Peter’s the kind of kid to wear sweaters and jeans to school, loose articles of clothing that offer comfort and aren’t // hideous™️ at all. He’s actually got quite the fashion sense, at least he looks better than most boys his age, the males promiscuously strutting midtown high. At home it’s not much different, pajama pants or sweats and baggy t-shirts, weekends with friends are the same, but occasionally, especially when he wants to get underneath someone’s skin, namely Tony’s, he’ll throw on the perfect outfit.

And it’s not frilly. Far from extravagant, the outfit is simply a pair of rip teased, figure-hugging jeans and a dark shirt that tucks and stretches around his arm muscles just right. Peter knows damn well that he looks good in such a shirt, the sleeves close-fitted with a neckline that dips down to reveal his slick, jutting collarbones. It hems around his chest, accentuating his pecks, laying tenaciously over his toned abdomen, and allowing the skintight jeans to take over, it stops just below his waist. The pants perfectly curve over his ass, skinny to the ankle and narrow down the thighs, folding where necessary, and when he raises his arms, which he absolutely does on purpose when getting items off the top shelf for Tony, the shirt will peak, hinting of a sturdy V-line, and in those jeans the boy’s not afraid to arch his back, bend head over heels to poke out his butt because damn he looks good. What makes it worse is that on the outside everything looks normal, yet underneath, stashed beneath those fine jeans lays the prettiest of sheer thongs, lacy and bright, and every time Tony comes around, when he catches a glimpse of Peter in both his and the boy’s favorite shirt and pants, he knows for sure what the kid is hiding. And then it’s back to those pesky jeans, denim passing over the beauty of his cock, bunching when he sits and creating tension when he’s rock hard.

Tony nearly has to fight through heaven and hell with handcuffed hands and shackled feet to prevent every cell in his being from lustfully crawling over to Peter’s twinky, little body and hotly tearing him apart from the inside. Watching from a distance, wires dangerously close to shaky, calloused fingers, Tony burns with an everlasting desire to make a comment. He watches for a good while too, and Peter keeps going at it, taking up precious time as he rummages around in the top cabinet. Dancer’s tiptoes pointed, a porcelain leg raised onto the counter, Peter lugs himself up, spreading below the waist, jeans painfully tight around his bubble butt with flexed shoulders and relaxed elbows. And Tony? Bouncing his knee, setting aside the project in his now sweaty hands, Tony awkwardly clears his throat, “Parker, sweetheart, if my eyes serve me correctly.. the wire cutter is sitting right below you on the tabletop…”

If he hadn’t been blindsided by Peter’s twitching butt, Tony might have comprehended that he asked for the tool merely 10 minutes ago, which meant that Peter had been hungrily awaiting Tony’s attention for longer than intended; however, now that he had it, the boy had to keep it.

“Oh? Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter mockingly replied in a light tone. “I thought it was up here, not down there.” He made sure to rock his hips when theoretically speaking the words ‘down’ and ‘there.’

Dangerously gazing Peter’s way, Tony sucked in a plump lip before letting it slip, wet and rosy from his teeth, indented and fresh from the weight of his bite. Honey almond eyes oozing over his shoulder, Peter turns his neck to peer over at Tony, dainty and innocent, submitting like a damsel in distress: “Would you mind helping me down.. please daddy?”

Ignoring the boy’s question and batting a few blind eyes, Tony eases from his seat and crosses the lab with care, choosing to walk around the tables and carts, taking the long way around to get the best angle of the delightful sight splayed out before him, the exposed boy seemingly asking for something, something welling behind the zipper of Tony’s jeans. And with arousal dripping in his chest as well as a heart ignited with fire, Tony couldn’t possibly stare any longer and so he cuts through the room, catastrophically knocking over a few now unimportant works in the process; upon approach, Tony’s adamant, rough to guide a palm down Peter’s back, massaging all the way to his butt where rowdy hands grope and begin to pull at the flesh there, stifling moans from Peter’s weak voice, “Daddy, what are you-”

“Are these new jeans?” Obviously they’re not. Tony’s seen them before. He ushers the boy forward, further on the counter in order to inspect the denim and then, grabbing Peter along the waist, he brings him down, the kid’s sneakers squeaking on the lab floors, palms flat against the counter and face down. Peter’s smirking though, smug and approving of Tony’s grazing fingers, purposely puckering his lips, curving his body just right, falling near a whisper, “I wear them to show off.”

And Tony begins to fill with jealousy because the kid knows he’s hot, Peter knows more than anyone that he’s a massive fucking snack, and thoughts of Peter trying to seduce other men with his legs and sweet ass flood his mind. Suddenly Tony doesn’t care that they’re surrounded by hazardous equipment and expensive technology. Tony wants to fuck him, tell him to change or get the pretty boy’s jeans on the floor. Peter essentially reads the older man’s thoughts, because he presses backwards, right up against Tony’s lap, his face squished into the countertop, “And I’m not changing.” 

And you know, they fuck right there. Tony growls, telling the boy he doesn’t have to change because he can mess him up while he’s wearing them. He’ll yank the denim down and around Peter’s knees, accidentally ripping them in the process, and they’ll eventually pool around the boy’s smaller ankles, and Tony will smash Peter while he’s wearing the skimpy thong, absently pulling the fabric aside to spread the boy and assert himself into Peter’s tight hole :)