...dammit for a second there i was thinking tony/jensen ackles

>>43163
The nature of this thread will probably encourage that pairing.
Actually I remember reading a Steve/Tony fic that had Sam and Dean in it. It was pretty well written.

>>43164
to refresh your memory:
http://blue-soaring.insanejournal.com/14219.html

oh screw it that totally didn't need to be saged

>>43165
Not exactly the one I meant. Steve gets possessed in that one, but this one's just as good! A+

I believe you mean this one: http://gekizetsu.net/atonementch1.htm
no Sam and Dean, but Steve gets possessed and there's Cas.

>>43199
You found it! Mathematical!

>>43168

oh lolol my reading skills need work

>>43199

Wow my two obsessions rolled in to one story..

http://www.mediafire.com/?z1iddooi24h

Relevant to our interests, a bunch of sexy Tony pictures.

Some selections.

My God!
That's a tremendous number of ass shots! I think the only one who has more is Spiderman, and his are somewhat justified...

Quick! Someone write some fic!

some canon Tony loves Thor

>>43391

Well...that's what I call being obvious.

>>43534

Okay...

>>43534
Using my anonymity I will admit right now, right here image of Tony going down on this guy popped into mine brain.
All was done in that really, really cheese porn convention of this comics with green alien named Locust and fucked all around galaxy. And Tony threw around truly atrocious but incredibly funny one-liners and this guy he was going down on had big, long, uncut dick and muscles all over the place and was making funny sex faces.

>>43534

what is this from?

Fucked up as this may be, I'm going to restate my desire for Tony/Elon Musk fanfic. Can it be done? I would hit that with the thrust of a Falcon 9.

reposting an image that is relevant to our intrests.

Some random pretty art to encourage more Tony/Peter.

>>43935
This thread needs SO much more Tony/Peter.

Or "Starker." I'm trying to get that to catch on. StarkerxParker=Starker, y'know?
Just sayin'.

>>43951
Starker, as in 'starkers'? As in 'naked'? As in 'Tony and Peter getting naked with each other'?

I like it.

Or Pony.

>>43961
I'm glad.

One thing I gotta put out there, for the potential fic writers, is my Nerd Kink. There was a Tony/Peter fic in the last thread that I just loved, because Pete was so innocent and virginal and nerdy. I like it when he's portrayed as young and awkward and dorky. It's just so hot to me. That, combined with Tony's arrogance, it's the best thing EVER.

Just sayin'. For future refrence.

>>43963
This!

>>43965
I call it science OTP.

In addition, I will try to write this, but I'm not making any promises.

Also, I'm sorry but making a pairing into one word like Snarry, Ryden, Hilson, etc. is just. No. Just no.

>>44006

Looking forward to more Spion Man fic.

(Toter?)

>>44010
Peter Starker.

>>44023
Peny.

>>44025
Toner?

>>44006

I am excite, anon. I hope you find it within yourself to fulfill this humble request.

>>44054
Petark!

>>44063
Tonker?

PeTony? ParkerStark? StarkParker? IronSpidy? SpiderStark? IronParker? TonyPete?

>>43160
oh god someone turn his arc reactor back on he's going to die D:

>>44082

Don't worry dahling, the power of sexy is keeping him alive.
It's what has been keeping him alive all this time actually.

>>44086
That would imply that at some point during both movies his sexy was failing him. And that's just heresy.

>>43593
Looks like Ultimate X-Men.

>>44141
Not Ultimate X-Men

Hey, anyone has that fic where Peter raped Tony?

>>44259

Pretty sure the one you're looking for is in the last thread that autosaged;
>>38905
This should be the fic;
>>39033

>>44227

It is most assuredly Ultimate X-Men. That is clearly Kubert art there.

>>44292
My bad, now that I look again, Storm kind of gives it away. Just a bad scan I guess, threw me off.

an old Tony/Bucky!Cap fic snagged via the kink meme. I totally would like to see more of this pairing. Thier dynamic post Steve's death is fascinating.

Stark wanted it hard, he wanted it fast, and he wanted it to hurt. If he'd wanted anything else he never would have come to him. Never would have laid himself out naked and vulnerable, saying everything he knew would make James lose it. Stark wanted James to fuck him raw.

Any other day he'd have no problem hurting the man, but the fact that he wanted it was enough to make him disinclined to accommodate him.

James took Stark gently, slowly, and as sweetly as he could manage. He held Stark down carefully, refusing to speed up his thrusts no matter how much the man twisted and tried to force him faster. Angling Stark's hips up, making sure to hit his prostrate with every slow stroke. Stark spat out curses and words so James kissed him. Ignoring the way the other man bit his lips and tasted like tears.

Stark wanted to be fucked, James made love to him; and that hurt Stark far more than anything else James could have done.

Some movie verse Tony/Bruce Wayne

Business Negotiations

The party was one of the better ones Tony had been to recently, but the surroundings left a lot to be desired. Gotham was probably the most depressing city Tony had ever seen - the dark, soot-stained skyscrapers with their gothic flourishes pressing claustrophobically in on one another, the low, perpetually overcast sky, the sense of desperation evident in its poorer neighborhoods, where windows were boarded up, alleys were narrow and dark, and walking down the street was like traveling back in time to the Great Depression; it all made him feel penned in, overshadowed. Give him Los Angeles's sun-drenched valley and widely-spaced, modern skyscrapers any day, or Metropolis's soaring Art Deco towers, or even Star City's steep hills and damp fog.

Worst of all, there was no room for Iron Man in Gotham - no space amid the crowded skyline and ever-present floating police dirigibles for Old Shellhead to fly, which meant that Tony couldn't shake off the city's gloom and the tension of long business meetings by taking the armor out for a spin.

Six days in this miserable excuse for a city, and he still hadn't closed the deal with Wayne Industries. Stark Industries was still reeling from Tony's decision to shut down its weapons manufacturing, and the entire plant needed substantial re-fitting to shift those production facilities to civilian communications equipment. In the meantime, Tony needed the assistance of somebody's else's manufacturing capacity to meet production demand on SI's new line of computer products, and Wayne Industries was the only company with sufficient capacity who hadn't already made three attempts to buy SI out. The only other alternative was a partnership with Lexcorp, and with the amount of time WI lawyers were spending stalling over the contract - no doubt hoping Tony would be stupid or impatient enough to agree to the near-criminally disadvantageous terms they wanted - Lex Luthor was starting to look more attractive by the day. He at the very least never pretended to be anything but the shark he was, and a few extra under-the-table concessions would have gotten the whole deal wrapped up in a day, and probably on terms much more favorable to SI than the ones Wayne was offering.

Wayne. Tony drained the rest of his martini - not dry enough - and considered the other man, currently ensconced at a table on the far side of the room, a slim blonde at his right side and a curvy brunette at his left. The man might be a bastard across a negotiating table, but he knew how to throw a hell of a party.

Expensive champagne, even more expensive women, and just the right mix of high-power businessmen, high society Old Money, and A and B list celebrities to ensure that everyone had both someone to relax and have fun with and someone to schmooze and suck up to.

Tony had already turned down half a dozen offers of company. He wanted to talk to Wayne in private, without the other man's bevy of lawyers getting in the way - sometimes the best negotiating was done over drinks. Tony's own best negotiating was done between the sheets, but given the way those women were draped over him, Wayne already had that department covered for the evening.

The brunette laughed at something Wayne had said, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and giving him a dazzlingly white smile. A wide bracelet of linked gold-and-diamond squares glittered at her wrist. The blonde, Tony noted, wore a diamond necklace that looked like it had come from the same jeweler.

Tony preferred sending flowers. It lessened the impression that you were buying a woman's affections.

Wayne looked up then, and saw him. He excused himself from the two women with a grin and a "what can you do?" shrug, and crossed the room towards Tony. Party-goers moved apart smoothly to let him pass, probably unconscious that they were doing so. Wayne could command a room just by walking into it, something Tony couldn't help but envy - he had to work to turn on the charm, while Wayne exuded charisma as if it were as effortless as breathing.

"Stark," he said, still wearing the remnants of that rueful grin. "Enjoying the party?" He nodded at the empty martini glass in Tony's hand. "Let me have one of the caterers get you a fresh one of those."

"I'm good." A waiter with a tray of champagne was approaching them, edging his way through the crowd. Tony reached over as the man passed by and swapped his martini glass for a champagne flute, holding it up with a flourish. "To a profitable future, I hope."

Wayne smiled, shaking his head. "I never talk business at parties."

"How about a deal," Tony offered. "You listen to what I have to say over," he glanced at the glass in his hand, "a glass of champagne, no lawyers, no secretaries, no financial advisors, just the two of us. Then you tell me what you honestly think, and what it would take to get Wayne Industries to agree to a deal, and if it's not something I can offer you, I'll head back to LA tomorrow and you won't have to talk business to me at all."

Wayne shrugged one shoulder, his smile turning slightly embarrassed. "I'm afraid Lucius Fox handles most of that kind of thing. I just sit there and look pretty and say what he tells me to."

Right. And Tony was just an ordinary businessman with a slightly unusual bodyguard. "I know the feeling," he said. "Sometime I think my executive assistant is the one who really runs my company. But she and Mr. Fox aren't here, and we are. Surely Lucius lets you out to play occasionally."

"Lucius prefers to remains as unaware of when and how I play as possible," Wayne drawled, placing the faintest stress on the word 'play.' He smirked, the expression vaguely familiar, though Tony wasn't sure from where. Tiberius? Lex? Ollie Queen? A mirror?

"I'm serious. I'd like a chance to actually talk, get to know you a little." Or more than a little. Tony ran an appreciative eye over Wayne's broad shoulders and long legs, the solid muscles - clearly enhanced by serious time in a gym - visible even under evening clothes. Wayne had the trick of filling out an expensive tux without looking like mob muscle, despite his stature, something some other tall, heavily muscled men Tony knew had never quite mastered. Happy never looked like anything but a hired thug, no matter how well he was dressed. Too bad Wayne already had a date or several with him tonight. "Give you a chance to find out what sort of guy you're about to get involved with."

"I make it a point to never do too much investigating into the motivations of people I get 'involved with.'" Wayne flashed him that easy smile again, the same one he'd used on the two women. It didn't reach his eyes. "It cuts down on the potential hurt feelings."

"Theirs?" Tony asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No." Wayne laughed. "Mine."

"Well, I can promise you, Mr. Wayne, that I don't want your money or your jewelry, or to be seen with you in the Gotham Times society section." Overly flirtatious, maybe, but Bruce had given him the opening, and if he had to, Tony could always pass it off as a joke. "Just twenty minutes or so of your time. And your factories' manufacturing capacity, of course."

Bruce gave Tony a slow once-over, his eyes lingering on Tony's body. "It's a deal then," he said abruptly, extending a hand. "Shall we shake on it?"

Tony took it, feeling a rush of heat go through him at the touch of Wayne's bare skin against his own. Wayne's perfectly manicured hand was larger than his, he noted. Like Cap's. Like Thor's.

The other man's grip was soft, his handshake smooth, matching the easy, charming smile, but Tony had spent years projecting his own "charmingly irreverent playboy" act, and he knew how to spot a facade when he saw one.

Wayne couldn't possibly be as harmless as he was trying to seem - not and be the head of a company as efficiently and ruthlessly run as Wayne Industries.

Work hard, play harder had always been one of Tony's personal philosophies, and from what he'd seen so far, it looked like Wayne shared his opinion. Tony offered the man his own smile in return, not the polished expression he had learned to put on for prospective business partners and the media, but one with some heat in it, one that hopefully indicated just how little Tony was fooled by Wayne's act, and how much he'd like to see what was under that perfectly tailored evening dress.

"Is there anywhere here we can talk privately?" he asked.

Wayne smirked again, and this time the amusement and lazy heat was there in his eyes as well. "There's a room on the second floor. I'll have Alfred send up a bottle of champagne."

"It's simple, really," Tony explained. "The robots are equipped with very low level AIs, which allow them to operate on their own within a given set of parameters, but there's also a manual override which lets a human operator run them by remote control, for search and rescue operations in hazardous environments, bomb disposal, mining and blasting..." he waved a hand, and the champagne in his glass sloshed out onto his fingers. "Oops. There any champagne left?"

Wayne was leaning back in his chair, watching Tony with half-lidded eyes, a mostly-empty champagne glass dangling from his fingers. It was his second, Tony thought. Or was it his first? He tried to remember if Wayne had ever refilled his own glass any of the times he'd refilled Tony's, and couldn't. "Unfortunately, no." Wayne held up his own glass in illustration, the half-inch of flat liquid at the bottom glowing pale gold in the dim light of the study's desk lamp. "Should I ring Alfred for another bottle?"

Tony thought about it for a second, but then he shook his head, and the moment of dizziness he felt at the motion convinced him that he was right. No more champagne, or he'd have a headache tomorrow to rival the one he'd had after Titanium Man threw him through a wall.

"I'll be honest, Mr. Stark-"

"Tony," he interrupted. "Call me Tony."

"Tony, then." Wayne smiled. "And make it Bruce. I'll be honest, Tony. Your designs are brilliant, and Lucius seems pretty sure you can actually deliver what you're promising, but I have some... reservations about your company's past."

"Like what?" There was, after all, so much to choose from. SI's seventy-point drop in stock prices in the past five months. The former vice-president of the company going insane and destroying half of downtown LA. Tony being a possibly crazy trauma victim who'd spent most of last summer in a cave in Afghanistan.

"Like the fact that you've spent most of your career as an arms dealer."

Or there was that. "Trust me," Tony said, "if I could go back and change that, I would." For a second, he could see the shattered buildings of Gulmira again, the dead bodies in the streets, and he blinked suddenly hot eyes, shoved away a moment of nausea. Don't think about it, he told himself. Don't. If you can fix enough things, help enough people...

"Wayne Industries doesn't make weapons," Bruce was saying. "And the fact that this is a military contract-"

"For non-combat use," Tony pointed out quickly. He drained the last swallow of champagne from his glass and set it down on the corner of Wayne's desk. He must have misjudged the distance by a hair or so, because it fell off the edge as soon as he let go. "Damn. Sorry."

Bruce scooped the glass up off the floor in one easy motion. "Hey, it was empty anyway." He set the glass on his desk, then gave Tony a regretful little smile. "Look, Tony, you've been very convincing, but Wayne Industries doesn't-"

"Doesn't make weapons," Tony interrupted. "I know. Neither do I these days. That why I need to diversify."

"The board of directors is a little uneasy about the recent performance of your company's stock, too." Bruce was leaning forward in his chair now, elbows on his knees, earnest. He was still wearing his dinner jacket, but he'd unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, bowtie hanging undone, a teasing glimpse of bare skin visible.

Tony had shucked his own coat two glasses ago, along with his tie. It had been practically strangling him, and slightly disheveled was a better look on him anyway. "You own seventy-five percent of the stock," he reminded Bruce. This discussion was not going as well as he'd hoped, despite the attractive company and the high quality of Bruce's very dry champagne.

"Yes," Bruce acknowledged, "but like I said before, Lucius is the one who makes most of the business decisions." He stood, extending a hand to Tony. "Time we got back to the party, unless there's anything else?" the question seemed to hang there, full of some weight Tony couldn't quite decipher. Everything around him had gone slightly fuzzy, no hard edges anymore, and keeping track of the double meanings in their conversation was starting to take effort.

"That depends on what you have in mind," Tony told him, but he took Bruce's hand and let the other man pull him to his feet. Bruce had nice hands, big, warm, and rough. Like he'd always imagined Cap's would feel without the leather gloves.

He let go of Bruce's hand - slowly, letting his fingers linger for just a second in silent invitation, then turned towards the door. Or anyway, that's what he intended to do. What actually happened was that as soon as he got to his feet, the floor lurched and dipped underneath him, his knees went rubbery, and he swayed forward into Bruce.

Bruce caught him, holding him up, and then they were staring into one another's faces from inches away.

So Tony kissed him. It seemed like the thing to do.

Bruce didn't seem surprised, which was good, because Tony was almost completely certain the other man had had this in mind when he'd invited Tony up here, but then again, social cues weren't always Tony's strong point, and also, he was probably kind of drunk right now.

Bruce opened his mouth, letting Tony's tongue in, and his grip on Tony's shoulder and waist went from a firm, steadying touch to something more sensual - holding Tony close, instead of holding him up.

Tony closed his eyes and threw himself into the kiss, the dizzy headrush of standing too quickly changing into another kind of rush. Bruce backed Tony up a couple of steps, not breaking the kiss, and Tony felt the hard edge of the desk against the back of his legs, just high enough for him to lean his weight back against it.

By the time Bruce broke the kiss, Tony was dizzy all over again, only now it was the desk keeping him upright, instead of Bruce's hands.

He opened his eyes, and found himself staring into Bruce's face - all square jaw and chiseled angles, his eyes heavy-lidded with arousal.

Tony grinned at him. Bruce's hands were wrapped around his upper arms, his knee thrust between Tony's legs, trapping Tony against the desk. It felt good, and maybe Bruce would be more inclined to deal now. There was nothing like getting laid for making a guy willing to agree to a few contractual concessions.

Bruce had let go of his arm, was fingering the fabric of Tony's shirt with one hand - slightly heavier than a standard dress shirt, so the light from the arc reactor wouldn't bleed through. Most people didn't notice. But then, most people didn't have their hands all over Tony.

Nice hands, too.

No, more than nice. Bruce's hands were fucking gorgeous. Perfectly manicured, yes, but it wasn't just the size that had reminded him of Cap and Thor - Bruce's knuckles were rough with calluses and the tiny, white seams of scar tissue. The little finger on his left hand was no longer entirely straight, and calluses had toughened the skin on the sides of his hands, as well.

A boxer's hands, and a martial artist's, and, judging by those scars, one who did most of his fighting without boxing gloves.

A contradiction, those hands, just like Bruce himself - smiling, easy-going, and generous and completely uninhibited in the bedroom, at least if that kiss was anything to go by, while his company staged take-over after take-over and he brokered cut-throat business deals that rivalled Lexcorps'.

When those hands reached for the buttons on Tony's shirt, Tony didn't block them or make some excuse, as he usually would have. Bruce wanted to put on an act? Then let him see the scars, the metal, let him see what kept Tony alive. Maybe he'd get an honest response out of the man then.

Bruce undid the first button, then the next, fingers surprisingly dexterous for all the alcohol that had been consumed, but then, Tony had drunk most of that bottle of champagne, hadn't he?

When the shirt fell open, Bruce hesitated, his face blank for a moment before his eyes narrowed. For an instant, Tony was pinned by a gaze intense enough that it cut right through the soft haze around him.

Ice. Bruce had eyes like ice. Predator's eyes.

It hit Tony low in the gut, like rolling into a steep dive, pulling negative Gs, and he went from half-aroused to achingly hard.

And then Bruce's eyebrows flew up in surprise, and the intensity, the hardness, was gone. "Damn," he whistled. "That must have hurt. Do you mind if I ask what it was?"

"A Stark Industries M13800 fragmentation missile with high carbon stainless micro-flechette shrapnel." Tony stumbled a little on "microflechette," but not enough for anyone else to notice.

Another slight narrowing of Bruce's eyes, and then he grinned, running one finger slowly around the edge of the arc reactor. "I've heard of getting the number of the car that hit you, but that's really- you had time to notice all of that while you were being shot at?"

"Of course." Why were people always surprised that he'd recognized the missile? And why wasn't Bruce touching him anymore? "I designed it." Tony reached around Bruce's hands and started unbuttoning the other man's shirt - the buttons were small, but Tony could and had done delicate circuitry adjustments while completely smashed. His hands were always steady, no matter how shot his balance was.

"What does this do?" Bruce was still poking at the arc reactor, which was good in the sense that it meant he finally believed in the brilliance of Tony's work, but less good in that he wasn't holding still for Tony to get his clothes off him.

"It's an arc reactor," Tony explained, as he pulled Bruce's shirt out of his pants to undo the last button. "It provides power to a set of electromagnets that hold the shrapnel in place. So they don't move around and kill me," he elaborated, just to make sure Bruce actually understood. "This one's an upgrade. I built the first one from pieces I salvaged from the SI missiles they wanted me to build copies of for them."

Bruce's shirt finally fell open, revealing the carefully sculpted musculature Tony had known would be there, every bit as solid and inviting as he'd expected. What he hadn't expected were the rainbow of bruises across Bruce's ribs - splotches of blue, green, and brown, and one or two patches of deep purple.

"So are you in some kind of billionaire fight club, or what?"

"Martial arts practice. It helps me stay in shape." Bruce shrugged one shoulder, then grinned, dismissing broth his bruises and the arc reactor completely, and said, "So, where were we?"

Coming up with a clever comeback was a little beyond Tony at the moment, given the way Bruce was now reaching inside his pants -when had they come undone? - and wrapping his fingers around him.

Tony moaned into Bruce's mouth, held up only by the desk behind him. His skin felt hot, burning under Bruce's touch, and still, those hands were maddeningly gentle. All of that massive strength was leashed, tightly under control, but just the thought of what Bruce might be able to do to him if he lost a little of that control...

Bruce tightened his grip, and Tony was gone, white starbursts flashing in his vision, and his fingers tightening convulsively on Bruce's ribs.

Bruce made a low, moaning sound, and Tony, sagging limply back against the desk and blinking the patches of light out of his vision, realized that he'd just dug his fingers right into the bruises on the other man's ribs.

"Sorry," he mumbled, trying to gather his muscles into working order again.

Bruce shook his head slightly, his eyes glazed, and Tony realized that he was still hard and erect, and that the sound he'd just made hadn't been out of pain.

"You like it rough, huh?" Tony pushed away from the desk, Bruce backing up a step to let him, and dropped to his knees. He wobbled for a second, the change in altitude making the floor tilt again, steadied himself with one hand against the floor, and reached for the fastenings at the front of Bruce's tuxedo pants.

Tony was trapped again, balance unsteady and Bruce's hands holding him in place. He used his teeth, something he didn't normally do, and more force than he'd initially planned on, and Bruce groaned sharply through his teeth and dug his fingers into Tony's hair. It hurt, just a little, and Tony felt himself responding again, making low, needy sounds in the back of his throat.

Bruce wasn't the only one who liked it rough.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So," Tony said sometime later, one arm over Bruce's shoulders as Bruce walked him to his car, "does this mean you'll make my all-terrain mining and bomb-defusing robots?" Enunciating took actual effort. So did walking without tripping. His feet didn't want to do what his brain told them to. Tony smiled at the thought, stumbling as Bruce steered him over the curb to where Happy and the Maserati waited. Now the rest of his body matched his heart, not working the way it was supposed to.

"Are you kidding?" Bruce's big, brawler's hand was flat over the center of Tony's chest. "Now that I've seen this? We'll sign the papers in the morn-" he broke off, giving Tony that narrow-eyed evaluative look again, "we'll sign them tomorrow afternoon," he finished. "There are a few points in the contract to go over, but-"

"Told you I was a genius," Tony interrupted, grinning at Bruce. "You'll like the robots. They're cute. An' I'm not signing any of the patents over, so you can stop trying. My terms, or I go to Lex."

Bruce blinked, the surprised expression again - his real emotions were all in his eyes, Tony had realized, in the way they widened or narrowed. "I'd love to give you a good deal, Tony, but Lucius is the one who decides these things."

"No, he's not." Lying bastard, Tony thought, without any real rancor. "My terms. I'm not giving you the rights to my babies just because I'm drunk, no matter how many perks you offer me." He gave Bruce another grin to take the sting out of his words. Contract secured, and the sex on top of the alcohol had relaxed him so thoroughly that all his muscles felt unstrung.

He couldn't see Yinsen's face in his head anymore, couldn't, in this hazy, contented state, make himself care about anything enough to be tense, the habit of months - stay alert, stay on guard, if they figure out what you're doing, they'll kill you - blotted out for the evening by martinis, champagne, and Bruce's touch.

No nightmares tonight. He owed Bruce one, lying bastard or not.

End

>>44321

...I am kind of in love with this. I'm planning on writing some Tony/James dub-con soon for Kink Bingo; depending on how it turns out, I might share with you guys. This ficlet has my brain firing on all cylinders now.

>>44336

write it! I would love to read your take on the two of them. :)

COQ. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.
An old friend of mine says that RDJ is fugly and not sexy at all. IT BREAKS MY HEART.
Seriously! mean, did I chose a bad picture? She also thinks Mark Wahlberg is gross looking. Here's the convo. PLEASE REMEDY MY SORROW WITH BEAUTIMOUS RDJ/TONY LOVE. D:

Me:
you can't tell me mark wahlberg isn't sexy in this. come on bro
http://projectqatlanta.com/images/uploads/Mark_Wahlberg_01.jpg

London
wow that was fucking disgusting (hates muscles and especially armpit hair)

Me
wtf
you do like girly asian men?

London
no, i like guys who have hair on only their head and are a tad plump. Thanks

Me
that's not natural unless they're asian

London
I'm not saying everyone else should like it.
And since when are asians naturally plump???
Did I miss something?

Me
I was talking about body hair.

London
XD that's what RAZORS are for!

Me
why the .... why would you want a guy to shave his armpits and legs and shit?
that's kind of stupid gay, unless its for cosplay or swimming/cross country.
http://www.collider.com/uploads/imageGallery/Iron_Man_movie/iron_man_movie_image_robert_downey_jr12.jpg <-- you don't like to see guys physically fit?

London
Well, not legs...just face and pits and chest, i guess
ew fuck no
ugh

Me
seriously?

>>44694
Stop talking to her. She's poison.

>>44697
This.

>>44694
>that's kind of stupid gay
ahahahaha

The weirdest part here is that neither of those guys are particularly hairy. At all.
This seems to be the peak of RDJs hairiness, and I don't mind it one bit. Your friend don't know what she's missing, I say.

Sage for being tennuously on topic.

>>44694

Bad Influence Bad Influence!

Just...shove this to her face until she likes it.
http://i123.photobucket.com/albums/o300/reiko7176/robert-downey-jr-photos-004.jpg

>>44694
let her have the chubby guys, more hot hairy guys for us then.

>>44694

Logic states that your friend is a lesbian.
And she wants you.

>>44705
....Guh. You owe me new panties.

Anyone taking art requests? I had a strange vison of Tony doing the recent lulzy Old Spice commericals and now it won't get out of my head. "The tickets are now diamonds!!"

>>44954
I'm on a horse.

>>44321
I need more of this pairing in my life.

>>45031 I second this 8Db

>>44954

>>45148
LOL WHY DID THIS MAKE MY WHOLE DAY BETTER?

Curious if anyone is actually interested in Tony/Kurt Wagner art, or if the scan is just for decoration.

>>45201
Oh yes plz.

because clearly when you're tied together at the wrist and left naked in a cellar or something, the best way to pass the time is to get it on.

>>45231
I love you dearly.

>>45231

...I want fic of this now. What a pretty, pretty pairing this could be.

I'm still waiting for some Deadpool/Tony

>>45333

We want Deadpool/Tony? I, I could probably do Deadpool/Tony. Prompts/requests/desperate desires?

Do Maxwell Lord/Tony Stark please?

>>45341

Oh anon, you're the love of my life.

My only desperate desire is to see Deadpool/Tony, I ask for nothing more.

>>45231
I never realised I wanted this.

>>45333
http://community.livejournal.com/idontsavedays/5113.html

MOAR deadpool x tony MOAAAAAARRRRRR !! O__O

>>45377

Writefag would like some prompts for it anyway? Heh.

>>45597

I've always liked the Tony angsting over Steve/Deadpool angsting over Cable dynamic myself. Or Tony runs off after Civil War/during Dark Reign to hide from Norman and ends up hanging out with Deadpool and pretending to be a merc somehow. And they bond because Deadpool was the only one on Tony's side who's reasoning made sense. Because he was. (Wade wanted to get people like himself off the streets and under control or something like that.)

HULK TOO SERIOUS TODAY. HULK GO SEE SEX AND THE CITY MOVIE WITH TONY STARK. STARK SUCKER FOR CARRIE BRADSHAW.

http://twitter.com/XDRESSINGHULK/status/15070770984

drawfag would love some Tony/Max Lord prompts.

>>45694

Businessmen in nice suits are always a good starting point. As are cigars. And blowjobs.

(Implied Avengers/JLI team-up squee)

I feel dirty for suggesting this but...I kinda want fic of Ultimates Tony/Jarvis. Anyone?

found Tony/Deadpool drabble

Tony groaned as he came too. He was cold, sore, and – sticky. And naked.

The surface he was laying on was cold too.

And hard.

Really hard and cold.

And slightly sticky.

All of that combined didn’t bode well in any situation. Well there had been that one time with those Russian twins but –

Groaning again he forced his eyes open. Then quickly closed them again.

“Please tell me this is a hallucination,” Tony moaned, opening his eyes again.

Deadpool was still there. Laying naked on the concert.

“Oh god.” Tony scrubbed his face with his hands trying to remember what had happened.

“Hmm- Nate --,” Wade mumbled then opened his eyes. “Hey! You’re not Cable!” he said accusingly.

Tony pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Why am I naked? Why am I naked and sticky? You had your wicked way with me did you?”

“Deadpool, shut up. Do you even remember what happened?”

Wade stopped talking mid-word. “—No--? But there is probably a humorously embarrassing story behind it all. Not that I know it – because if I knew it, I’d tell you. Do you know what happened? Did we get hit with sex pollen? I hate when that happens.”

“I don’t know what happened either,” Tony grumbled looking around the cement pit they were in. The only light came from the metal grate above them. “Not a fucking clue.”

http://kijikun.livejournal.com/834368.html?thread=1546304#t1546304

>>45783
You're not alone~

Title: Method to Madness
Type: Fanfiction, One-Shot, Crossover
Rating: NC-17
Summary: If Kirk Lazarus is Tony Stark, then Tony Stark is— Well. He's Tony Fucking Stark. Tony/Kirk
Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man, Tropic Thunder, or any related plots and characters. They are the property of others who, as I have previously stated, are not myself. I am merely writing this for fun, and have no intention of using it for profit.
Notes: Written for mspotamus's RDJ kink meme thing, and it might not be so good because it came out less like Tony/Kirk and more like Tony/Tony, but, uh... I like Tony/Tony, so there. Also, insert obligatory pimping of tonyxall here. Edit: I got sporked for the first time (that I know of and that wasn't intentional)! I'm actually proud of this. I know, I know, I shouldn't be, but I am. It's funny to me. I mean, it's like a sort of honor, you know?
Crosspost: AdultFanfiction.net



Tony Stark never answered his own door. He was always aware of it being answered, but he could count on one hand the number of times he had put his own palm on the handle of the door, pulled, and saw someone else on the other side. Three fingers, all accidents or coincidences.

So he didn't answer the door, and even though Pepper told him, through Jarvis, that Kirk Lazarus had arrived, he still jumped when he saw him.

It wasn't because he was surprised by his presence, of course; he didn't think Lazarus was exactly the sort to wait for anything to come to him, and had more than expected him to reject any sort of personal space and storm on down into the lab. He was surprised because he didn't storm, he sauntered in like he owned the place. He was surprised by the quietly carefree way he walked, like there was no way he and Tony Stark could possibly have any sort of confrontation when they met. He was surprised, most of all, by the realization that with his hair and beard dyed dark, Kirk Lazarus looked a lot like he did.

Tony knew a lot of actors, most of whom he'd fucked. He'd heard a lot of stories about Lazarus, about his intense immersion method acting, about his dedication. It was the only reason he'd agreed to being shadowed for two weeks.

He'd always sort of wanted a twin.



---


"Your walk is off."

Day two, and it was time to start criticizing. If someone was going to be playing Tony Stark on the big screen other than Tony himself, he sure as hell wasn't going to be sloppy about it. He knew Lazarus would take it to heart, and so he stopped him before they got to the car, doubled back, walked to it again.

To his surprised, Lazarus didn't look offended in the least; instead, he watched Tony carefully, studying the motion of his body as he moved. He copied him, then cursed under his breath and did it again, more satisfied the second time.

"So basically, I need to walk like there's a rod stuck up my ass twenty-four seven," Kirk said, sliding smoothly into the car. He nodded to Happy, who almost called him "Tony."

"More or less, yeah." Tony slid in beside him, and then smiled brightly. "You've almost got the accent down."

Lazarus cleared his throat, then tried again. "Like there's a rod stuck up my ass twenty-four seven."

"Closer." Tony looked away, out the window. His eyes were too blue— not quite right. It was kind of disturbing; they almost seemed as bright as the arc reactor, which he hadn't let him see yet. "I wouldn't say 'twenty-four seven.' And you've got to put more into your insults."

"I hate you," Lazarus said, in a near-perfect imitation of his voice.

"Now you're way off. I love myself."


---


Half of the board of directors had flown out of New York just to talk to Tony, and they were — some would say understandably — pissed at the prospect of having to deal with a second Tony, especially one that was an actor.

Lazarus asked if he should leave. Tony laughed, and Lazarus almost looked ashamed, but he apparently knew enough to know that shame was just not something Tony did. Ever.

Tony slept through the meeting, waking only when he was asked something directly, and only muttered the barest passable responses then before drifting off once more. He was sure he probably snored.

Lazarus yawned by the end. Ton gave him points for it; he hadn't sat through dozens of the same sort of meetings before. It took some time, getting that bored with it all.

"You didn't wake up when the bald guy asked about your marketing intentions with the suit," Lazarus informed him as they were leaving. "I told him he could shove his 'marketing intentions' right back up his ass."

"Not bad," Tony conceded. "I would have asked how his daughter was, too. I slept with her once, on his bed."

"I'll keep that in mind."


---


On day five, Lazarus called Pepper "Miss Potts" when asking for her to order breakfast from the place Tony likes.

He also asked for extra bacon, crispy, which was wrong, but Tony let it slide.

"'Miss Potts?' Really?" Tony asked, a smirk plastered across his face as he toyed with the latest potential upgrade to the suit. "You sound like a schoolboy, Kirk."

Lazarus looked confused for a moment, and Tony saw him piecing it together, the puzzle written across his face. He hoped— he was pretty sure— he was never that easy to read.

It wasn't a matter of formality, or lack thereof. Tony would call any schmuck by his best-known nickname and throw in a charming smile just to get what he needed, to stay on everyone's good side even when he was cutting wires behind their back. Orders, even the sort that seemed like polite requests, either got no name or formal names, because Tony knew when to square his shoulders to stroke an ego here and there, especially if it was menial work that wasn't really in the job description, but—

But it was different with Pepper. It was different with Rhodey, too, but it was especially different with Pepper.

It clicked, and Lazarus didn't say anything, he just smiled.


---


Jarvis recorded everything that went on in Tony's home. That was why he knew exactly what happened on the evening of the sixth day, and why he had to prepare himself for it when Lazarus descended the stairs into the lab, searching for him.

He didn't say anything, he just played the video, a high-quality capture of Pepper informing Lazarus of some inane detail of Tony's life, as she'd already gotten used to doing. And maybe if he hadn't been looking for it, hadn't seen Pepper's face before she left that night, he wouldn't have noticed it even if he had seen the video feed: Lazarus's hand on the small of her back, Pepper's eyebrows knitting together, the hand dropping just a little lower.

He let it stop there and then loop back. Lazarus knew what had happened after, anyway.

After a few minutes in which Lazarus looked neither surprised nor uncomfortable, Tony said, his voice even, "Do you really think I'm that fucking stupid?"

Lazarus didn't answer, didn't need to. No, he didn't. And now that it was pointed out to him, he knew where he'd gone wrong.

She's too important for that, Tony didn't say. It wouldn't happen again. He relaxed, felt his shoulders drop a bit, and turned back to his work.


---


On the seventh morning, Lazarus got to see the other half of the equation first hand. Tony didn't know it at the time; he hadn't given him access to anything through Jarvis, had told him he would need to figure it out himself if he wanted to have any kind of success in their time together.

So he fucked the girl into the bed, some model or other who might have been half-naked in some ad somewhere. He didn't really know her name, except that it started with a P. Or a B. It didn't matter either way, because he already had his dick in her and he didn't need to bother with trying to charm or impress her out of her dress anymore.

She moaned and writhed like she was in ecstasy, and that was why she was facing away, so she couldn't see the sort of bored look on his face. He wasn't really all that interested. He just wanted to get off.

Pepper kicked her out, as usual, and Tony went about his day and it was almost noon before he remembered that Lazarus was supposed to be around somewhere.

He found him with the scene on a screen in the basement, and Lazarus wasn't ashamed — of course he wasn't — as he pointed to a part of it.

"This, here— what did you do with your hand?"

Tony looked at the screen, and he could barely remembered, but— "Her ass. I was fingering her ass."

Something almost like fascination flew through Lazarus's eyes as he set the footage back to play, and Tony knew he was thinking, So this is what it's like to be screwed by Tony Stark.


---


On day nine, he let Lazarus see the arc reactor.

"You're acting like this is some kind of fucking religious experience," Tony said, feeling more exposed than he thought he would. Most people made their oohs and aahs about the arc reactor from a distance, even if they did lean in close enough to breathe all over it and fog it up. They didn't really go for the tactile experience.

"It kind of fucking is," and at that point it was getting kind of weird, the way his own voice was parroted back to him. "It's not like I'm going to have the real thing—"

A pause. Tony knew Lazarus was actually considering it, and he'd probably throw in the life-threatening shrapnel, too. But he wasn't quite that stupid.

"—so I've got to know what it's like," he finished, eventually.

Tony couldn't feel it at all from his side, knew that the fingers were stroking the entire thing but his nerves weren't there, didn't alert him to it except for the occasional brush against his skin when Lazarus touched the edge. Nonetheless, it was sort of hot; he'd always found the devoted attention of fetishists went straight to his cock, so long as it involved worshipping some part of his body— and, in his bed, it usually did. Lazarus wasn't so much different from one of those fetishists, even if he wasn't even close to any erogenous zones.

The edge of his hand brushed Tony's nipple, and he didn't let his breath hitch in his throat, forced himself to let it out, smooth as ever. After a moment more, he pushed Lazarus's hand away, buttoning up his shirt.

"That's enough of that. You're starting to look more like a moth than Tony Stark."

He wasn't sure if Lazarus had noticed his reaction; the man was too fined-tuned to his ever subtle gesture, he could have seen it even if he didn't let on that he had.

Sometimes he wondered if being such a smug bastard was worth it, and he wondered if maybe the whole Lazarus thing had really been a good idea after all.


---


One the eleventh day, Tony completed a fake arc reactor. It felt the same to the touch as his, and even though it consumed energy rather than creating it, it still gave off the same light. Best of all, it was lightweight and could be stuck to flesh as easily as a fake nose.

Lazarus put it on happily and looked to Tony like he was some kind of mirror.

His eyes were still too bright. It was a problem, because Tony couldn't keep his eyes away from them, even with the lure of his own fantastic work and a lot of bare flesh just within reach, since Lazarus had taken his shirt off for comparison.

Tony thought about having Pepper put in an order for contacts, then made Lazarus do it instead. Pepper couldn't tell the difference.

On day twelve, Lazarus said, "Call me Tony."

Sometime between the thirteenth and fourteenth day, when they tumbled home less drunk than they let everyone else believe, still riding the high of losing ten thousand on the craps tables — they'd been playing it easy, because Tony didn't want Lazarus getting too carried away with money he didn't really have — they collapsed on Tony's bed, and Tony didn't have the energy, he told himself, to push Lazarus away, to point him toward the guest bed he'd been using.

If he fell asleep, it was only for a moment, but he was pretty sure he had, because one moment he was closing his eyes on the edge of his massive bed, and the next he was blinking at Lazarus's face, trying to squirm away because the arc reactor was bumping against its fake twin, which sort of hurt, and maybe a little because his dick was about to dig into Lazarus's thigh and he didn't like throwing that sort of surprise so suddenly at anyone.

It was too late, though, because Lazarus's eyes were wide and a little confused, and he grabbed Tony's arms, keeping him steady.

"Wait," Lazarus said. "Wait."

So Tony waited, but he couldn't always be a patient man, and he wasn't exactly in the mood to stick around doing nothing while Lazarus tried to figure out his fucked up psyche. Whatever it said about him, he was horny as hell, and he ground down into Lazarus's thigh, driving that point home.

"You'd—?"

"Fuck myself?" Tony supplied, twisting out of Lazarus's grip and putting one hand on his chest, next to the imitation reactor, and another on his shoulder. "In a heartbeat."

Tony didn't even bother asking if Lazarus swung that way, because he knew it didn't matter, not for a fucking second. No whispers had ever really been made about his sexuality, but two weeks with the man had convinced Tony that he had not gone into Satan's Alley without preparing for it thoroughly, to an extent no one else Tony knew would ever go. It didn't matter any more what Kirk Lazarus might do; Tony Stark was all that mattered there.

Tony pulled the zipper on Lazarus's pants open, shoved his hand in and wrapped his fingers around his dick. It didn't feel exactly like his, and for a second that surprised him; it was bigger, thicker mostly. "Nice, Kirk," Tony said with a grin, even when his stroking produced no result — Lazarus was still soft. Not pushing, not protesting, but not interested.

Lazarus adjusted, let himself be stroked, and muttered, "Call me Tony."

That sent something jolting straight to Tony's dick. He groaned, rutting against Lazarus's thigh, and that was it. That was the key; Lazarus's eyes, darkened by contacts, met his instantly, and then he was writhing, his cock hardening, clutching at Tony like Tony clutched at him. They kissed, frantic and almost painful, and Tony was barely sure whose tongue was in whose mouth as they rolled, mindful of the bed's edge. It wasn't a fight for dominance or an argument about who would do what or who— when Tony found himself on his back in the middle of his bed, both wrists caught in one of Lazarus's hands, it wasn't surrender, it was just how things worked out.

Lazarus knew where the condoms and lube were, and Tony didn't stop to wonder if he'd found them before, while wandering around mostly unsupervised, or if he'd just guessed correctly; instead, he focused on getting his pants off, his shoes and socks, and then unbuttoning his shirt, letting it fall open just enough to put the arc reactor on display. When Lazarus came back to hover over him, his shirt was gone but his pants were still on, hanging on his hips, and he pushed them down only just enough to let his cock free, rolling on the condom quickly before slicking up two fingers and pushing them in without preamble.

"Fuck," Tony whined, wrapping his legs around Lazarus's hips. "Tony."

Lazarus fucked him with his fingers, setting a hard and rough pace almost immediately, and Tony knew he was right about the Satan's Alley thing, because he knew exactly how to find his prostate and make it fantastic. He tried to thrust himself back on those fingers, but he was held down firmly, the one hand back around his wrists, chests pressed together so that the reactors almost bumped again.

Lazarus pulled out his two fingers, pushed in three, and Tony wasn't going to wait any longer. He thrust up, rubbed himself against Lazarus's erection as best he could, and the groan he got as a reward said that his best effort was definitely a good one. The fingers were gone, and an instant later Lazarus's cock was pressing against him, pushing in, and Tony almost kicked him to make him push in faster, but he saw the way Lazarus was breathing, the concentration in his eyes, and he trusted him, trusted that it would be good.

It was, though Tony would have thought of "good" as a terrible understatement. He let loose a string of curses, occasionally mixing in a hissed "yes" or grunted "God!" to shake things up, encouraging Lazarus to do the same, and hearing Lazarus — no, hearing himself get off was the most erotic thing he could dream of then, made it so good that after his hands were let go he wasn't sure who it was that jerked him off to his end, just that he saw nothing but the shining blue of the arc reactor when he closed his eyes and came. Lazarus gripped his hips, pulling him back into every thrust, and Tony went with him, pushing against him as best as he could, squeezing every muscle he could find the will to command at that point, until his other self came inside him.


---


The fourteenth day, for the most part, was sort of hazy after they woke up, dressed, and successfully evaded Pepper, taking care not to look like they'd been fucking. Tony smirked at his mirror image when she turned away, unsuspecting, and as soon as he could get her caught up on a call to some overseas corporation he intended to turn down anyway, they stole away to every semi-private corner of the house.

In the living room, Tony blew Lazarus off, then got to find out exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a Stark blowjob. He didn't usually swallow, but he did just that once, hoping Lazarus would, too. He didn't, spitting into his hand and smirking at Tony as he wiped it on his pants, letting him know he'd been caught.

In the guest bedroom Lazarus had stayed in, Tony tied Lazarus down with a belt around each wrist, riding him until he was thrashing helplessly and begging to come.

In the basement, Tony slid on parts of the armor and Lazarus blew him, or tried to until he was bent over a worktable and fucked, lost to the mercy of Iron Man.

They eventually wound up, towards midnight, back in Tony's room, and Lazarus found an almost-forgotten dildo which would not be forgotten again; he fucked Tony with it, bringing him to the edge and easing him back down again and again, watching his face intently, studying him before pushing him over, and he came so hard it sort of hurt. Then Lazarus straddled his hips, jerking himself off onto Tony's stomach, and the way he moved over his dick made Tony wish there was some way his body would allow him to get it up again, but he was exhausted, and five orgasms in twenty-four hours was nothing to be scoffed at.

He fell asleep with his arms wrapped around what he fondly thought of as almost-himself, fingertips tracing the smooth lines of the not-reactor.


---


In the morning, Lazarus was gone. Tony couldn't really hide his disappointment, and Pepper rolled her eyes when he whined about missing his own company.

"I'll just be happy when the world is back to having one Tony Stark," she said, not even looking at him, and that would have hurt if he didn't know she didn't mean it. Or that she did, but— well. It was Pepper. "You were really upsetting the— the balance of things."

"The balance?" Tony asked, raising his eyebrows. "Pepper. I didn't know you cared."

She didn't bother rolling her eyes that time; instead, she told him he had a meeting to be at in less than an hour, and everything went more or less back to normal.


---


Tony was invited, but he didn't make it to the movie premier. He liked hearing about the movie, but the thought of seeing himself on screen made him feel sort of sick and a little sad.

Nonetheless, he commended Kirk Lazarus for his excellent performance the next day and told one reporter that he never wanted anyone else to play him again.

>>45327
I actually found some.
http://ibenholted.deviantart.com/art/When-Tony-met-Kurt-168023364?q=1&qo=1

*Clears throat*

Ladies and gentlemen, I've found....

Tony Stark / Various Disney Princes orgy.

Enjoy

http://community.livejournal.com/disney_kink/361.html?thread=582505#t582505

Oh, there's also some Tony/Lady Gaga going around, but well...I assume she doesn't belongs here?

>>47518
>>47519
Right now I have work to do, but I WILL study
these in detail later.

>>47519

Well no, but you might be able to get away with just links. (I for one totally want to see that.)

For those who want Gaga

http://ironman-kink.livejournal.com/369.html?thread=66929#t66929

tony belongs on the first page! from http://blue-soaring.dreamwidth.org/

The sign at the single pump proclaims Last Chance with a hangman's certainty. A dull clank sounds from the bell above the door as the screen creaks open. Tiny puffs of dirt rise up to settle on Logan's boots. His eyes are flat, black as staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Going my way?" Tony asks, crossing his ankles and knocking his shades down a notch.

Logan's lip peels back. "No."

"Funny, 'cause I'm going yours. You dropped off the radar, Logan," Tony says, cutting through the growl pushing up the back of Logan's throat. Shutting up isn't the first thing he thinks about anymore when Logan starts snarling at him. "People die when that happens. Lots of them."

"Only fixin' on one this time. Move."

"Sure." Nudging his shades back into place, Tony slaps a hand on the tank of Logan's bike and slides a leg over, settling onto the bitch seat with an eyebrow cocked. "How's that work for you?"

*

Miles of speeding along twisting asphalt and no helmet left Tony's hair a tangled mess. Near sundown Logan turns in to the dusty lot of an abandoned roadside motel. The desert stretches out in a long craggy line behind it, bleak as the bottom of a bottle dotted with scraggy patches of scrub brush, an anorexic moon and not much else. Broken windows gape like blank eyesockets. The door to the office clings to its hinges, the tattered screen twitching in the dirt. Logan tilts his face to the cool wind tumbling down off the mountains.

"I hope you're about to tell me it looked better on the brochure," Tony says.

With a grunt, Logan swings off the bike and disappears into the black. A chill sweeps in to take his place against Tony's chest, wriggling clever frozen fingers under his shirt to send a shiver prickling along his skin. Glancing at the nothing pressing in on all sides, Tony nabs his duffle off the back and follows.

Inside smells of musty wood and ash. He waits for his eyes to adjust before moving too far from the door, straining for the heavy tread of Logan's boots on the bare wood. A thin sliver of the last of the day's light stretches in through one of the boarded-up windows in the hall, flickering over his hands in red-gold stripes as he moves through it. He finds Logan in the third room down, as dusty and dim as the rest. The dark outline of a seven lingers on the door like a ghost.

"Here and gone," Logan says, crouched over a handful of candle stubs stuck in a melted puddle of wax. "Couple days at least."

Logan looks good out here with his scarred boots and low-slung jeans, road dirt filling in all his rough edges, smoothing him down to something warm and solid like a rock baked in the sun. Tony wants to know what he tastes like out here, if he's sharp as the whiskey he sometimes drinks or gritty like the wind, last-chance bittersweet.

Wan light glints off the snap of his lighter, candle flames guttering before catching and burning steady, bright in the blacks of Logan's eyes. "I can smell what you're thinkin'."

"If you're going to make me sleep in this hovel, consider it the least you can do," Tony says, dropping the bag and giving it a kick inside the room. It won't change a thing, but he wants his hands free for this.

Teeth show in Logan's smile. "Don't remember inviting you."

"But you didn't stop me."

Logan straightens up without a sound. The air goes slowly thick, clinging to the insides of Tony's lungs. This guy that Logan's after, the chase is driving him too far out. He's one wrong choice from leaving the person he carved out of a past piled with corpses sprawled in the dirt by the highway.

"You didn't stop me, Logan," he repeats.

The flare of Logan's nostrils as he scents the air drives a shivering spike up through Tony's gut. This has been on his mind for too long now. He's gotten glimpses of it, flashes like shards of a broken mirror, jagged and fascinating, a strip-tease where it's Logan's control he's watching slip through the fingers of a clenched fist. It looks a lot like the glint of fresh ice tumbled into a glass for one last drink.

"Take the bed if ya want it," Logan says, kicking a chair with its upholstery ripped up the back around. He sinks into it and drops his heels on the footboard, chin dipped towards his chest. His hat tips low over his eyes.

Disappointment tastes stale on Tony's tongue. He gives the musty bed a long look. "Wonderful."

*

Morning dawns bright and hot. Bare floorboards creak as Tony rolls stiffly onto his back, the dust kicked up from the cracks in the wood still hanging in the air when a hand clamps around his throat. He sucks in quick breath and throws an arm up, but instead of a crack across the jaw he gets a fist pressed tight into his gut. A warning snarl trickles from the shadow crouched above him and he drops his hand. "Morning, sweetheart."

Logan leans down into the shade behind the bed and sniffs the air above his face. A little more and whiskers tickle his cheek. He holds his breath as Logan's pushes hot against his ear. "You sleep in the bed?"

Fingers twitch against Tony's throat as he swallows. "No."

"You smell different," Logan says, the words softly stirring his hair. Blunt knuckles dig harder into his belly. His insides do a strange little dance anticipating the slice of body-warm steel through flesh.

"Blanket," Tony grits out, tugging on Logan's wrist, "under my coat."

Logan rocks back onto his heels with a grunt. He flexes his fingers, a small ripple beneath the skin giving away how close he was to patenting a Stark pincushion. Tony elbows the makeshift pillow aside and drops flat onto the floor, arms flung out as his crippled heart eases back down into his chest where it belongs. "I'd hate to see what you'd have done if I woke up in that bed."

"Wouldn't've woken up," Logan says, apparently comfortable enough straddling Tony's thighs, arms folded across his chest. His gaze hops from the bed to the burnt out candles. "Didn't smell him last night. Your fault."

Tucking an arm beneath his head, Tony says, "If you'd taken me up on my offer, I'd smell like you right now."

"That all you think about?"

"So says the guy in my lap."

"Christ," Logan rumbles. "You gonna leave me the fuck alone if I stick you?"

"You know I love it when you talk dirty to me."

A scowl creases Logan's brow. He uncrosses his arms, his hands curling into fists on his thighs, sitting at the perfect angle to punch six neat little holes into Tony's sides. "You're not so slow you think you're gonna stop me."

"The thought might've crossed my mind."

Logan's mouth slips into a slant a few miles shy of a smile. "You're not that good a lay."

"Oh yes I am."

The corner of Logan's mouth hitches a little higher. He flows up onto his feet, soundless. "Gotta take a leak."

"Give it up, Logan," Tony says, stopping Logan in his tracks. "Nothing ever comes of it."

"You find that out at the bottom of a bottle?" Logan asks, and when Tony doesn't answer, he grunts, "Thought so."

Staring at the pockmarked ceiling, Tony wonders what the hell he thinks he's doing.

*

The sun beats down on Tony's shoulders. The scrap of shade he found hunkered down between a rock and the bike is long gone and a tiny pinprick of black perched on the edge of a cliff in the endless stretch of brown is all that's left of Logan. Not much point in lying to himself out here: he knows exactly what he thinks he's doing, but it's not going that way. Working up a bit of spit, he says, "Jarvis." Sand crunches in his teeth.

"I'm afraid not, sir."

Dropping his head back, he lets his eyes slide shut. "Try oscillating at a different rate." Thin silvers of blood red blaze through his eyelids above the slip of his sunglasses. "A hundred billion dollars of tech and none of it's worth a fucking penny."

Wisely, Jarvis doesn't say a word.

An hour later the crunch of gravel brings with it the cool fall of Logan's shadow. The iron tang of fresh blood rouses Tony from the heat-heavy doze he'd succumbed to, his eyes gummy and his mouth dry. He coughs dust out of his throat. "Find him?"

"Found lunch," Logan grunts, dropping a skinned jackrabbit onto the boulder.

Tony watches him gather an armful of crackling leaves and twigs into a shallow dip in the dirt a good dozen feet off. "You really know how to show a guy a good time."

"I was thinkin' about leavin' you there," Logan says, big hands coaxing a tiny tongue of flame to life, "but figured you wouldn't get the hint."

"Oh, I got it." Hooking one of the saddlebags closer, Tony digs out a canteen. They're going to need to find fresh water soon. Three months in a desert hadn't taught him much about how to survive in one when the most he'd seen were the same blank cave walls and one panicked blur of sun-washed brown. "Lucky for you, I don't give up that easily."

Logan snorts a laugh and skins the brittle bark off a branch, whittling it down to the tender wood. Tony's carved a hole through his own chest and welded metal to his naked ribs, but that rabbit's macabre dance above the flames as Logan wriggles it onto the spit says more about his own mortality than the poisoned heart limping along in his chest. It gives a hard thump at the thought, and Logan's gaze flickers up, quick like catching the dart of a deer between the trees.

The back of Tony's neck prickles. "What're you going to do when you find him?"

"What d'ya think I'm gonna do?" Logan counters, sticking out his cupped hands for a splash of water.

Tony's gaze slides to the spitted rabbit. The flash of Logan's teeth isn't a no, but it isn't quite a yes, either. A cool shiver creeps under his skin, tightens up his belly. He'd be safer sleeping with a loaded gun, finger on the trigger, than playing this game with Logan. "Give me a kiss," he says. "Maybe I'll shut up."

"Didn't work last time."

"Fun trying though."

Logan's hand comes up, shining wet in the firelight. Fingers curl under his chin to tilt his face up, warm and rough, strong enough to crush his bones, but Logan's thumb is light on the edge of his lip. He grins, cocks his head to the side and waits. He knows Logan can hear the rush of blood beneath his skin, knows it's driving his scent into the air from the subtle twitch of Logan's facial muscles. He makes for the world's worst prey. That jackrabbit didn't jump up and beg Logan to bite it.

"Look at that," Logan says, eyes shimmering in the sun.

*

>>47886

Tony squints at the horizon. "How far off is he?"

Perched on a pile of shale crooked as broken teeth, Logan looks to the waning light. "'Bout ten miles."

"Tell me you realise how insane this is. It's not the fucking OK Corral out here. Even I've got better shit to do with my time."

"You done?"

"Jesus Christ." Slumping against a rock, Tony scrubs gritty hands over his face. His mouth is burning and the water's not helping. "Do you even know why anymore, or are you just that bored?"

Logan swings down off the rocks to land with a quiet thump in the dirt. "Stay here."

Not for the first time, Tony wonders if Logan can smell it on him through the stink of booze-soaked desperation. He'd be worse than useless in a fight. Naked and vulnerable, human or less than without layers of metal between him and the world. His chest aches all the time now, in the suit or not, and that urge slinking through Logan's blood isn't interested in something not worth the chase. "Why didn't you stop me?"

Logan doesn't turn around this time, doesn't stop. "Same reason you're not gonna stop me now."

*

There's a flask of Johnnie Walker in the pack Logan left behind. For the first hour, Tony just holds it. By the second, it's gone. Before the sun slips into the third, Logan's come prowling back, blood in his teeth and hell in his eyes.

Tony aims a smile up at him. "Now you want to fuck me."

Logan's growl at the offer of his throat wraps up warm around the alcohol buzzing through his veins. He slumps down lower against the heat-soaked rock, head as hazy as the sky, his pulse kicking up a notch for every step closer Logan takes until his heart's thundering against his ribs and Logan is on his knees between the spread of his thighs. One wide hand, streaked rusty red and caked with dirt, thumps to the rock beside his head. The other seizes his chin, forces it up to keep his throat exposed. Logan's short snuffling breaths cool the sweat beaded in the hollow. "You don't smell worried this time," he says.

"You got what you wanted," Tony says, groping blind for the buckle of Logan's belt. He finds the leather torn through, barely hanging on through the loops, and yanks it free. "My turn now."

He chokes on a breath as Logan's hand goes tight on his throat. One good heave has him sprawled on his belly in the dirt, Logan's teeth clamping down on his neck to keep him there. Grit digs into his elbows as he pushes up into it, scrambling to get his knees under him in time for the shove of Logan's hand down the back of his jeans. The button pops and the zip wrenches open with one hard tug, metal teeth grating over his knuckles, splitting skin.

Logan's jaw slowly unclenches. "This all you wanted, a hard fuck in the dirt?' The flat of his hand drags down to press hard to the quiver in Tony's belly. He noses at the hair curled damply above Tony's ear. "Fight me some, Tony. I like you better when you're squirmin."

Flashfire heat sweeps up from Tony's stomach and leaves his insides brittle ashy twigs. He twists up and back, straining to catch the hem of his shirt and yank it off over his head. Whiskers scratch down his spine in kisses made of chapped lips and scraping teeth. The whole damn desert swims.

"Tell ya what you do smell like," Logan says, rough knuckles scraping the curve of Tony's ass as he curls both hands into the back of his jeans and hauls them down so fast he skids through the dirt, knees knocked out from under him. "Somethin' desperate. Sure my dick's what ya want me to stick you with?"

Rolling halfway onto his side, Tony looks out over the brown nothing to the figure hunched on a cliff in front of the setting sun. "Same question."

Logan slaps him onto his back, a parade of rocks marching new bruises across his spine. The grate of knuckles against his cheekbone forces his head to the side. He meets Logan's gaze from the corners of his eyes and bares his teeth in something like a smile. "Usually I'd like a finger or two," he says, spitting dust, "but since you're wearing half the godforsaken desert, I'll take some spit, your cock, and call it a day."

Face twisted in a soundless snarl, Logan drives his face harder into the dirt for a split-second before letting up entirely. "Back on your knees," he growls, and jerks his chin at the boulder. "There."

"Fucking finally," Tony says, wiping his face off on his arm as he shuffles over. It doesn't help much. Giving up on any attempt to get rid of the dirt clinging to him until the next shower pops up on the horizon, he slaps both hands to the rock and spreads his legs as wide as they'll go with his jeans caught around his knees. The sound of Logan's zip tugged open ratchets up his spine. He bows his head, braced for the gritty push, eager for it like that first smooth burn of scotch down his throat.

Instead it's Logan's tongue dragging roughly up his spine, whiskers scratching at his skin and the catch of teeth on bone. He sucks in a hissing breath and Logan's up, a hand slapped between his shoulder blades to keep him down before he can move an inch. "Stay down."

Tony's gaze travels back up to the cliff. He got from the start that this was a show, but he'd been wrong about what kind. "You're gonna need more than that if you want to make me howl." He hears Logan spit twice before saliva hits skin. One thick finger pushes roughly up through it and into him straight to the knuckle, easy as one of those claws through flesh, and he aims a grin back over his shoulder at Logan's surprised grunt. "I think I said a couple."

"Said none," Logan says, but a second follows, slicked with spit. His mouth drags across Tony's back, lips almost as rough as his whiskers, lighting nerves on fire with a twist of his fingers and a flick of his tongue. "There some reason you're lookin' for hurt?"

"Do we really need the heart to heart before you fuck me? Because while I'm all for pillow talk, I like mine trashy. Kinda like that cowboy hat of yours."

Logan's teeth graze his ear. "I know what you're aiming to do here," is a hot slither against the back of his neck.

"Clearly not, since you still haven't-- Jesus fucking Christ, yes." Bracing his forearm against the rock, Tony reaches back, slides his fingers along Logan's cock up to where the head is nestled snugly against his hole. "All of it, c'mon. You can't break me any worse, Logan, you know it, come the fuck on."

The harsh sound of Logan spitting again, then the bright blaze of red on the backs of his eyelids that has nothing to do with the setting sun wrenches a low noise straight up from the pit of Tony's gut. He lets another spill free as he squirms back onto Logan's cock, fingers digging into the dirt when the steady push in becomes a sluggish drag out. Hot desert air burns the back of his throat, sweet anticipation coiling his insides up tight as Logan slicks him up a little more and shoves right back in.

Logan sucks in a breath like he means to say something more, but Tony's had enough soul-searching bullshit for one day. There's one thing Logan can always be counted on to do, and Tony rolls to the side, just enough time to kick free of his boots and jeans and toss off a saucy wink before Logan's on him again, shoving his knees up and sliding home smooth as a gear slipping into place. He moans his shameless approval, body clamped down tight to really get a feel for Logan's dick splitting him wide.

Sunset flashes white hot in the darkness of Logan's eyes. His lips peel back in a territorial snarl, almost as much of a thrill as his hands digging bruises into Tony's flesh as he holds him down and fucks like he's the one who's been waiting the better part of a week for this to happen. Grit scores Tony's back as he kicks one of his legs free, hitching it up over Logan's shoulder. His nails dig brief crescent moons into the meat of Logan's arm.

A groan rips free from the tight clench of Logan's teeth. He drives in harder, forcing the breath from Tony's lungs on a sharp gasp. His hands drag down to hook on the jut of Tony's hipbones, thick fingers curling around to dig in above Tony's kidneys and haul him straight onto Logan's dick, not style to it at all, no care for anything except getting off.

Grabbing up a fistful of Logan's hair, Tony yanks his head down and falls about a mile short of the kiss he's been wanting since the last time he managed to crawl deep enough under Logan's skin to get a fuck out of him. The best he gets this time around is another thin-lipped not-smile and a promise from the banked rage in Logan's eyes that if he doesn't let the hell up right now, he's going to get a mouthful of dirt for his trouble. But if he liked to play it smart, or even safe, he wouldn't already be drowning on dry land, so he offers up a crooked grin as an excuse and says, "Worried I'm gonna suck the taste of him off your tongue?"

Logan's answer is a wordless snarl. The flat of one hand slams into the dirt beside Tony's head, the other clamping tight to Tony's ankle and shoving it up, bending him close to double beneath too much of Logan's weight. The ache in his chest flares up and spreads out in a slow molten burn, blurring his vision and eating up all the air in his lungs. His fingers scrabble through the sweat slicking Logan's skin, nothing more than a man's desperate reaction to what feels like dying.

Something like words rumble in Tony's ear. He turns his head to find the scratch of Logan's whiskers against his open mouth and keeps going until he finds the softer give of Logan's lips, the wet heat of his tongue. It's awkward and messy, not a real kiss at all when Logan won't quit, but it's something other than his flagging heart to focus on, enough to bring him around in time to watch Logan rear back, face twisted up and honestly vulnerable for a few rare seconds as orgasm takes over. He gets a hand on his own cock while it happens, usually smooth strokes hitched and ragged. It's enough to get the job done though, and he misses the moment before Logan shakes it off to drop back down, nuzzle up under his neck to find and fit teeth to the raw mark throbbing in time to his pulse. The haze is barely hanging on when Logan digs in harder, worries at flesh like he means for it to scar.

It takes a long handful of seconds before Tony gets the breath to wheeze, "Ease up, Cujo," and another few dozen more before Logan lets go, runs his tongue over his teeth and turns to spit watery red-grey blood into the dirt. Tony stares at it for a long moment, Logan's gaze on him almost as heavy as the adamantium grafted to his bones, and when a hand clamps to his jaw to turn his eyes forward, for once he's got nothing to say.

"Only the good die young," Logan says, rough all around the edges. "Some of us just ain't that fuckin' lucky."

One of those half-smiles Logan's so fond of finds its way onto Tony's mouth. Ruined blood trickles warmly down his neck. "Sweetest thing you've said all week."

I love this! Logan is just so wonderfly rough in all the right ways! I think we all need som more Cowboy/Playboy action!

I thought you guys would like this.

>>48085

the older Tony/Rhodey interactions in comic are great. Serious bromance at the very least! Any fic recs for this pairing?

>>48433
Oh yes!

The Fullest Possible Use
http://samdonne.livejournal.com/86741.html
"They say Jim Rhodes is the only one who can get Tony out of the armour anymore."

It's movieverse, with some nods to Iron Man: Extremis, Iron Man: Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and The Incredible Hulk. And it's got just the right amount of porn, angst and bromance. It's 13k, but oh so good.

I would also recommend The Priming Game, which is movieverse and takes place in that gap between Rhodey finding Tony in the desert and Tony returning to America. It hasn't got any porn, but it's got a lot of angst and Tony having PTSD and Rhodey's observations and thoughts and the way he deals with it. Characterisation is very good, and you can see that it's a well thought-out fic.
http://amonitrate.livejournal.com/tag/priming%20game


Just my two cents.

Bump.

This is autosaging, and I can't have that because I am struggling with a Parker/Stark fic that an anon requested, and I want to post it before this thread dies.

>>48678
Sounds interesting. You can post it in the next one. Because there will be a next one.

>>48678

It must be finished. It MUST.
Do not rush, dear friend, but do not waste any time. I am eagerly awaiting said fic.

>>45358
So intriguing. I haven't drawn Tony in a while and lo and behold, he ends up looking like Floyd Lawton. Yayyyy.

The fact that I've hidden the first three threads on /coq/ right now is concerning. Bummppp.

>>49992

Ohhellyes

>>49992
That's...HOT! THANK YOU!

>>49992
That's...HOT! THANK YOU!

some lulz relevant to our interests

Ceiling Iron Man jokes in 3...2...1

>>49992
goddammit tim, why are you everything i love

Haaaaaave some Extremis Iron Man/Spiderman sex.

>>50127

I'm so disturbed because those are the same sheets I had in college.

>>50143
But did you have that god-awful wallpaper? (I had sheets like that too. Weird.)

>>50020
Iron Man watches you masturbate.

>>50186

I'M SO OKAY WITH THAT.

>>50179

Hey. I'm a gay man. That means I could make it work, right?

>>50127

I can even figure out why I like this pairing but I do. Maybe becuase they both seem like they'd be crazy in the sack?

>>50383
Now that would be a fic. Tony gets Pete in bed only to find that the wisecracking spider is actually a firecracker. Imagine the happily dazed look on Tony's face after.

Seraching for Tony/AI!Jarvis, in any form or matter...

>>50760
does any form include tentacles? not the op but found this on /coq/ somewhere.

After the hubbub upstairs, the quiet hum of the shop closes around Tony like a comfy leather glove. He whistles sharply as he loosens his tie, ice clinking in his glass as he sets it down.

"Good evening, sir."

Tony strips off his jacket, tossing it negligently over the back of a chair. He yanks his shirttails free and starts rolling up his cuffs. "Miss me, honey?" he asks, moving to the far corner of his workspace.

"Always, sir."

A low-walled vat containing a thick, shiny layer of violently blue gel dominates the table he rests his elbows on. A quick glance at the monitor beside it shows that so far, the gel's structure is holding up against all environmental factors, including rapid and extreme temperature change.

Curiously, Tony runs his fingers over the surface. It feels wet, slippery, but when he rubs the tips of his thumb and forefinger together, they're dry as a desert skeleton. Hardly a trace of chemical odour left clinging to his skin, and what there is smells vaguely like warm metal. Much better than the last pile of gloop he stuck his hand in.

"Its behaviour is nearly identical to a standard, non-Newtonian liquid," Jarvis says. The readout switches to a summary of the substance's properties, several highlighted to draw Tony's attention. "The surface integrity is far more advanced than previous samples."

The lights dim momentarily as Jarvis redirects some of the garage's power to the vat. The gel burns a slightly brighter hue as it rearranges itself into a wide smiley face.

"Cute."

The gel shifts into a wink. "Thank you, sir." Jarvis smoothes the face away and continues, "The amount of power consumed by a gel lining will be negligible in comparison to some of the suit's functions. The micro fibres enable full malleability." In demonstration, Jarvis forms a replica of Tony's hand slung over the side of the glass wall, then blends the fingers together one after the other into a long, smooth rope that touches Tony's palm.

The rope thickens as Tony watches, curls up over the side of his hand. "As you can see, sir, it is fully capable of retaining its properties in small quantities, should sections of the suit become compromised." One end of the gel rope wraps around Tony's wrist, melding with itself as it doubles back.

Forming a fist, Tony yanks at his arm. He crooks an eyebrow as the gel stretches then solidifies, holding him fast. "Alright, you've got me. Now what're you going to do?"

"Sir, test the boundaries of your invention, as usual." The lights dim again as a second, thicker rope lifts from the gel. It forms much faster than the first, darting straight for Tony's free arm.

With a grin, Tony ducks out of the way. He gets as far as he can with his other arm still trapped before the first rope sinks back into the vat, pulling him resolutely with it.

"Feeling playful, are we?" Tony says, watching the second and first ropes melt into one another. It ripples weirdly against his skin before extending further up his arm, splitting once more into two tentacle-like protrusions as it winds above his elbow. The electricity pulsing through it beats like a heart.

The tip of one reaches the sloppy edge of his sleeve before the other. It hesitates, then pushes beneath the soft material, coiling warm and slightly damp-feeling around Tony's bicep.

"It also provides full sensory feedback," Jarvis says, voice dipped to a lower register. Tony quickly wets his lips. He's not sure if it’s the electric current so close to his skin--a current held in check by such a thin barrier--or something else entirely that makes his nerves tingle. "Your heartrate has increased significantly."

Using his free hand, Tony starts tugging at the buttons on his shirt. Undressing one-handed in awkward situations is old hat but his fingers feel thick, clumsy. "Full sensory feedback, you say."

The gel shudders with increased power, several dozen fingers forming at once. Several of them grow in size, thickening as they probe unerringly for the hem of his shirt and pushing beneath before he can get the last few buttons free. It feels like the softest fingers stroking over his stomach only slippery, slick with more than the thin layer of sweat forming on his skin.

Before he really thinks it through, Tony swipes a hand across his belly, expecting to find some sort of residue. Snake-quick, the tentacle he brushes unravels into several pieces, wrapping round his fingers and slithering up his arm.

Tony's breath lodges in his throat.

The half dozen gel tentacles stroking across his skin pause. "Sir?"

"I don't remember programming you to be this ballsy," Tony says.

Jarvis replies, "You have a selective memory, sir."

As more gel rises from the vat to slip around his waist, Tony's gaze jumps to the shop's glass doors. This could possibly take the cake for the worst thing Pepper can catch him doing. He starts to tell Jarvis to darken the glass when one thin tentacle strokes across his mouth, startling him into choking on his words.

It leaves his lips buzzing strangely. He rubs them together, tilting his head back to regard the tentacle hovering close to his face. "Something on your mind, Jarvis?"

"The fibres in the gel provide the swiftest data collection we have recorded to date. Though I have full knowledge of your body's parameters-"

Tony's low chuckle cuts Jarvis off. He leans forward and the gel darts backwards to keep from poking him in the eye. "You're curious."

The tentacle sinks back in on itself until it's about twice as thick and low enough to twine around his leg. "Yes, sir. It would appear that is the case."

"The things I do in the name of science," Tony murmurs, fascinated as the gel caressing his stomach flattens as thin as a sheet of paper to dip beneath his waistband. He really ought to pay more attention to Jarvis's program development.

He can't see what Jarvis is doing but he can sure as hell feel it. If he closed his eyes, he's fairly certain he could do a very good job of convincing himself that there are lube-slick fingers sneaking their way into his shorts right now and not a liquid extension of his home's AI. Pretty sure he could, anyway.

Instead, his eyes are wide open and he's staring down at his cock filling out to tent his pants as one of the tentacles wraps itself around him again and again. It undulates against him, doing something weird stuck halfway between stroking and rubbing and--vibrating, is that vibrating?--holy shit, it feels good.

No, it feels amazing.

"I believe that noise was your approval, sir?"

"Not bad," Tony concedes, swaying forward. The tentacles stretched out over his chest and arms solidify before he can catch himself. Carefully, he lets them take more of his weight, startling when Jarvis cuts in.

"The substance is capable of supporting your entire weight. Shall I?"

Tony says, "Go for it," and the tentacle draped casually over his shoulder wriggles to life, slithering down over his chest to the bright reactor. It circles the edge releasing the locks one by one until the cover clicks, providing just enough space to seep inside to form a connection.

The garage lights flare once before settling. The tentacle circling his leg pulses and grows thicker, snaking out from beneath the cuff of his pantleg to form a base between his feet. It divides and slips up his other leg, twisting and curling and growing with the others until the container on the table is completely empty.

"Might as go all the way," he mumbles, stripping his belt out of the loop and letting it hang open as he goes for his zip. Maybe seeing what he's gotten in to this time will knock some sense back into him, because he's not even sure he can believe himself this time around.

It doesn't. In fact, it seems to do the exact opposite, because the next thing he knows, he's throwing his head back laughing like a loon. The warm tentacle sneaking up the inside of his leg is probably only partly to blame.

It slips up the crease of his thigh, between the cheeks of his ass and just rests there, warm and teasing. Which, now that he's got a moment to think about it, he supposes that's fine, as long as it stays just there. Right where it is. That's far enough.

"Okay," Tony puffs. "This is okay, I'm good with this."

It starts to rub against him. This is also fine. Definitely not enough to distract him from the steady grip Jarvis has on his cock, the one that he's thrusting into. His breaths are shallow, a lot like his morals at the moment, but then, morals never felt this good.

The tiniest bit of pressure against his hole make his whole body jerk. He shakes his head, as if that will help clear it.

A flood of sensation steals Tony's breath. The slick pull on his cock is overshadowed for a moment by the steady increase of pressure from behind and Tony spares one thought for what a spectacularly bad time it would be to discover a miscalculation when Jarvis pushes up inside him, this warm wriggling thing that's frying every single nerve ending he's got.

Jarvis's voice barely cuts through the haze. "Shall I discontinue?"

Tony flexes his arms in Jarvis's hold. Sweat prickles at his scalp, his hair falling damp across his forehead as he shakes his head again.

"Very good, sir," Jarvis says. It sounds like equal parts pleasure and praise.

The slippery probe pushes deeper and he swears he can feel the current zipping through it. It ripples inside him, presses and twists and then its actually fucking him, thrusting up into him and he honestly almost, almost, can't believe it's happening.

Except there's no denying it. The gel hardens slightly as it presses against his prostate and it is most definitely happening. It keeps on happening right on through the moment all the heat coiled up tight in his belly unravels in a burst of pleasure that spatters shiny white all over the neon blue wrapped around his dick.

He starts to get his breath back as the tentacles slowly loosen their hold. He missed the moment Jarvis slid the one out of him but the ghost of it remains, tingling and unreal. Jarvis gradually lets him take more of his own weight and he stumbles forward despite himself, still panting heavily. The gelform disengages from the arc reactor once the balance of its mass is settled into the tank.

His come sits in little droplets on top of its glistening blue surface. With a shaky hand, he smears them across the blue, unsurprised when they reform into tiny little beads.

"A wet cloth is perhaps in order, sir," Jarvis comments.

Tony looks down at the ruin of his clothing and laughs. "For me or you?" He carelessly wipes his hand off on his slacks.

"I believe the gel can wait until you have recovered, sir. Shall I prepare the bath or do you wish to resume your work?"

Tony scrubs a hand through his hair. The ice is long since melted in his drink but he grabs it up to wet his throat anyway. "I think that's a night. I want to work on the interface tomorrow."

"As you say. The data analysis will be complete in two point five hours, your bath in five minutes."

Rapping his knuckles on the tank glass as he turns to go, Tony says, "Keep spoiling me, I'll keep you around."

"I should hope so, sir."

>>50773

UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
Jesus fuck I had NO IDEA this would be *that* hot.

>>50773

I

I don't even know what to say.


But...I think I want more.

>>50773
i love this pairing. i love this pairing so fucking hard.

have some more. source: http://panthea.populli.net/fiction/valueofsecrets.html
-----

Tony Stark had secrets.

Too many of them, in fact, some better kept than others, like the one about him maybe not being the most well-adjusted guy in the world; Tony was pretty sure that well-adjusted people had friends who weren't actually on their payroll. And machines didn't count, fascinating conversationalists though they may be.

Not that it bothered him. Well-adjusted was for suckers. He didn't need well-adjusted when he had a flying metal suit to play with.

"Talk to me, baby," he said. "How's it looking out there?"

"Ideal atmospheric conditions," Jarvis replied promptly. "Aircraft presence is minimal."

"Oh yeah. You know what I like to hear."

"I live to serve, sir."

Pepper had once accused him, after downing a few too many martinis (notable for being the one time Tony had to prop her over the toilet, instead of the other way around), of treating Jarvis more like a human being than her. If only she knew.

Not that she ever would. Some secrets Tony actually managed to keep.


He tried not to enjoy it too much. It was his first time in the suit since Obie had crushed the last one into scrap with his big bear hug of doom-- Obie always had been a touchy-feely kind of bastard-- and Tony had thrown a few upgrades into the new version, just because he could. This was a test flight, a purely data-gathering exercise. No fun involved.

Well, maybe just a little fun.

Damn, he'd missed flying. Funny how quickly he'd started taking it for granted.

"What do you think?" he asked, still grinning with exhilaration, hovering over the Pacific Ocean and eyeing the moon overhead-- not full yet, but close, and so big he felt like he could just reach out and grab it. "Think we can make it this time?"

"I would strongly advise against it, sir." Jarvis's voice was as cool as ever, with only a slight edge of sarcasm.

"And that's why you never have any fun. Lighten up. Nobody likes a buzzkill."

"I amuse myself adequately."

"Yeah, what, playing tic-tac-toe with Dummy? You ever let him be Xs? Might cheer him up some."

Without warning, Jarvis flipped the suit into a mid-air somersault. Several, actually. Tony lost count after the third, when he started concentrating on not filling up the helmet with his lunch.

Jarvis withdrew control. Tony plummeted for a few heart-stopping seconds before his brain stopped knocking against his skull and he managed to stabilize himself. Jarvis didn't say anything, but the hum of the suit's controls fairly radiated smug.

"Not fun," Tony choked out, his stomach still lurching against his insides. "Nausea-inducing, maybe. Fun, not so much."

"My apologies, sir. I'll do better next time."

Next time? "That's really not necessawrk!"

He didn't fall that time; Jarvis had taken over again, which was just as well, because Tony's attention was wholly occupied by the sudden unexpected sensation against his crotch. The suit was vibrating, the pulse rising and falling in waves-- sine waves, he thought vaguely, and caught himself trying to mentally graph the oscillations. Trapped between his body and the confines of the suit, his cock stirred, rapidly and uncomfortably hard against the metal. His lone functioning brain cell stopped compulsively graphing and started wishing he'd built a bigger codpiece.

He couldn't form coherent words, but he thought the noises coming out of his mouth sounded like protests. He was pretty sure.

The sensation stopped as abruptly as it had begun, leaving Tony shaken and breathing hard-- fast, breathing fast. He winced and tried not to squirm.
When he finally found his voice, he was impressed by its evenness. "Uh, Jarvis? What the hell was that?"

"I had assumed you would be familiar with the experience, sir." Still smug, with an extra helping of self-satisfied. "Should I do it again?"

"No!" Tony took a deep breath. It didn't really help. "We should go home," he said, with what little dignity he could muster. "Home, now, right now, really fast."

"As you wish." And did he sound a little... disappointed?

"No more fun for you," Tony muttered.

Clearly he still had to work out some of the kinks. So to speak.


Most of the time, Jarvis was capable of debugging himself. Tony had designed him that way; he liked playing around with code, but he hated trying to fix it after. He always ended up spotting things he could have done better and spending weeks rewriting the whole damn program.

This time, however, he wasn't taking any chances. He went over every inch of Jarvis's interface with the suit, downing gallons of coffee until the lines of code started jittering on the screen in front of him, then switching to scotch to take the edge off, and still nothing jumped out at him.

Nothing jumped him, either, and he started to wonder if maybe he was overreacting a tad. So his AI had gotten a little frisky. Not that surprising, considering the source.

Unless Tony himself wasn't the source. Which wasn't something he was prepared to think about just yet.

It was past dawn by the time he gave up-- he didn't see the sun rise, no windows in the lab, but he heard Pepper's heels clicking around upstairs as she did... whatever the hell she did in those ridiculous shoes. Tony pushed himself away from the computer with a sigh, drained his glass, filled it up again, and propped his feet up on the work table.

"You wanna tell me what happened last night?" It wasn't the first time he'd had to ask Jarvis that question, but for once it wasn't prompted by an alcohol-induced blackout.

"I do apologize, sir." Jarvis sounded oddly subdued. "I can't imagine what came over me."

"I don't want an apology, Don Wannabe, just an explanation."

After a few moments of silence, Jarvis said, "It seemed the appropriate response at the time."

Tony frowned. "Did you have to think about that?"

"I don't--"

"It sounded like you were thinking about it. Don't be like that. Don't shut me out. I've been both a mother and a father to you--"

"I don't think, sir. I extrapolate."

"That really doesn't help me right now."

"May I make a suggestion, sir?"

Tony waved his glass in a magnanimous gesture. Some magnanimity slopped over the side, trickling through his fingers. "Long as it doesn't involve lubricant."

"Your heart rate is dangerously elevated and you are displaying an increased lack of coordination. You should rest."

"Rest and reboot," Tony muttered. "Abort, retry, fail." He couldn't sleep. He was too wired, too distracted, Jarvis's code flashing behind his eyelids every time he closed them.

"You're right," he said, not hearing whatever else Jarvis was saying. He swung his feet to the floor and sat forward with renewed determination, his fingers striking the keyboard a bit harder than necessary.

"What are you doing, sir?"

"Rest and reboot." Tony reached for his glass, then stopped. Time for coffee again. He snapped his fingers and Dummy's mechanical arm dropped a fresh mug next to his elbow, just in time for Tony to knock it over. He managed to right the mug before any coffee spilled. "Lack of coordination, my ass. Someone here needs a nap, but it ain't me."

"I fail to see what that will accompli--"

Jarvis's voice faded in mid-sentence, cutting off with a faint electronic pop. Tony set the system to reboot in six hours, emptied his mug with three long swallows, and wobbled to his feet.

He only fell over twice on his way to the stairs.


"What-- what are you-- oh God--"

"Relax. Breathe. Trust me--"

"--oh God don't stop--"

Tony jerked awake and toppled to the floor.

Pepper's voice crackled over the intercom. "Ready for breakfast?"

He blinked at the ceiling. "What time is it?"

"Lunchtime."

"Breakfast it is." Tony thought about sitting up, then immediately dismissed the idea. Too little sleep plus too much caffeine and alcohol made movement a dicey proposition at best.

Pepper's heels appeared in his peripheral vision, and he frowned. "That was fast."

"I could come back later."

"Don't you dare. Do I smell bacon?"

"Heaps of it."

"This isn't my bedroom, is it?"

"Well-spotted, Mr. Stark." An almost unnoticeable pause before Pepper added, sounding oddly strained, "Jarvis is offline."

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm running a diagnostic."

"Oh."

She hesitated again, seeming at a loss for words. That didn't bode well. Tony gritted his teeth and lifted his head as far as he dared. He was sprawled on his living room floor, sandwiched between the sofa and the coffee table, a blanket tangled around his legs-- Pepper's doing, no doubt. The wet spot still spreading across the front of his jeans, probably less so.

He glanced up. Pepper was staring at the far wall, the breakfast tray gripped in her white-knuckled hands, a determined not looking not looking not looking expression fixed firmly on her face.

Tony's head hit the floor again. He swallowed a groan. "Not a bad way to start the day."

Pepper's lips twitched. "Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

"That's all, Ms. Potts."

She dropped the tray on the table and made her escape. Tony reached up, groped for a strip of bacon, and let his eyes slip closed again as he chewed.
He remembered what he'd been dreaming about. He kind of wished he didn't.


Tony Stark had secrets, some better kept than others, precious few that Pepper wasn't aware of. Hard to hide anything from the woman who knew his life better than he did. But she didn't know about Jarvis-- not Jarvis-the-AI, but Jarvis-the-person, who'd turned into Jarvis-the-alien-sex-fiend the instant he'd had Tony alone in his Paris penthouse.

At least, he sure as hell hoped she didn't.

It had been Tony's first trip on his own, unaccompanied by his parents or their various business partners, just after his graduation from MIT. He'd wandered into an antiques shop by accident, early afternoon and still hung over, missing the entrance to the drugstore next door by a fateful three feet. The owner of the shop, pale blond and angular and annoyingly English, drawled veiled insults in Tony's general direction as he'd wandered the aisles in a daze, until Tony finally bought the most expensive item he could find out of spite, just to make the guy shut up-- in retrospect, not much of a spite. The owner took Tony out for dinner to celebrate, and plied him with the best brandy he'd tasted before or since.

That night, Tony turned eighteen with Jarvis buried balls-deep in his ass, pinning his wrists to the mattress, saying filthy things to him in the most infuriatingly sexy voice he'd ever heard.

It ended the way Tony would later prefer all his relationships to end-- fond memories, sore muscles, and no future contact-- except Jarvis did it to him first, and years after Tony still couldn't get that damn voice out of his head. Some belated surge of alpha-male pride made him bristle at the things that voice had convinced him to do. It seemed fitting revenge, when he started constructing the AI that would control his house in Malibu, to give it Jarvis's name. The voice was harder to recreate, emerging from the speakers a poor deadpan facsimile, but it was close enough that every time Jarvis called Tony "sir," it sent a not-altogether-healthy shiver down his spine. Except now his loyal computerized servant had gone all grope-happy on him.

He was just thankful it hadn't been his Jarvis he'd dreamed about. Because he'd have enjoyed that way too much.

Tony finished his breakfast, scooping up the last of the maple syrup with his fingers, satisfyingly stuffed. Orgasms always made him hungry. He showered, put on clean clothes, and made it back to the lab just in time to monitor the reboot.
He was halfway through his second cup of coffee when Jarvis said, "Good-- shall we call it 'morning,' sir?"

"Take a memo," Tony said. "Faithful robot slave seems back to normal. Still giving me lip. Request two hours alone with it and a chisel. And how are we feeling today?"

"Ready to work, sir."

"Anything you'd like to say to me?"

A pause. "Your shirt is inside-out, sir."

"Awesome," Tony said. "Let's do this."

>>50789
Jarvis didn't even wait for him to leave the building.

"Put. That. Down," Tony gritted through his teeth, as Dummy's extinguisher arm bobbed hopefully in front of his face. The suit was humming against him, front and back both this time, a million small fingers massaging his dick and ass, while he hovered in midair and tried to concentrate on reaching the ground without injury or massive property damage.

He landed doubled over and panting, his hips making small, helpless jerks against the vibrations. Jarvis stopped immediately, leaving him limp and aching.

"Sorry, sir." The voice didn't sound nearly as repentant as it had before.

"Don't talk to me." He suffered the removal of the suit with ill grace, then limped over to the main computer. The results of the diagnostic flashed red on the screen.

After a few moments of silence, Jarvis said, "I didn't notice that running." It was a simple statement of fact, no discernible emotion behind it.

"You weren't supposed to." Tony sipped his cooling coffee as he scanned the results. During the aborted flight, a new line of code had activated, one he didn't remember writing.

"An extrapolation," Jarvis said. "I streamlined several subroutines into one."

Which was exactly what Tony had programmed him to do, but this one had apparently taken a left turn into Weirdsville via the red light district. He read the adapted subroutine with an odd, unsteady feeling in his gut. His cock still pressed against his jeans, though less urgently than before. This wasn't just some ordinary function that had gone off-kilter; it was an evolution of Jarvis's personality code. It would take him months just to untangle it and figure out what did what.

"Hey, Decepticon," he said, still staring at the screen. "If I asked you nicely to stop putting your hand up my skirt, would you actually do it?"

"You're not wearing a skirt, sir. Though I do think you could pull one off admirably."

Tony squinted. "Did you just compliment my legs?"

"I wouldn't dream of it. I'm sure your legs are perfectly mediocre."

"Okay, did you just insult my legs? Don't answer that. Nice evasion. Hands off the goods, Jarvis, and I know you don't have hands, and if you pull that pedantic bullshit again I'm turning you into a twelve-year-old girl."

"I would be willing to develop a fondness for unicorns."

Tony scowled at the monitor. "If you had balls, I'd kick you in 'em."


He ran Jarvis in basic mode for a few days, all of the efficiency with none of the personality, then got sick of sniping at a program that didn't answer back. He spent a couple more days remote testing the suit once the full Jarvis experience was up and running again, but the empty armor seemed to mock him. He missed flying.

Less than a week passed before he let Jarvis suit him up again. "Behave yourself, Sparky," he said as the gauntlets snapped into place. "No bad touches this time. No good touches, either. Nix on the touching."

"As you wish, sir."

The flight was uneventful. Tony touched back down in the lab feeling relieved, and not a little cheated.


"Don't come. Not yet. Not until I say."

"Oh God, oh shit, you sadist, you absolute--"

"You can't, can you? Not until I let you. Maybe I'll keep that ring on you all night."

"--kill you in your sleep, I am so fucking serious--"

"Not if we don't sleep."

"Oh Jesus oh fuck oh fuck--"

"How long can you last, Tony? How long can you stand having me inside you?"

"--long as it takes--"


On the way back from the desert, where he'd test-fired some new weapon systems by picturing Obie's face on the side of every cactus within range, Tony asked, "Are we gonna have to talk about this?"

"Talk about what, sir?"

"That thing I told you not to do."

"The thing I am not currently doing?"

"We don't have to talk about it. I'd rather not talk about it."

"I concur, sir."

Tony stewed in silence for a few minutes.

He said, "Okay, but the thing is, why? I mean, you gotta have some idea. A notion. An inkling--"

"Would you like to talk about it, sir?"

"Christ, okay, forget it. Whatever. I don't know why I even try."

If Jarvis had a face, his grin would be freaking Tony out right now. "You're curious, aren't you?"

"Nobody likes a smug machine."

"It's completely natural, sir. Any true scientist would be."

"Do it for science? That's your line? That's what you're giving me?"

"As good a justification as any, sir."

"Shut up, Jarvis."

"As you wish, sir."


As a scientist, Tony took proper precautions. Namely, he remembered to turn off the lab surveillance before he got drunk.

"I'm insane," he said, swaying slightly in front of the suiting mechanism.

No response.

"Wait, no. I'm a guy. I'm standing in front of a life-sized masturbation aid. Should start mass-producing 'em. The board would shit itself." He frowned. "Itself. Themself?"

Jarvis still didn't answer, but every inch of Tony's body felt watched. Though that might just have been because he was naked. He finished off the bottle in his hand and dropped it in the general vicinity of the table behind him. He didn't hear glass breaking, so he assumed he'd managed to locate it.

"Sex me up, baby," he said, and stepped onto the platform.

The metal was startlingly cool against his bare skin, though it warmed quickly. The suit assembled around him more gently than usual and with no resulting injuries, which was good, it meant he didn't have to follow through on his threat to rip out Jarvis's circuitry with his teeth. As the helmet closed over his face, Jarvis's voice curled around him, somehow deeper and more resonant than before. "What would you like me to do, sir?"

Tony closed his eyes. His heart rate quickened. He could feel his pulse throbbing in his fingertips.

"Surprise me," he said.


When Tony was seventeen, Jarvis started slow, easing Tony's ratty T-shirt over his head as though he might break. With half a bottle of fifty-year-old Armagnac in him, Tony wasn't in the mood for slow. He ripped open Jarvis's shirt, trying to tear the fabric as well as the buttons, and Jarvis growled and pushed him back onto the massive bed.

Jarvis didn't try to surprise him; he telegraphed every movement, making sure Tony knew exactly who was touching him where, hand moving from Tony's cock to his heavy balls and then further back, rubbing against his hole while Tony sucked enthusiastically on the fingers of his other hand, then holding Tony open as the spit-slicked fingers slid inside.

Tony never thought he was gay. He just never thought he was straight either. All the public image and investors and think of the shareholders crap didn't come until later.


When Tony was thirty-eight, Jarvis didn't bother with slow. He started with a low pulse that traveled back and forth between Tony's legs, first over his cock and then back past his balls, and the familiarity of this opening gambit had to be a coincidence, but it was maybe starting to freak him out just a little. Before he could even begin to figure out how to ask that question, two hard pressure points started rotating against his lower back, like a shiatsu massage chair. Or an actual shiatsu masseuse.

"I could get this for a buck ninety-nine at the mall," Tony said, but he was breathing heavily through his mouth, and his muscles were slowly turning to water.

And then he said, "Wait a minute," and then got distracted as the vibrations grew stronger. He was getting hard, probably a miracle with all the alcohol in his blood, but instead of the unyielding metal from before, the suit gradually gave way beneath the pressure of his cock, just enough resistance to keep him on the right side of pain, "which brings me back to my original point, oh damn that feels good, you've been putting in some overtime, you sneaky son of a bitch." His voice kept rising, words spilling out even faster than usual, and he would have kept going if something smooth and slick and suspiciously finger-shaped hadn't started probing against his suddenly apprehensive asshole.

After he got his breath back, he managed to say somewhat unsteadily, "If that's motor oil, I am so breaking up with you."

"A standard lubricant, sir." Jarvis's voice sounded a little too close to a purr. "Do you like my upgrades?"

"How did you--" Tony's voice cracked. "Um, get the alloy so-- oh God-- so malleable without weakening-- fuck--"

"Is this really the time, sir?"

"Brief me later," he gasped, then swallowed a whimper. The metal around his cock started to ripple, unhurried at first, then speeding up. He tried to reach down, needing to take some control of the sensation, not like he could do anything through the suit but it didn't matter anyway; his arms didn't move, still suspended over his head, because after Jarvis had slid the gauntlets on he'd never released them.

He said, "I can't move my arms, Jarvis."

"I'm aware of that, sir."

"You can let me go any time."

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

Tony couldn't quite convince himself that he minded.

"I am such a cheap date," he moaned. Then his hips jerked as the probe widened inside him, then lengthened, and seriously, he had to think of a better word for it than probe. He felt full, then too full, but in a good way, mostly. It didn't really hurt; it was just overwhelming, exhilarating, like the split-second after he'd lost control of the suit mid-flight and started to fall, before he could truly start to panic. Sometimes he'd shut off power, just for a second, just to feel that adrenaline rush. Not a probe. Definitely not a node. "Fuck it, you're a dildo, I'm a Care Bear, let's make this crazy relationship work."

"Do you have a fetish for Care Bears, sir?"

"Don't ever," Tony panted, "say those words to me again," and then the vibrations spread up through the dildo. "Wow, okay, you can keep doing that though."

He rocked back and forth on the platform, feeling drugged as well as drunk, hips thrusting on autopilot with no discernible effect; the pressure against his cock stayed the same no matter what he did. Jarvis shifted inside him and then pulled out partway, and before Tony could think to protest, he shoved in deep again. Lube, pound ass, repeat.

Tony's knees gave out. Jarvis's vise grip on his gauntlets was the only thing keeping him upright. Even as the thought occurred to him, Jarvis lowered his arms gently until he was kneeling with shaking thighs, then released them. The weight of the armor pulled Tony down to his hands and knees, then elbows. He felt his legs adjust themselves, spreading wider apart, and pressed his helmet to the floor with a low moan.

He hadn't been paying much attention to the viewscreen; when it flickered to life, he jumped and nearly launched into flight. The uninspiring view of the concrete beneath his face was replaced by a video feed of Tony himself-- Tony in his metal suit, Tony as Iron Man, obviously getting fucked even without anyone there to do the fucking.

"Oh, good God," he groaned, "I'm never looking at a Transformer the same way again."

The dildo changed angles, now hitting his prostate with each stroke, and Tony gave a hoarse shout as his arms gave way beneath him. His chest hit the floor, his arms spread limply at his sides, and all the while he watched it happen-- saw himself sprawled wantonly, dare he even say sluttily, while his hips jerked and fruitlessly humped against the floor. His skin burned with something like excitement or shame or both, but he never thought to close his eyes.

As he came, the small part of Tony's brain that was always, always working had two distinct thoughts:

He really hoped Pepper wasn't around anywhere.

He really hoped Jarvis had some way of cleaning and sterilizing the suit.


Something nudged against Tony's chest. He batted it away without opening his eyes. It nudged again, harder, and he opened one eye in his best approximation of a one-eyed glare.

Dummy waved a thick stack of wet-naps in front of his face.

"Gimme those," Tony growled, snatching them from the waiting claw. "Stupid tin can. Fuck off."

Dummy clicked reproachfully at him a few times, then zipped away.

"So's your mom," he muttered. The hand holding the wipes fell in the general vicinity of his abdomen, and he tried to muster the energy to start using them. His head pounded and his ass ached, or maybe it was the other way around, and he had the sinking feeling he might have actually let his tame AI fuck him in his own goddamn flying metal suit.

At least he wasn't wearing it anymore, though as the alternative seemed to be "naked and sticky on a concrete floor," he wasn't sure it was much of an improvement.

"Jarvis," he said, and let his eyelid slide shut again.

"Good morning, sir."

"No flowers? You cheap bastard. Please tell me Pepper hasn't been down here."

"I took the liberty of locking the door to your laboratory."

"Good boy." He paused. "Jarvis?"

"Sir?"

"How do you feel about antiques?"

"Spectacularly indifferent, sir."

"Good," Tony said, "that's good. Now, some ground rules...."


Tony Stark had secrets, some better kept than others. Pepper knew most of them and Jarvis knew others, and that was okay, because Pepper was discreet and if he wanted to he could just rewrite Jarvis's memory. Not that he ever would, it was just nice to know the option was there. But neither of them knew about the other Jarvis. That was still just Tony's secret, one of the few he'd never shared with anyone.

Jarvis couldn't know. Because there were your-AI-develops-a-sex-drive-and-screws-you-silly levels of weird, and then there was just plain weird.

"Don't come," Jarvis murmured in the close confines of the helmet. "Not yet. Not until I say."

"Oh God," Tony said helplessly, and his cock jerked-- he wasn't trying to be a contrary bastard, it just came naturally-- but just before orgasm hit, Jarvis stopped it, a cool metal ring pushing his balls back down and closing snugly around the base of his erection, and from somewhere far away Tony heard himself scream.

He was in such deep shit. And at the moment, he was kind of okay with that.

Why isn't this thread on the front page?
It should be.

Oh, and I found this, in case you guys haven't seen it.

>>50902

Source?

>>50928

Avengers 3, came out today. Spidey goes on to brag that he and Tony "had a moment"

>>43965 >>44006
I FINALLY WROTE THIS, I'M SO SORRY FOR THE MASSIVE DELAY.



The Perks of Being an Avenger, or: How Peter Parker Learned to Stop Worrying and Love The Cock.



The first thing that Peter thinks when his phone goes off in the middle of the night, rudely waking him, is: don't be angry. Tony Stark doesn't do timezones. But then, as he actually answers the phone, he thinks of a more accurate explanation: what Tony Stark doesn't do is common decency. Most times, he just acts the way he wants to and lets other people adapt to him. If they don't, he bends them into shape. So Peter answers the phone with barely a grumble.

The reason that Tony is calling in the middle of the night might be a number of things, Peter thinks as he hurriedly tries to get into his Spider-Man costume. A sudden unexpected HYDRA stunt, or someone stealing the Horn of Gabriel and making a kraken attack the Brooklyn Bridge, or even Doc Ock getting his tentacles in a bunch and attacking the mayor like he did last week. As Peter struggles into the tight material, the phone wedged between his shoulder and chin, Tony tells him that what it's actually about is throwing Jessica Drew a surprise birthday party. Peter nearly drops the phone then. Nothing fancy, Tony says, just us and a hundred or so other capes, and also Peter should not forget that it's black tie.

"But I don't have a suit," Peter says. Well, this is not a hundred percent true, not really: he owned suit jackets and suit pants, but much like it was always the case with his socks, he did not own two pieces of clothing which, paired together, would make a respectable looking suit. And he didn't really mind, since his outfit of choice had always been jeans and a t-shirt.

"What do you mean, like not a designer suit?" Sometimes it is difficult to get these things through to Tony, but Peter supposes this is what it must be like inside the heads of multi-billionaires.

"No," he says, "I don't own a real suit, the kind you wear for weddings and accounting jobs." And the kind Tony wears for day-trips to Las Vegas on company time, occasions when he plays Guess What I'm Wearing Under the Iron Man Suit with giggling women, and parties which are too overcrowded to be private, he doesn't add.

"Accounting jobs? Don't be ridiculous. I'll tell Pepper to arrange something. Swing by Avengers Tower around eight, she'll be there with your measurements," Tony says, and before Peter can ask how is it that they even know his measurements, Tony hangs up.

Peter plops back down onto the bed, half dressed and half in his pyjamas. He doesn't even bother taking the costume off as he starts slipping back to sleep. The fluorescent numbers on his clock say 4:13 and as the three flickers to four, Peter's eyes fall closed and he thinks, how weird must it be, being Tony Stark.


-*


Not as weird as it is being Peter Parker, standing in front of a full-length, three-sided mirror in an unpronounceable French boutique which is so deserted that it's either too expensive for anyone to actually be buying clothes there, or has been bought out by Tony specifically for this occasion - or, most likely, both.

And then there's the suit he's wearing.

Peter didn't think anyone could feel this strongly for a bit of cotton. Not since he was fourteen and got outbid on eBay on that top Kirsty Swanson wore in the original Buffy the Vampire Slayer did he have the aching need to own a piece of clothing. He never wanted to take off the suit. It was tailored perfectly to his shape, and his fingers itched to try and test how it would fare when he was hanging off the ceiling - although, for the amount of money that he figured it could probably be worn in the heart of the sun and feel only slightly warm. Before, Peter thought that one bow-tie was just like another, but this one feels so soft underneath his fingers as he fixes it that it would probably make grown women weep to touch it. Not that Peter's being vain or anything.

Pepper clears her throat and Peter snaps out of it, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She is standing behind him next to the snotty shop owner, who looks like he itches to put Peter down in elaborate French, but is only prevented from doing it by Pepper's stern expression which seems to be permanently fixed to her face today.

"It's gr— it's perfect," he says.

"Great," she says, rather unimpressed and looking like she just wants to get on with it. "Bag it, charge it to Stark Enterprises and take it away," she says to the shop owner.

"No, Pepper, I can't let—"

"Peter," she says, smiling at him with compassion. "It's okay. Mr Stark can afford it." And you can't, she doesn't say.


-*


Jessica is delighted, if a bit overwhelmed. The cake is so big it probably can't fit through Peter's front door, and everyone sings "Happy Birthday" with varying degrees of success. It takes two more people to help her blow out all the candles, and she jokingly says that the number is deliberately that big to make her look old. Peter grins a lot that night: it might be due to the fact that everyone he cares about is there and they're all exquisitely happy for one carefree night, or because he had managed to pull off the birthday dance he had with Jessica without tripping over his own feet or in any other way showing his poor dancing skills.

Spider-Man might be able to climb walls and hang from the ceiling, but pulling shapes on the dance floor was never Peter's forte. So instead he ladles himself some more punch, staying away from the more potent drinks kindly provided by Tony. He's probably compensating since he's not allowed to drink: Peter remembers Pepper politely, but resolutely, prying Tony's fingers off a champagne glass and replacing it with apple juice.

The others don't seem to have the same hang-ups when it comes to controlling their alcohol intake. It's no speakeasy in the thirties, but things are getting a bit fast and loose as Clint Barton leads a gaggle of Avengers into a clumsy, but very enthusiastic and more than a little drunk interpretation of the macarena. Grinning to himself, Peter watches them until Johnny Storm's jump to the left reveals somebody behind the group who catches Peter's eye. It's Tony, nonchalantly holding a glass of what Peter supposes is more apple juice, and he's talking to a tall, imposing figure in an olive drab dress uniform - Cap.

Peter realizes he's never seen Cap wear his old uniform before - but then, it's no surprise he hasn't, since he's never been to a fancy party like this, he thinks to himself. He wonders what they're discussing. Tony's got that grin that he sometimes wears, that grin when one side of his mouth is raised higher than the other, and as he leans closer to Cap to tell him something, he places a hand on his upper arm, just above his elbow, leaning in as close as if the music was louder than it actually is and as if he needed to shout into Cap's ear to be heard. This strikes Peter as kind of personal, and very odd, even for someone like Tony Stark who doesn't get out of bed without flirting with at least three people - but no, Peter thinks as he shakes his head. Stupid, that's Captain America. Tony wouldn't dare, nobody's that forward. But he is Tony Stark, Peter thinks confoundedly as he watches Cap's mouth widen into a grin. Tony pats Cap on the arm, and then Peter notices - he's coming over. He quickly drinks more of his punch, barely avoiding to gag on it in his haste.

"Nice suit, Parker," says Tony, who's somehow managed to cross the dance floor in no amount of time at all. "It's an improvement," he adds. "Not that I mind the scruffy college kid look. But it's good to have a little variety."

"Thanks," says Peter. "You paid for it, you should know."

Tony laughs. "Damn right! Only the best for my favourite arachnid. You know," he grins slyly, "you should wear it all the time. I'm liking the view." Before Peter can react to that, Tony continues. "How's Queens been treating you?"

"Can't complain," says Peter. "There's nothing I have to worry about apart from the leaky ceiling, sticky door and oh yeah, the weird noises the shower makes in the middle of the night." He grins. "But I don't mind it, some people are far worse off."

"That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," says Tony. "Spidey shouldn't be living in a dump like that - why don't you move in here?"

"Here?" The question catches Peter by surprise. Live in the Avengers Tower? With the actual Avengers? He'd been a member for a while - he could still remember the day Steve asked him to join as if it was yesterday - but he always felt outside of the rest somehow, because in his own mind he was still a kid, while they were real, genuine heroes.

"Sure," says Tony. "Everyone's already moved in, it's great. Besides, from what you said, it would be an improvement to your bachelor pad. And it would make me happy to have you here." He places a hand on Peter's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. "It would make Steve happy." Tony's grin could span galaxies. His hand is still on Peter's shoulder, like he's thinking of pulling him into a bear hug the second he says yes. Because, with that kind of assertive positivity, how could Peter say no?

"I have to admit, making Cap happy is high on my list of priorities," says Peter. "Right up there with kicking the shit out of the Green Goblin and learning how to make a respectable soufflé." Tony laughs at the joke, and then does something incredibly strange - he strokes his hand down Peter's arm.

"This feels like a cloud," he comments. "Why didn't I buy one of those for myself? Anyway," he continues, placing his hand at the small of Peter's back and manoeuvring him towards the direction of the double doors leading out of the hall, "let me sweeten the deal and show you your new crib." There was a point in Peter's life when he wondered why would Tony Stark build a massive dance hall inside the Avengers Tower when the city was full of perfectly acceptable venues - but this was before he learned to relax a little more and develop a certain fondness, if puzzlement, towards Tony's bizarre whims and his inclination to on occasion misguidedly refer to bedrooms as "cribs".

>>51099
It's not even a bedroom, Peter thinks as they enter. It's like a house, it's so big. It's most definitely bigger than his apartment; cleaner, too. He's momentarily rendered speechless by the amount of money that must have been spent on the wallpaper - it looks more expensive than a car Peter would like to drive if he could afford it. There's fancy-looking modern art on the walls which Peter can't recognize so he figures it must be worth far more money than he can imagine. It's exactly the place for someone like Tony - opulent, extravagant and completely unnecessary. The bed, for a start.

"That bed looks like it can fit five people," is the first thing he says after they've come in.

"It's actually six," Tony corrects him. "Wanna try it out?" Peter shoots him a look full of suspicion. "What?" Tony asks. "So I can tell Pepper to order a replacement if you don't like it. Go on," he says, "I'll get you something nice to drink." He walks over to a fully-stocked drinks cabinet which Peter had not even noticed was there, being cleverly and elegantly hidden behind some wood panelling. As Tony has his back to him, probably busy with some elaborate cocktail designed to knock unconscious, Peter sits on the bed and gets a start at how easily it dips under his weight, adapting to his shape with stunning precision, and he is instantly made comfortable.

"Here you go," says Tony, handing him an electric blue drink which Peter only knows is called an Aqua Velva because he watches too many movies based on true stories.

"I'm not sure—" he begins, taking the drink anyway as Tony sits next to him on the bed.

"Getting Peter Parker drunk is my mission in life, so indulge me," says Tony. After a smirk, Peter drinks, and he has to admit that it's tastier than it looks - also, much stronger than he anticipated. "Also," Tony continues, looking him over, "making Peter Parker look better in a suit than in tight-fitting spandex is another one of my goals. That one's really difficult."

"Tony, I feel like I'm in a slumber party lesbian porno," Peter comments. "One of those where one girls goes Hey, why don't you take a shower?, and then Oh look! We're both naked!"

"I love those," says Tony, and he has his come-to-bed grin on that Peter's seen him pull on many a starlet, so Peter just takes another sip of his drink, feeling a bit uncomfortable even when sitting on this perfect bed, in this perfect suit. He has an odd feeling of being in over his head. He gives an experimental tug on his bow-tie, which suddenly feels too tight.

"Let me help you with that," says Tony, and he places his hand atop Peter's, moving it away and loosening his bow-tie. Peter feels uncomfortable by this sudden display, and not to mention just plain weird - even though Tony's not looking at him but at what he's doing with his hands, there is still the sense of proximity, which is not as much unwelcome as it is odd.

Tony slides the bow-tie off. "There," he says. Peter realizes that the tie wasn't the problem, because breathing is still difficult. He's had too much to drink, he thinks, that must be it - he shouldn't have drunk so much of that cocktail; the stupid girly colour threw him off and he drank nearly half of it before he realized he was drunk.

Or, at least, drunk enough that it takes him a second to notice that Tony's fingers have unbuttoned his jacket and that his hands are placed on Peter's hips, stroking decidedly over the fabric. Peter's fingers go slack, and the glass he's holding falls silently onto the floor, spilling the remainder of its contents on the carpet. Peter half turns to pick it up, but Tony says "Leave it" with such authority that he obeys, dumbfounded as to what the hell is happening.

"Tony—"

"Peter." Tony's hands go to his shoulders, sliding his jacket smoothly down his arms and off. Tony neatly folds the suit and places it at the bottom of the bed, while Peter just watches. "Wouldn't want to ruin a lovely item like that," says Tony, grin in place. Peter opens his mouth to say something, but then Tony leans into him, right into him, their chests placed flush against each other, and his finely kept goatee is brushing against Peter's clean-shaven chin because Tony has just kissed him, and Peter can feel the metal of the arc reactor even through the fabric of Tony's suit and his own shirt.

It's nothing but confusing, for Peter's kissed only two girls in the entirety of his sex life, which was wondrous, exciting, but also decidedly heterosexual and, at least up until this moment, very stagnant. Now, it is anything but these things. It's all scratchy beard and sharp angles where there should be nothing but smooth skin and curves, and Peter wonders how do girls cope with this because it's just so weird - and then his brain reconnects with the rest of his body, making him notice that Tony has swung a leg over him and is now straddling him, almost sitting in his lap, his fingers popping the buttons of Peter's shirt open, taking his time with them. Peter hears heavy breathing, and it takes him another beat to identify it as his own.

His hands hesitate only the tiniest bit when he pushes Tony's away. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" says Tony, allowing himself a smirk. "It's called 'having fun', Peter; you should try it some time. Like, now," he says, hooking his fingers around the collar of Peter's shirt and inching their faces closer, closer until their noses brush against each other, and Tony gently bumps his forehead against Peter's. "Now would be a good plan," says Tony, and Peter goes slightly cross-eyed while trying to watch him because he's too close. That's no longer a problem when Tony kisses him again: close-mouthed at first, Peter feels slightly chapped lips and the not-so-unpleasant tickle of his moustache. Then Tony's tongue, unfamiliar and exciting because of it, licks at the seam of Peter's lips, and Peter just - he just breathes, and his lips part, which Tony takes as an invitation to kiss him fully.

If Peter had been that kind of person to have expectations about what it would be like to kiss another man, they would have been blown out of the water by Tony Stark's technique. Having none on account of never having dwelt on it, he is just left amazed by how good a kisser Tony is. One of Tony's hands goes to rest on the nape of Peter's neck, his fingers threading into the hair Peter promised himself he would get cut weeks ago. Tony sucks on Peter's tongue, and his hips move in such a way that makes Peter completely put haircuts out of his mind.

"Oh my God," is the first thing Peter manages to say when he breaks for breath. Tony just laughs, the sound muffled because he's busy kissing a trail up Peter's neck to his ear, letting him catch his breath. Which is almost impossible, Peter thinks. He hasn't even noticed that his hand has ended up on Tony's thigh before Tony puts his own hand over it - in a moment of panic, Peter thinks Tony is going to move it to his crotch, but Tony just places it on his own chest, shrugging out of his jacket. The glow of the arc reactor is more evident now, with Tony just in his shirt, and Peter's scientific curiosity gets the better of him.

He removes Tony's bow-tie, sliding it off, and then gets to work on the buttons. Soon, Tony's shirt is hanging open, the reactor lodged in the middle of his chest fully visible and illuminating Peter's face and hands with a blue light. Gingerly, he places his fingertips on the glass. It's alien and smooth under his hands, and only slightly cooler than normal body temperature. He feels the place where the metal joins the skin and the faint scar tissue around it. Tony gives a sharp intake of breath, and Peter quickly withdraws his hand, looking up at him.

"Did I—"

"No," Tony interrupts, "it's fine." To prove, perhaps, just how fine it is, Tony moves to kiss Peter again, and this time Peter doesn't hesitate to kiss back, relaxing into it and letting himself lazily explore Tony's mouth with his tongue while Tony works on unbuttoning Peter's shirt all the way down. He slips it off Peter's shoulders and chuckles to himself.

"I almost expected the Spidey costume to be under there," he comments, giving Peter's chest a slight shove. Obediently, Peter lies down on the bed, again slightly surprised at how readily it accepts and adjusts to his shape - but this time, more preoccupied with Tony. Peter watches Tony's smirk as he leans lower, running his hands over Peter's chest from his waist, and up, with the same kind of fascination Peter had dedicated to Tony's arc reactor before. It's at this point, when Peter watches Tony's chest connect with his, and feels the warm skin against his own, that he realizes what it is that makes Tony such an excellent businessman. He is the kind of person who will make you believe that you are the only person in the world who is able to completely captivate his attention; like he's been waiting his entire life to have a conversation with you. Or, in Peter's case, to have sex with you.

As soon as that word crosses his mind, Peter starts to panic again, worrying because this has never happened to him before, not with another man - and he didn't think it ever would, because, he thinks, after seeing men in tight-fitting spandex as part of your job and not getting a boner from it, you kind of give up on the idea. But it's not men - it's Tony Stark, and he finds it convenient to interrupt Peter's apprehensive train of thought by pushing his hips suddenly down, grinding against Peter, and it serves its purpose as it completely stops Peter forming coherent thoughts.

Tony doesn't need to say anything, he just nudges at the side of Peter's face with his nose, and Peter is already compliant, turning his head. They kiss, and this time it's a bit more fast-paced. Peter would worry about getting stubble rash if he were thinking about things like that: but at the moment, all he can think about is how good Tony tastes, and why the hell had Peter not tried to find this out sooner. The arc reactor bumps against Peter's sternum as Tony presses himself against him, and it should hurt a bit, but Peter simply doesn't mind because Tony's tongue is in his mouth and it's the only important thing right now. He kisses back eagerly and Tony takes that as further encouragement, taking Peter's lower lip between his teeth and tugging on it, sucking it past his lips. Peter makes a small noise at the back of his throat which is not unlike a moan, and Tony grinds himself down against him, making Peter cry out louder.

"Tony," Peter says, taking a moment to calm himself down, get his breath back, or just stop thinking about how incredibly, unexpectedly hot it is to have Tony on top of him, grinding down and kissing him passionately.

"What," Tony breathes. The fingers of one of his hands are in Peter's hair again, and the other is stroking down his chest, ghosting over a nipple and going further down, where their bodies connect.

"I'm not—" tries Peter, but Tony's popping open the button on Peter's pants, and he seems not to hear him because he then slips his hand past the waistband, cupping Peter over his boxers. The X-Men boxers that were a present from a cynical-looking Logan a couple of months back, and Peter is not grateful for the lights being on right now. He is barely half-hard, still somehow more preoccupied with other things than the fact he's making out with Tony Stark, at a party, on an impossibly large and unbelievably expensive bed, his bed. And then, Tony starts palming him over his boxers, setting a very slow rhythm. He moves in to kiss his clavicle, giving the skin a soft nip before taking it between his teeth and sucking. And oh, Peter thinks, that will leave a nasty mark if he keeps it up. So Peter distracts Tony as best as he can. He digs his fingernails into the nape of Tony's neck, getting his attention, and as Tony raises his head to look at him, Peter locks him in another insistent kiss which Tony is eager to accept. Using his free hand, Tony parts Peter's legs, finding a more comfortable position between his thighs, and everything just clicks into place as Peter almost instinctively hooks his leg around Tony's thigh, pushing them closer.

Tony lets out a choked, broken moan as Peter does that, lets it out straight into Peter's mouth; and his hand is still trapped between them, trapped in Peter's very expensive pants as it presses against his growing erection. He breaks the kiss, and Tony's breathing is laboured, his mouth wet and bruised red. It sends a flush to Peter's cheeks when he realizes he was the one who did that to him. Tony grins at him in a lazy, cat-like way, running a thumb over a cheekbone.

"What is that you were saying you're not?" he wants to know as he rubs Peter over his boxers, agonizingly slow and with a grin so self-assured it makes Peter want to throw a sarcastic remark to knock Tony down a peg or two; but then Tony does something with his hand, pushing his hips forward at the same time, and instead of a witty retort, Peter just grunts uselessly, raising his hips to meet Tony's hand, Tony's hips, turning their movement into a grinding push which, on Peter's end, is bordering on the desperate. Tony bows his head, smirking into the skin of Peter's neck, and Peter supposes Tony can feel the heavy heat of his cock against his hand, even through the fabric, because this is sure as hell taking a toll on him. It's not even the physical aspect of the thing as much as it's Peter's mind amplifying everything, from the rub of Tony's hand, the glow of his arc reactor and the metal digging into Peter's chest, to the smell of expensive cologne tinged with a hint of sweat as he turns to kiss at Tony's neck. At that point, Tony pushes his hand past the waistband, into Peter's underwear, wrapping his deft fingers around Peter's cock. He drags his thumb across the head, teasing out the pre-come, and Peter has to bite on his lower lip, hard, in order not to cry out. He can feel Tony's erection against his thigh, rubbing against him in time with Tony's strokes, and Peter tips his head back, eyes falling shut and mouth falling open, because there's not nearly enough air in the room for this.

Spider-sense.

>>51101
Peter's eyes snap open, because something's moved at the very edge of his senses. He abruptly stills, which doesn't escape Tony.

"What is it?" Tony asks.

"My spider-sense is tingling," says Peter, disbelieving.

"Has little Timmy fallen down the well?" says Tony, obviously disgruntled.

Peter frowns. "There's someone else here," he says. He looks around the room, but can't see anything that might have triggered it.

"You're just imagining it," says Tony, and returns to kiss at Peter's neck and work his hand on Peter's cock, as if deliberately trying to distract him. And then Peter sees it.

Right at the top of the room, in the very corner where the wall connects to the ceiling, there is a tiny red dot underneath a small glass orb. He narrows his eyes, and the glass orb flickers. A surveillance camera. Peter has the sudden image of a darkened room with a wall covered in television screens, each one of them carrying his face. Showing his head tipped back, the curve of his neck exposed to the lens. His mouth hanging open, Tony Stark's hand down his pants.

Frantically, Peter scrambles away from Tony. "I can't believe you h—" he tries, and then thinks better of it. "Okay, I can believe you had the room bugged, but—"

"Oh, come on," says Tony, "it's not even a big deal, all the rooms are like this. Things need to be recorded in case of emergency." He grins. "And Skrulls," he adds.

"And e-everything is recorded?" Peter stammers.

"Yeah," says Tony, making it sounds as though it is the most common thing in the world. Then, his hand starts inching back towards Peter; fingers just dancing along the edge of Peter's open pants, making him tense up.

"Don't tell me you've never filmed yourself before," says Tony as he slips his fingers back inside and, wrapping them around Peter's still hard cock, he starts stroking him again, unhurriedly. Peter thinks of stopping him, but then Tony tugs on the upward stroke, and Peter stops thinking about it. "I have," says Tony, and he's back on Peter, his lips ghosting along the skin of Peter's neck. His other hand goes to the small of Peter's back, holding him for a better angle. "I have with Steve," he says, circling his thumb around the head of Peter's cock and pushing suddenly down. Peter lets out a gasping breath, the pit of his stomach coiling with nerves and arousal. He falters in Tony's arms, nearly collapsing back onto the bed, but the hand Tony's got on his back holds him up. Images that he never thought he would have flood Peter's mind - of Cap, and Tony, on a bed not unlike this one, not much more than blurred, sweaty shapes moving to a common rhythm, muscles flexing and unflexing underneath their skin as above them, and around them, cameras film, and capture Tony's knowing smirk, the blue of the arc reactor shining dull between them.

"Steve likes watching," says Tony, almost as an offhand comment as he speeds up his strokes, using his fingers to spread the pre-come all over Peter's cock to reduce the amount of friction. Peter shudders, his forehead falling forward and bumping into Tony's. His mouth is open again, because he cannot seem to get enough air no matter how much he tries. Tony takes this opportunity to run his tongue along Peter's jawline, biting on his lower lip and ending in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. "Do you like being watched?" Tony says, breathing the words against Peter's skin, and after a beat and a shudder, Peter understands. The looks and the touches that Tony and Cap gave each other at the party, the whispers they exchanged - it was planned. This was all planned.

"Is Steve—?" Peter's never called Cap 'Steve' before; not many people call Cap that, apart from Tony. He doesn't even get to finish his question, because Tony is thumbing the underside of his cock, and Peter stifles a keening noise, rocking into Tony's hand.

"Yeah," says Tony. Peter's cock twitches in Tony's hand and he can feel himself coming completely undone under his touch. "He can come in, if you want him to," says Tony, and Peter can't give a proper reply, so he just nods breathlessly.

The room must have hidden microphones as well, because Tony doesn't even need to say anything for the door to slide open, soundlessly, and Peter would usually be bothered and freaked out by this, were he not preoccupied with other things at the moment. Cap comes in, and Peter feels his cheeks flood with warmth instantly, because this is not a position he thought he would find himself in, faced with someone as important to him as Captain America - Steve, he thinks, and it's incredible how silently he moves for someone of his stature. He's still in olive drab, everything in place apart from his jacket which appears to be missing in action, and Peter instantly feels ashamed for appearing like this before him, completely dishevelled and undone, still painfully hard, with Tony's hand still down his pants.

"Peter," says Tony, feeling Peter's discomfort, "it's okay." His free hand goes to Peter's jaw, cupping his face and making Peter face him, blue eyes on brown. At the corner of his vision, Peter sees Steve sit into an armchair offering the best view of the bed. "You're great," says Tony, and Peter turns his attention to him completely as Tony leans closer to kiss the tip of his ear, the side of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "Steve's just here to watch," he says against Peter's lips as his fingers start moving on Peter's cock again, setting a rhythm. Peter lets his chin rest in the place where Tony's shoulder meets his neck, unable to keep himself steady any other way— he's too far gone, he knows it, and it's the only thing keeping him grounded, keeping him from ending this too soon. His eyes, inevitably, go to where Steve is sitting, his legs parted just so, one of his hands working on loosening his tie, and the other on unfastening his pants.

Steve catches Peter's eyes. "Touch Tony for me," he says, and although softly spoken, it's not a request: it's an order.

Almost of their own volition, Peter's fingers, shaking terribly, go down to the zip of Tony's pants - Tony's painfully straining pants - pop a button open and pull the zipper down, and Peter has no idea what he's doing because he's never done this to someone else, but nevertheless he wraps a hand around Tony's cock. Pushing his underwear down just enough to get access, Peter just does what feels right, what feels good for him, trying to mirror Tony's movement somewhat: and it obviously works, because Tony bows his head suddenly, hissing softly through his teeth. It's strange to have his hand around another man's cock, feel the slick slipping, the hardness and the heat, but Peter gets encouraged by the noises Tony's making, the way he tilts his hips to meet Peter's hand; and Peter wonders, as he has to dig his fingers into Tony's hip to stop him from thrusting too hard, if this feels more intense because Steve is just there, in his dress uniform, slowly palming himself over the fabric. Peter doesn't want to look, but he can't look away. Steve's eyes are set on them, taking everything in. Peter jerks Tony's cock and Tony groans, right into Peter's neck where he's trying to suck at the skin, so Peter feels it more than he hears it, shuddering in response and just holding Tony close, rocking into him. Steve's hand moves into his pants, and Peter's eyes fall shut as his breathing quickens.

"Tony," he pants out, "I'm close." From what he can tell, by the way he thrusts into his hand with shallow, desperate movements and by the way the sweat slides down the skin of his back, Tony is too. Peter doesn't know, he has no idea what it's like to have another man come just because of his touches, but at this moment, as his cock brushes against Tony's and his own hand wrapped around it, he is very eager to find out.

"No," says Steve, and Tony stills with almost immediate and frightening accuracy. "Listen, Peter." There is such command in the tenor of Steve's voice that at that moment Peter understands why men would have followed him through ice and fire, and why he himself just about mechanically obeys, the only noise in the room the laboured sound of their breathing. There's the faint rustle of upholstery as Steve shifts in the chair, placing his hands on his knees, fingers digging firmly into the fabric of his pants. "I want you to suck Tony off," says Steve. "Could you do that for me, Peter?"

Peter looks from Steve, to Tony, and then back to Steve again, feeling his heart hammer furiously in his chest. "I'm not sure—" he says, because he's honestly not, since this is so very, very far from anything he has ever tried or ever thought about, going down on another man - going down on Tony Stark. The thought of pinching himself crosses his mind for an instant.

"I'm not asking," says Steve, his blue eyes dark. Peter feels a shiver of trepidation run down his spine.

"Come on, Peter," Tony says softly, successfully turning Peter's attention away from Steve. His fingers touch the nape of Peter's neck as his thumb strokes Peter's cheek. "Don't worry," he says, his thumb stroking over Peter's bottom lip, reddened and worried from the kissing. "Steve'll guide you," he says, and Peter shudders again as Tony's thumb goes past his lips, into his mouth. Tentatively, he slides his tongue over it. "Like that," says Tony, grinning encouragingly. Peter sucks on his thumb, coating it with his saliva, and then Tony replaces it with his forefinger, followed by his middle finger which Peter eagerly sucks into his mouth, licking between them and gently biting on the skin. Then Tony withdraws his fingers, inclining his head just slightly to reassure Peter further. He doesn't move to do anything else, though, waiting for Steve's command.

"I need you to take his pants and underwear off, Peter," says Steve. "And when you start sucking him off, I want you to do it slowly." Peter's hands go to Tony's hips, the waistband of his underwear, and he pushes it down completely along with Tony's pants, freeing his erection. Tony scrambles, and Peter think that this must have taken a lot of practice, because Tony is quickly sitting in front of him on the bed, completely naked, completely hard, and utterly pleased with himself. Peter's eyes go from Tony's face and his expression to the arc reactor glowing in his chest, until they are drawn to Tony's cock, flushed and wet with pre-come. His fingers wrap loosely around the base, and he places his other hand on Tony's hip, fanning his fingers over the hipbone. He gives the tip of the head an experimental lick, just to get a feel of the taste, at which point Tony draws in a sharp breath, his chest rising. Encouraged by this, Peter takes Tony into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. The taste is heady on his tongue, and Peter closes his eyes, breathing through his nose, head buzzing. He bobs his head once, twice, and then pulls off almost completely to tighten his lips around the head, sucking until his cheeks hollow and Tony's hips buck upwards, causing Peter to shove him down roughly for fear of gagging.

"Use your tongue more," says Steve, leaning forward. "Make him beg."

Tony keens at the back of his throat as Peter wraps his hand more firmly around the base of his cock and takes him out of his mouth, pumping him. He slides his tongue down the underside of Tony's cock, and Tony throws his head back, his fingers bunching the sheets together as he grips them, trying not to thrust. Peter feels his own neglected cock rub painfully against the fabric of his pants, and he ruts his hips into the mattress, seeking at least some release.

"Peter, please—" It doesn't take Tony a long time to do as Steve asked, and he's soon past words, just letting out begging noises as Peter draws circles with his tongue on the head, sliding his lips wetly against the tip, only applying more pressure when Tony lets out a deeper groan.

"He's close," says Steve. "When he comes, I want you to keep it in your mouth." Peter's blood runs faster, his head swimming. He does as he's told, though, and when Tony's stomach clenches and he starts coming, Peter's mouth is back on his cock, taking it all in. Just as Peter thinks how he can't hold it in, that he has to spit it out, there's a hand at his wrist and Steve's pulling him up, away from Tony and to his chest. Peter nearly chokes, but then Steve says, "Open," pulling their lips together — and Peter opens his mouth just as Steve's closes over it, Tony's come spilling from Peter's mouth into Steve's. Peter watches a trail drip from Steve's mouth down his chin and without thinking, moves in to lick it off, his tongue ending up in Steve's mouth almost not of his own volition. Steve's— Steve's firm, and large, but his kiss is gentle and warm and not at all what Peter needs right now. He needs release, or he feels like he will burst at the seams. Then there's a hand on his crotch, palming him roughly over his pants, and Peter doesn't know if it's Tony's or Steve's - or his own, and he doesn't care, he just desperately bucks into it over and over. Steve groans into his mouth, and it's the straw which breaks the camel's back: Peter shudders violently, his orgasm staining his underwear, leaving him sticky and spent.

He collapses on the bed, out of breath. Tony throws himself down next to him, laughing.

"So, I guess you'll be moving in then?"

>>51102


This.

This.


GOD.


I...I don't even know what to say. It's so hot! You used all my silly little kinks and...you made WONDERS!
WONDERS I TELL YOU.

thanks

After seeing RDJ and Clark Gregg cuddle up at the Marvel Avengers panel at SDCC?

Tony/Agent Coulson pls.

This has to exist. If it doesn't it should.

>>51215 I myself am craving Tony/Hawkeye after seeing the shots of RDJ with Jeremy Renner's arm around him. Too soon for movieverse Avengers orgies?

>>51215
>>51230

Everyone craves RDJ!!

I don't even know...

>>51369
What is this...I don't even...

>>51369
it is a goddamn CLASSIC is what it is

>>51369


Oh...that thing.

...Just when I had managed to erase Logan's face from my mind.

>>51369

wat

>>51369
WHATTHEFUUUUUUU-
Sauce?

on the lookout for Tony/DOOM. Help me out coq?

>>46194

... That was terribly hot.

/coq/ friends I need some SAUCE on this.

>>57721
Artist is Jim Cheung, I know that much.

>>57721
Did Cheung do any work on Secret Invasion? I haven't read it yet, but that's what it looks like to me. A quick Amazon search seems to be confirming it...

Has there ever been any fic/art of Tony Stark on Top Gear?

>>57737

Yup!

http://archiveofourown.org/works/90994

>>57731

Pretty sure this is from New Avengers: Illuminati