Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6786244.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Avengers_(Marvel_Movies)
  Relationship:
      Peter_Parker/Tony_Stark
  Character:
      Tony_Stark, Peter_Parker
  Additional Tags:
      forgive_me_Father_for_I_have_sinned, im_going_to_hell_for_shipping_this,
      or_more_to_hell_than_i_already_was, Blow_Jobs, Oral_Sex, Under-Desk_Blow
      Jobs, PWP
  Series:
      Part 2 of Mentoring
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-05-08 Words: 1262
****** firsts ******
by WattStalf
Summary
     He'd never done anything like this before, and that was really was it
     was all about. The poor kid wanted some experience, and he'd looked
     to the man who was slowly becoming like a mentor to him.
Notes
     SO GUESS WHAT I LEFT CIVIL WAR SHIPPING
     ARE THERE NO DEPTHS I WON'T SINK TO
     KILL ME NOW
     Seriously though, bashing comments are gonna be ignored/deleted. I
     know I'm gross, I know THIS is gross, I am fully aware I'm going to
     hell. But here i am, doing it anyway. Kindly move along.
See the end of the work for more notes
"This is crazy. This is so crazy, right?" Peter hadn't stopped commenting on
the situation since Tony had gotten him alone and it was almost enough to make
him regret the decision. Almost, but not quite, and that was why he still had
the kid- and Christ, he was just a kid- in his office.
"If you don't want this, you can just say so and save us both the time," he
replied. "It was your idea, remember?" And it had been, and that had been part
of the hasty justification Tony had made to himself, even though he knew once
this was done, he would regret it and have yet another thing to feel guilty
about.
Oh well, he thought, let's just add it to the list.
"No, no, no, I don't want to...I mean, I just never thought you would..." Peter
blushed, looking off to the side.
"Neither did, but here we are, so if you're gonna back out on me, I need to
know before things go too far and you start going on about how you never wanted
this, and how could I rob you of your precious innocence, and so on," said
Tony, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, no, that isn't-" Peter's blushed deepened. "I'd rather be robbed of that,
you know that's what I..." He'd never done anything like this before, and that
was really was it was all about. The poor kid wanted some experience, and he'd
looked to the man who was slowly becoming like a mentor to him. Tony was a
horrible, horrible person for indulging him, for taking advantage of that
confusion and admiration, but even knowing that didn't sway him.
"So, you've really not done anything? Not one single thing?"
"I...no...no, I haven't, Mr. Stark."
"For the love of all that is unholy, please do not call me that right now."
"Sorry...Tony? Tony. I mean, I haven't done nothing, I've...I've kissed someone
before," he said, trying to sound more proud than he was. He knew it wasn't
anything to write home about.
"Yeah? Did she let you hold her hand first?" asked Tony with a snort. "Look, I
was just trying to figure out where we should start with this. I haven't
exactly done much of...this. Especially not in a while."
"This?" Peter asked, before realization dawned on him. "Oh. Oh, right, with
a...right."
Before he could allow himself to back out, Tony commanded, "Pants off," and
Peter nearly tripped as he hurried to do as told. "Now, sit," he continued,
gesturing to the chair at his desk, and the young man did, looking no less
nervous.
"I haven't done anything like this since college," Tony muttered, "and I don't
think I've ever been the one under the desk." But as he said it, he got down
under his desk, and though he'd done everything he could to avoid looking
before, he couldn't exactly avoid it now, and he could see just how aroused
Peter was by all of this. He knew that he had already gone too far, and that
backing out now was the only way to prevent going even further, but he was hard
too and he was so damn lonely, and he was already going to hell a long time
ago, so why not do it in style?
Parting his lips, he took Peter's cock between them, taking his time with it as
he took in the sound of the young man's whimpers. When he trailed his tongue
over the length, Peter bucked his hips involuntarily and pushed himself deeper,
nearly causing Tony to gag.
"Sorry," he said breathlessly, "sorry, I didn't..." He trailed off into a moan,
high and pathetic. This was one way to keep him quiet, at the very least, and
though Tony took his time bringing him deeper, eventually he did, moaning
around the young man's cock. He was enjoying this a hell of a lot more than he
ever should have, and he began to bob his head, creating more friction and
causing Peter to cry out.
He meant to stop before Peter finished, but he forgot to take into account that
it was the poor kid's first time, and it had been a very long time since Tony
had been that young, and he didn't really think about the fact that most kids
couldn't last. So he stopped taking things slow, running his tongue up and down
while he bobbed his head and listened to Peter whine and whimper, not realizing
that he was getting close until it was already too late.
Tony didn't remember liking the taste, and his memory did not fail him, but he
swallowed anyway, reminding himself to always try to pull out, regardless of if
the woman claimed to like the taste or not. He crawled out from under his desk,
suddenly very aware of how ridiculous he must have looked under there, and
avoided looking at Peter as he stood up straight, dusting off his pants. The
young man was panting, struggling to catch his breath, and when he did finally
cave and look, he saw that his face was flushed and he looked very, very
pleased.
He seemed to sense Tony's eyes on him, because he turned to him and
breathlessly said, “Thanks so much, Mr. St- Tony. Tony, sorry, I
forgot...anyway, thanks, that was...” He whistled. “That was really something.”
“Was it?” asked Tony. “Well, glad I could help you with your little...problem.
Now, you better get dressed, before anybody decides they can't be bothered with
knocking.”
“But didn't you lock the door?”
Of course he had, he would never be that careless, but he was looking for any
excuse to get rid of him. “Oh, yeah, that's right.”
“Then we've got plenty of time,” said Peter, grinning.
“Not exactly,” he said. “I have meetings and work, and you should really get
dressed, alright?” The young man nodded, getting up to do as he was told, and
Tony did not watch him as he did.
“But what about you?” asked Peter, hesitating before he left.
“What about me?”
“You didn't really...do much. I mean for yourself, you did plenty for me, that
was really...like I said, that was great and all, but I didn't...you know.” He
made a few noncommittal gestures.
Tony was still achingly hard, but he shifted positions, hoping that wasn't too
noticeable. “Next time,” he said before he could catch himself, and even once
it was said, he knew he couldn't take it back. Like it or not, there would
certainly be a next time. He was too damn lonely to resist even when he knew he
should.
“Yeah?” He hated the way Peter perked up at that promise, and he hated the way
he really didn't hate it much at all. “Alright, yeah, that sounds good. Just,
uh, let me know whenever you want to...do that again, alright? Alright.” He
unlocked the door and had his hand on the doorknob when he hesitated again, and
then he quickly moved back across the room and surprised Tony with a very
quick, very awkward kiss that made it a little more clear why he had never
moved past that with anyone else before.
“Next time,” he said with a toothy grin before actually leaving this time, and
Tony sank down into his chair, ready to take matters into his own hand before
his guilt finally won out and killed his erection for good.
“Next time,” he muttered to himself.
 
End Notes
     kill me
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and warm and REAL
around him, even though he couldn’t feel the texture or wetness of her through
the latex.
“I’m fine,” she said – still warm, sweet, comforting Linda, which made him feel
better. “Ash?”
“Uh?”
“You can move now.”
Moving was exactly what he was afraid of doing. She felt so tight that he knew
he’d blow it the second he did. Somehow Ash managed to hold out for a few
minutes before falling onto her breast, creaming into the rubber and groaning
into the side of her neck.
Sanity returned gradually, and with it remorse. “Shit,” he muttered, reaching
down and fumbling for her clit. She was more than ready; he felt the thrumming
of her orgasm around his painfully-sensitive cock, which he pulled out of her
with a gasp as she came.
Through sleepy eyes, he watched her delight. So that’s what it looked like
–really looked like – when a girl came. It was sweet, surprisingly quiet; not
at all theatrical, like the girls who wroth their way across the screen at the
Columbus XXX.
He tied up and disposed of the rubber in her wastebasket before crawling up
into her embrace. “Did it break?” she worried. He shook his head, knowing that
the last thing she needed was a baby right now. She sighed and cuddled against
Ash’s collarbone. “Next time, we should try this at your place.”
He gave her a groan. “I’m not doing this within fifty feet of Scotty.”
“We could get rid of him for the night; I don’t know, send him to the movies or
something. I met a girl in my abnormal psych class on Friday; I think they’d be
a good pair.”
“Think so?” he chucked. “If it’s got a beaver, Scott will be happy.”
“Ash!” she slapped his upper arm as he laughed tiredly.
“Just talking turkey, babe.” He kissed her neck. “I love you.”
“No, really?”
He laughed. “D’you think I’d let just any girl pop my cherry? “he mock-
sniffled. “I’ve got standards, y’know.”
“I know,” she kissed the tip of his chin. “I love you, Ash.”
He let her snuggle up against him, listening peacefully to the sounds of disco
leaking through under the doorway from the neighboring room. He had to get up
before her RA made bed checks; he had to drive back to his apartment before
Scott called the cops. And he would.
Later.
 
***
“Am I hurting you?” The brown-eyed girl underneath him looked up at Ash with
something akin to fear. “Hey,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing his fingers
through her reddish-brown hair. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
“Aye, milord,” she said quite submissively. Her tone concerned Ash.
“I want you to like this,” he said, gently brushing his fingers over her small
curves, feeling her nut-colored nipple pucker against his left hand. “Does that
feel good?”
She bobbed her head, somewhat shyly. He kissed her cheek in praise, then her
mouth, gently coaxing her tongue out into his.
Ash examined the woman in the firelight; her fair skin, pale as sweetbriar, and
her rose-colored lips and red-brown hair. Something about her turned the wall
of anger and ice surrounding his heart to water, melting down to nothingness,
making him feel real and human again. She had been so bold in kissing him back
at first; utterly fearless, but as his right hand skirted her pubic mound she
gasped, suddenly shy.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Sheila’s eyes shot to his face. “Nay,” she whispered. He lipped her nipple
before gently sucking it into his mouth. She ‘mmed’ and ‘aahhed’ softly, and he
looked up to gauge her reaction by her expression. She seemed completely
disconcerted by his pleasuring of her. “Spread your legs, baby,” he growled,
“lemme see you.”
She gasped at his tone of voice, the look in his eyes, and obeyed quietly.
Ash stared at her for a moment as he ran his middle finger up and down the
folds between her legs. Wet, already – soft and open. He considered sinking
into her, but rejected the notion. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
The question surprised him. He didn’t tend to eat pussy – it wasn’t really his
thing – but this beautiful, regal girl lay beneath him looking wet and soft.
Sweet. Edible.
Sheila flushed at his question, then nodded, parting her knees.
She tasted like salt. Woman. Heat. He was surprised by how much he liked it,
and even more surprised when her nails burned their way across his scalp,
making him gasp into her sex.
“More, please, more…what do ye do? My heavens!” She tugged at his hair and he
licked at the small evidence of her pleasure. Licked and licked and licked
until the button began to noticeably swell and pinken, until she began to drip
her musk onto the furs. Her wetness amazed him as the tempo of her breathing
increased and he introduced his fingers to her body.
“Oh!” she remarked just once as she began to pulse, her wetness spilling out
around his fingers. He lay back to study the pulsing of her sex, her arousal
feeding his.
When she stopped he fell to her like a god torn from the sky, barely able to
position himself and penetrate her. The sensation made him freeze; wet woman,
silky walls, incredible heat. He looked down, watching himself sink inch by
inch into a woman, bare for the first time. She gave a little moan as he
breached her but pushed up her hips; the pain wasn’t enough to make her stop
bucking, or for him to almost immediately begin thrusting and withdrawing in a
heavy, regular pattern.
He tried not to stare at her breasts, knowing it would finish him off –
wrapping his tongue around her hard brown nipples he began to quicken the
tempo. She didn’t seem to be in any pain, even though he could see the blood on
his cock, feel the slight difference in moisture inside of her. She clasped him
selflessly to her small breast, until he collapsed forward on her with a small
roar and pumped into her wildly.
Moments passed, and then he felt her tears dripping onto his cheek. Self-
recrimination picked at him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
She shook her head, grabbing him by the chin, then throwing her arms around his
neck. “I love thee.”
And everything within Ash turned to ice again.
 
***
She was just one of the many who he had saved; another of his type. He barely
remembered what her skin felt like pressed against him, or how her lips tasted;
he only saw red, red hair, red nails, red lips.
He pleasured her sex with the bored adroitness of a courtier at work, and she
simulated a rousing response. Wetness coated his fingers (he wiped them on the
sheets, later, hating her scent), and he teased her to the point of aroused
interest before grabbing her by the thighs, spreading them, and penetrating her
in a quick stroke.
He fucked her from behind with a hard, brutal detachment as she writhed and
groaned, putting out a great show to no one’s benefit. He stared at the back of
her head, pounding in, jerking out, angry because she wasn’t coming already,
angry because he would probably have to spend the night with her, hating the
heavy floral scent of her skin and the smell of her breath, hating his own
weakness, his inability to walk away from wet, available pussy. Ash was aware
of her reaching down to touch herself, that she was manipulating herself to
make the time pass.
Finally, she screamed, and he felt the vibrato of her release through the
rubber. She slumped forward like a rag doll, the only thing holding her up his
hands.
Bitterly, he stared at the gleam of the metal one. If he hadn’t had it, they
wouldn’t want him – if he wasn’t some chosen savior, just some freakshow with
one hand and a thousand scars.
He bit her shoulder savagely as he came, entirely without couth, his mind
filled with dark thoughts.
She disengaged herself from him, leaving his hole-in-the-wall apartment without
even looking back, and he dragged himself to the bathroom, where he splashed
cold water on his face. Ash shuddered, his skin burning.
Everything under the surface made of ice.
***
Small, warm fingers caress the middle of his back as she spoons into his back.
He smiles, still half-asleep, still wanting to cling to the dream he’d been
having of an ocean of chocolate pudding.
“Emily watches Doctor Who,” she informs him, kissing the outline of his left
ear.
“Mmm?” there’s a note of hope in his tone.
“And Jake is occupied with his blocks…”
“Hmm?” he turns over to face her now.
“Mary sleeps.” She watches him with that expectant look. “And the door is
locked.”
He smirks as he rolls her over onto her back. “God, I love you,” he says,
kissing her lips.
There’s something different about making love to the woman you’re married to.
He doesn’t notice that her breasts sag slightly from years of nursing (he sags
in other places he’d rather not talk about), or her cesarean scars; he sees an
entire being, a full woman, someone he needs desperately. Every bit of flesh
unveiled is a treasure to be praised with his lips; every inch of her flesh is
to be caressed and celebrated.
She came back. She is here now, her head tossed to the side, giving up the
whiteness of her throat for his kisses, tugging on his plaid, trying to bare
his skin to her own questing fingers. She plays gently with the crinkling of
chest hair decorating his chest and brushes his nipples, making him gasp.
“Slow,” he says against her lips.
Sheila moans at the very idea, reaching for the hem of her white lace top and
pulling it off. He takes care of her bra with one hand and sucks on her neck,
nibbling kisses that go up and down while he palms the fullness of each breast.
It’s been three months since she successfully weaned Mary, and her breasts have
retreated from their earlier ripeness. In trade, he can squeeze them, suck
them, without worrying about hurting her. He manages to suck them until she
nudges his head, pushing him further down her body.
Ash manages to lose his plaid pyjama pants on his way down the bed, nibbling
her hips. They have an hour until the show’s over – an hour for him to bring
her off, to get off himself, that didn’t leave much time for them to enjoy each
other. He approaches her sex with easy confidence – he knows very well what she
looks like, smells like, tastes like, and what pleases her the most.
Woman and salt invade his senses as he applies his tongue. His middle finger
enters her, then the index (his fingers are too thick for more), and her hips
begin to buck upward, little begging groans coming from the depths of her.
“Ashley,” she murmurs, as he holds her still with his right hand and
strengthens his exploration. “There,” she whispers, holding herself open,
exposing her clit to his tongue. “There….please…”
 
She’s damp; she’s wet; she’s soaking his fingers. Ash pants into her sex,
enjoying the taste of her, wanting to savor just this mercy for awhile, before
giving her the unpredictability of his own love/lust. He knows she’s touching
her own breast, squeezing one, rubbing the nipple between her soft fingers
while he paws her gently with the metal one. It takes awhile for her to get
there, but when she does he knows when it happens, her shoulders hunching, her
soft mouth parting, features tensing and her muscles rippling around him, ocean
waves sucking at the substitute filler of his fingers.
He wants to, has to, be inside of her when she goes off next time. Everything
in him has turned to a liquid rush of heat and warmth; he is an iceberg on the
melt. She pulls him up by the shoulders, showers his face with gratitude-filled
kisses, and shoves him onto his back.
The waistband of his boxer shorts get yanked down to the middle of his thighs
as she kisses her way down his body, decorating his hips with pink love-bites
and nibbling lightly on his pale brown nipples. Soon she’s kneeling between his
spread knees, choking herself on his cock.
Ash runs his fingers through her long hair as she bobs with a combination of
enthusiasm and love on his prick. “God…good…more…” he mumbles, his head working
back and forth as he rubs her back encouragingly. “Sheila…” he adds, knowing
who he’s with even as he becomes lost in her passionate display. She knows when
he’s nearly reached his limit and leaves him momentarily bereft as she
awkwardly straddles his lap, reaching down and nudging the head of his penis
into her warm pussy.
He shudders when he enters her – nothing compares to the feeling of this woman
without layers of protection between them. She’s been back on the pill for a
month now and finally, finally he can be with her barrier-free without worrying
about accidentally knocking her up.
He wallows selfishly in the friction as she does most of the work, braced
against his hip and abdomen, using his thick torso to balance herself upright.
Sheila in her lust is a beautiful thing, her lips slightly parted and her eyes
half-open, looking at his body, appreciating him frankly. She gropes for his
left hand and presses it frantically to the apex of her sex, asking without
words for him to rub her clit while she rides him.
For a moment, he watches himself plunge in and out of her warmth, cock
glistening in the sunlight pouring freely into their bedroom; she lets out a
little ‘umph’ every time he hits bottom (it’s just the right depth in this
position; if he were tapping her cervix she’d sure as hell let him know), and
he notices the fine sheen of sweat on her pale skin, the way it makes her hair
curl at the nape of her neck; how her breasts jiggle slightly with every
downstroke in the restraint of his right hand.
And then he can bear his inertness no longer and thrusts up into her smoothly,
using his pelvic muscles. His thighs are still trapped in the boxer shorts, but
he tucks his knees up, supporting her lower back. Sheila breaks her rhythm,
gasping quietly, squeezing him inside of her which makes him pause.
“Not yet,” he groans, trying to keep some semblance of rhythm going on her
clit.
“Please?” She circles her hips, making him groan.
“Shit,” he hisses. “Not until you do.”
But she’s close, the flesh of her clit firm against his palm. He strokes around
it, gently over it, making her pause and let out an involuntary cry. Ash sits
up, capturing her lips before the children can be alerted, then giving each
nipple a quick, sharp suck.
“Shh.” He nips those sweet, plump tips, rocking her in the saddle of his lap.
“Shh…”
Sheila melts bonelessly into his arms, kissing the side of his neck; every part
of him bursts to life, into protective warmth. Ash rolls her onto her back,
slowing the rhythm.
“Ohh,” she murmurs, looping her arms around his neck, smiling up. “Adore thee,”
she tells him, then shows him, rising up into his rocking thrusts.
Ash sweats; he bites his lower lip. He can’t get a hand between her legs in
this position - he’s tried before and nearly broken his neck in the process -
she assists, rubbing herself, the volume and quality of her pleasure increasing
dramatically.
He cuts off her praise by sucking on her tongue, increasing the rhythm. His
hips pump as she plants her feet on the mattress, arching up, giving as good as
she gets from him. Ash knows they’re home free, in like Flynn, headed for an
ending that she reaches with a soft sigh and a vibration of muscles around him.
It isn’t always this good, but it always means something with her. His thrusts
draw it out for her as he speeds up, as her thighs squeeze his hips.
“Aye,” she moans. “Oh Ashley, yes…”
“Do you want it, baby?” he whispers. “Do you want me to come?”
“Please,” she murmurs, staring up into eyes that flicker shut when it finally
pounces on him.
She’s limp as a dishrag when he loses it, comes vigorously in quick rushes of
heat, squeezing the headboard with his right hand. She has him by the back of
his head, capturing his shouts with her mouth, muffling them. Smart girl, he
thinks, as she slides off and slips to the left, panting, leaving a parting
kiss against his mouth.
When he comes back to himself she’s laughing softly, snow falling from overhead
branches. “Dishabille,” she says softly, kissing his lips. “Tres beaux, and
tres dishabille.”
“Do I wanna know what that means?”
She smiles, kisses his lips. “That you are beautiful but hopelessly
disarrayed.”
“Not with you, baby,” he says, kissing her hand before reaching down to fix his
boxer shorts. She’s made him whole again, but he doesn’t want to drown her in
sugar (he doesn’t have the fancypants language skills to tell her, anyway). She
retrieves her slip from the floor and pulls it over her head, curling up in his
embrace, sighing peacefully.
They need to take a shower before the kids come looking for them. They need to
get up and make dinner, and find out what’s playing down at the 1-2-3.
And they will.
But not yet.
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