pants on the clearance rack at H&M, they had jumped for joy…even more so when they fit him perfectly. The pants looked more like he was wearing a layer of paint than actual clothing—though he was pretty sure the guy across the bar really was only wearing paint. He rounded out the look with a black fishnet halter top, a black armband, and black boots. His ears weren't pierced, so he wore magnetic barbells.
The part of him that wore suits to work and cardigans to brunch felt like he had stepped directly out of an AFI music video from 2006 and begged to go home and change, but the part of him that caught a glance of his ass in any reflective surface knew he had made the right choice.
As he drank, a slender brunette approached and lounged casually against the bar, resting on his elbows, his body facing the dance floor. Peter resisted the urge to sneak a peek, still undecided whether he wanted to bring anyone home or just…show off.
"A psychologist friend of mine calls it 'context blindness.' I'm fairly certain I've seen you before, but I just can't remember where…"
Peter glanced over and took in the man's pristinely shaped facial hair. He was much older than someone Peter would typically go for, but he was attractive enough Peter found he didn't mind. He was wearing a black long sleeve shirt under a Metallica T-shirt and black skinny jeans with high tops.
The man was still talking as Peter took in the way his arms and chest stretched at the fabric of his shirt, conveying muscle underneath. "…but those pants I think I would remember. Holy fuck, your pants are—something else."
In a moment of confidence Peter would never feel outside a club, he tipped his head back and arched an eyebrow cockily. "Buy me a drink."
To the bartender, the man ordered an old fashioned for himself and another screwdriver for Peter. As they waited for their drinks, the other man let his eyes linger against Peter's body, a soft smile on his lips. "I'm Tony," he offered.
"Peter."
Tony motioned to the dance floor. "Want to dance?"
In one of his less wise moments, before coming out to the club, he had allowed MJ to convince him to "pre drink." "They overprice everything at clubs," she had said as she handed him two miniatures of coconut Malibu. "Get tipsy now and thank me later."
Between the rum and the vodka, Peter was feeling pleasantly buzzed enough to join Tony on the dance floor. He drained the rest of his screwdriver and let Tony lead him by the hand through the writhing throng of bodies.
Music vibrated through his chest with that too loud club bass. Tony kept a polite space between them as he started dancing. Peter watched as Tony's eyes snaked up and down his body, and Peter didn't hide that he was doing the same. A new song started, and Peter turned and pressed his back to Tony's torso. It was firm and warm, and Peter closed his eyes as he leaned back, rocking with the beat of the song.
A pair of hands rested lightly on his sides. "Is this okay?" Tony whispered, his breath tickling Peter's neck.
"Mmm," Peter sighed, leaning more firmly against Tony. Grasping Tony's wrists, he led them more decisively across his stomach and chest. "I would have told you to fuck off if this wasn't okay."
Tony's body grew impossibly warmer against his as his hands continued their dance across Peter's chest, catching on the netting of his ridiculous shirt. Alcohol continued to thrum through Peter's veins, keeping him just buzzed enough to make him bold and comfortable. His pants clung to his body, feeling more like a second skin, sliding sensually across his thighs, and he ground back against Tony to the pulsing beat of the song.
Breath hitching at the feeling of such a taut ass pressed against the front of his jeans, Tony rested his chin on Peter's shoulder, pulling him even more tightly to his body, breath panting hotly against Peter's earlobe. Peter tilted his head, exposing his neck, and gave a particularly encouraging roll of his hips. Tony's lips rested against Peter's neck, and Peter inhaled sharply, taking in Tony's unique scent of sage and sandalwood. Hands snuck under Peter's top, and, not feeling particularly attached to the cheap garment, Peter pulled it off and tossed it to the ground. Vibrations rolled through Tony's chest against Peter's back as his hands dove into a deep exploration of Peter's newly exposed skin. Brain short circuiting, Tony sucked harder at the junction of his shoulder and neck than he had intended, knowing the hickey would stand out in sharp contrast on Peter's pale skin come morning.
The song changed again, and Peter groaned, arching as best he could into both hands and mouth. His eyes were closed, forgetting they weren't alone, when he guided one of Tony's hands down to the front of his pants. With a deep groan, Tony rocked his hips desperately against Peter's ass, cock straining uncomfortably against the fabric of his skinny jeans. Peter was having a similar problem, his leather pants pulled so tight against his erection, Tony could feel the distinct outline—and swore he could trace a vein. He palmed the bulge, impressed by the size, and once more rocked his hips into Peter's ass.
"To—ny…" Peter's voice caught on the first syllable, the second half of his name coming out little louder than a whisper. Tony found he liked that more than he should and shamelessly sucked harder at his neck.
Peter's left hand trailed against his own chest, squeezing his nipple between his fingers, and he threw his head back against Tony's shoulder, hips still gyrating to the beat as he pressed his pelvis more firmly into Tony's hand. Without missing a beat, Tony slid his hand into Peter's pants, the going quite the squeeze against the tight fabric, and gripped the turgid flesh.
"Mmm," Peter moaned breathily, encouragingly.
"Shit," Tony hissed, panting heavily against Peter's shoulder. "You feel so good in my hand. Gonna make you cum, beautiful. That alright?"
In response, Peter rocked his pelvis into Tony's hand, gasping at the sensation. A nagging voice in the back of his brain insisted they take this somewhere more private, but Peter was beginning to suspect those miniatures of Malibu were more potent than he had anticipated. And the hand expertly fisting his cock meant he was more inclined to stay exactly where he was, ass grinding happily into the firmness behind him.
"Fuck, I'd like to lay you out in a proper bed and take you all the way down my throat. Would you like that, beautiful? Want to fuck daddy's throat?"
Peter hadn't thought he'd be into the whole "daddy" thing, but something about the way the word rolled so naturally from Tony's lips, it was something he could get behind.
"I'd rather have you fuck my tight, pink hole, daddy."
Tony's hand tightened against his hip, and the hand on his cock sped up, awkward in the tightness of the leather pants. He had to resist the urge to pull the damn things off. Enough of his brain was working to warn him they had already crossed the line tenfold on the dance floor. While under the clothes groping was fairly common out in the open at this particular club, bouncers tended to get involved if it went further than that—and Tony Stark groaned at the thought of how that headline would look. He already had enough to contend with, especially with his shamelessly out of control days of his youth still shadowing his every movement.
But, fuck, this young thing's cock felt perfect in his hand. He almost hadn't approached him, certain he would brush him off as too old. And there was something…familiar about him that he couldn't quite place.
Nose pressed in the crook of Peter's neck, he smelled like grapefruit and sunshine. Peter was letting out short gasps and mewls, thrusting his hips as best he could against Tony's hand, those fucking tight pants causing his strokes to be uneven and shallow. He squinted at the boy's neck, and, yeah, there'd be a hickey there tomorrow.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tony watched Happy approach, looking horrendously uncomfortable as he dodged the twisting bodies of the dance floor and refusing to look at Tony's hand stuffed down Peter's pants. As Happy drew closer, Tony resignedly withdrew from Peter, pouting as he did so, fully having intended to make him cum in his pants right there on the dance floor.
As Peter recognized the change in Tony's posture, he seemed to come back to himself, his eyes fluttering open, and he straightened, turning to face Tony, horrified. "Oh, shit—Tony, I—" The blush reached all the way down his chest, and Tony had to hold himself back from running his hands all over it. "I swear I'm not—that guy. I don't—" Peter interrupted himself by glancing around for his shirt. It was currently underneath someone's foot, being dragged through a lake of spilled beer.
Without overthinking it, Tony shrugged out of his T-shirt, leaving him in his black long sleeve. He handed his shirt over to Peter, who took it awkwardly yet thankfully.
Happy had reached them, and Tony jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Peter, I need to go. I have a business meeting tonight that I can't put off."
"Tony, I'm sorry—"
Tony's shirt hugged Peter's chest, and he gave into the temptation of pulling Peter against him, pressing himself into Peter's hip to show how hard he still was. "Shh, Peter, I don't want to hear any excuses." He pulled back and smiled down at Peter, who was anxiously chewing his lip. "I want to see you again. And I can"—he stepped back and drew his hands up—"keep my hands to myself, if that's what you want. It's whatever you want, Peter, but I'll be here again next Friday night, nine o'clock."
Happy was restlessly shifting from foot to foot and glancing at his watch. With a sigh, Tony let Happy lead him out of the club. Once they were settled in the car, Happy glanced in the rearview mirror. "How many anxiety attacks related to second guessing what happened tonight should I expect this week, boss?"
Sinking further into his seat, Tony groaned. "At least fifteen." He stared at his open palms, still tingling with the feeling of running across Peter. He hoped the boy didn't regret it at the end; Peter had looked pretty freaked when Happy came over. What if—?
"Starting the first round of second guessing now, Happy," Tony huffed. "Only fourteen more to go."
Back at the club, Peter had already called an Uber and was waiting miserably in a cold drizzle. What had he been thinking letting a stranger put a hand down his pants? And on the fucking dance floor surrounded by almost a hundred other people? Never had he done anything like that, and he wouldn't have been surprised if Tony had fucking offered to pay for their night out. Despite this, Peter hugged himself tighter, Tony's sage and sandalwood scent clinging to the shirt. Shit, if Tony had offered to fuck Peter in the bathroom, he wouldn't have hesitated.
So would he take Tony up on his offer and meet him at the club again in a week? His body responded eagerly to the idea, but his head wasn't too sure. Tony didn't seem like a predator, even backing off when things got out of control, and Peter wondered if it was really true that he had a meeting. Who had meetings at two o'clock in the morning?
Sighing, he sank into the back of the Uber, cradling his head in his hands. Tonight was supposed to be about celebrating his promotion, yet he had managed to make an utter mess of things. In a brief moment of sobriety, he promised himself he'd never take a drink from MJ again.
Said friend was waiting up for him when he reached their apartment. Her jaw dropped before grinning devilishly. "That's not the shirt you left here with."
Peter couldn't resist the smile that spread across his face, and he dipped his head shyly. "I may have gotten a hand job on the dance floor."
"Oh my god!" she squealed. "My opinion of you just, like, skyrocketed. Before this, the craziest thing you'd done is drink that milk one day past its expiration date!"
Peter crinkled his nose. "And I will regret it for the rest of my days."
"It didn't even make you sick. You know the expiration date—hey! Tell me more about the handy man. Was he at least cute?"
Another smile and a blush. "He was really fucking hot. His name's Tony…"
On Monday, Peter spent extra care getting ready. After all, he couldn't show up to the first day of his new position without looking anything less than spectacular. He wore a gray suit with a lavender shirt and darker purple tie. The new suit had cost nearly as much as the difference in his new paycheck, but when he glanced in the mirror, running a comb through his hair one last time, he knew it was worth it.
MJ wolf whistled when he entered the kitchenette, a plate of eggs and sausage already made and ready for him at his place setting. "Looking extra fine, Peter. I can't imagine they won't give you a second promotion just for that ass." She pointed her camera at Peter, grinning shamelessly. "Give us a pose. Aunt May won't let you leave here until I get a picture."
Smiling despite himself, he waved at the camera. "Is this a video? Hi, Aunt May!" He recalled when he first got his job at Barritech, a subsidiary of Stark Industries. Aunt May had taken dozens of pictures, just as she had on his first day of school every year, pasting the polaroids into an enormous photo album. "Love you, Aunt May! Wish me luck!"
MJ turned off the camera and sent the video and pictures to Aunt May while Peter settled down to breakfast.
Across town, Tony Stark was busy rushing through his morning appointments, Pepper hot on his heels, reading his emails as he dictated his replies. His first meeting of the day had to be cut short so he could stick to his tight schedule. There had been a partial merger with a subsidiary, Barritech, and the CEO was a close friend of Tony's from his MIT days. He wanted at least a minute to greet his old friend as well as the smattering of staff they were acquiring. Pictures of the newest staff members had been sent in an email, and Tony remembered having glanced at it but nothing specific stood out in his memory.
"—At four o'clock, you have a phone conference with CEO Eto Masaru—"
Walking backwards as he tapped quickly on his cellphone, he interrupted Pepper. "Please, tell me you won't be there for the meeting. Your accent is atrocious. The entire population of Japan has cringed with your horrid pronunciation—"
Pepper scoffed, holding out a clipboard of papers for him to sign. "Oh, because your Japanese is so much better? Please, Tony, we've had this fight before—"
Dramatically, Tony drew his finger up to his lips as they made their way towards the sixteenth floor meeting room. "Careful, Pepper. Don't need the new staff seeing Mommy and Daddy fight on their first day here."
Rolling her eyes, though smiling, she held the door open for the two of them. Barritech CEO, Aaron Barrett, met them with shining eyes and a firm handshake. "Pepper! Tony! I haven't seen you since the SI Christmas party!"
Pepper let Barrett draw her in, kissing her cheeks. "Aaron! How is Grace?"
Tony gestured to the rest of the room, arms open and welcoming, though Pepper would always tell him this posture came off as rude and arrogant. "Welcome to Stark Industries! Aaron Barrett and I go way back—"
His eyes alighted on a young man with a coffee frozen halfway to his lips, a look of abject horror on his face. Friday night came rushing back to Tony, and he internally groaned. That's why he had looked familiar: Barritech had sent those pictures of the new employees!
Shit. Peter was technically already an employee at SI when Tony had put his fucking hand in his pants. If Peter wanted to sue, it could tear down the entirety of Stark Industries. HR would insist on investigating his other employees. And even though Tony didn't make it a habit of molesting new employees, especially not ones so young, there was no guarantee that in Tony's younger days, when he routinely got plastered at work events, that he hadn't—
He was panicking. Of course he was panicking! Who wouldn't panic in this situation?
Deep breaths. Pretend everything is okay. Then run and find Happy and his fire extinguisher before this situation got further out of control.
Swallowing thickly, hands suddenly humming with the feeling of Peter's body under his, that cock throbbing in his grasp—
Not helping.
"This is my secretary, Pepper Potts. Whatever you need to make sure your transition to SI is as seamless as possible, Ms. Potts will assure you get it. Pepper will be showing you to your new offices shortly. Now, I'm terribly sorry, but I need to…" Any excuse fled his mind, so he simply left the room, avoiding Pepper's scathing glare, and dialing Happy's number as fast as his fingers could fly.
"Happy! Where are you?"
"Right behind you, boss."
Tony jumped, hand flying to his heart. He spun on his heel and saw Happy was indeed right behind him. Glancing nervously around him, he threw open the door closest to him. Seven confused employees sitting around a meeting room table turned towards Tony. With a grimace, Tony said, "Sorry, but I need to commandeer this room. Take a ten minute bathroom break."
"Of course, Mr. Stark."
When the room was empty, Happy turned a sour face toward Tony. "What did you do now?"
Sinking into a chair, Tony ran his hands through his hair, knowing he would mess it up beyond repair. It was fine. He could just take the rest of the day off. Or step down as CEO and leave the company forever. Yeah, that could work. Pepper would be a much better—
Happy looked worried now and drew a chair beside Tony's. "Tony? What happened? Talk to me."
"Remember that kid from Friday night?"
Three separate emotions crossed Happy's face before he was able to cover them with pained neutrality. "Sure, boss. What about him?"
"He works for me?"
"What?"
"He's one of the new employees from Barritech."
"And you left him alone?"
"No, he's with Pepper."
"That's…exceedingly better than being left in your care." Sighing, he pulled his phone from his pocket. "I need to contact HR. Don't look at me like that; you know I have to. Tony, tell me, he must have known who you were. We can spin this."
"I really don't think he knew who I was. There was no sign of recognition on his face. And I didn't say my last name. That would have…he would have known then."
Happy's stare turned accusatory. "You didn't know who he was, did you?"
"What? Happy, no. Though…I should have. Barrett sent an email with everyone's pictures, and I thought he looked familiar—"
"Oh, Tony, you are so fucked."
"Are you alright?"
Peter jerked under Ms. Pott's light touch on his arm, splashing his coffee. "Sorry!" He grabbed napkins and blotted where he had spilled, luckily only on the table and not on her very expensive dress.
She smiled politely. "It's alright, Mr. Parker. Tony has that effect on people. Many people who see him are similarly star struck."
"You have no idea," he muttered.