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Meeting protocols

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   Newsflash, Peter Parker makes awful decisions. Fucking awful decisions that has him screaming internally 'oh-shit-why-did-I-do-that', like the time at the carnival with Ned and he went on the huge rollercoaster after eating approximately twenty-three churros. Or that time when he thought it would be a cool idea to test out his newest web fluid on himself, and ended up with his left hand attached to his algebra textbook for four hours (he had to pretend that he was carrying it intentionally around the house with him, much to May's confusion).

   Peter leans forward to take his mug, taking a sip of coffee; trying his hardest to come off casual-- it doesn't work, judging by the odd looks the businessmen keep throwing towards him. Or maybe it's just because there's a sixteen year old in this meeting room in Stark Tower, sitting around a table otherwise filled with entrepreneurs and business executives; waiting for Tony Stark to begin his project presentation.

   Yeah. Maybe that's why.

   Peter gulps down another mouthful of hot-- scorching, ow-- coffee. Bad decisions.

   "Wow, how did you guys know to come early?" Tony exclaims, striding in as though he's not twenty minutes late to what could be a million-dollar business deal with the hugest smile on his face. The little shit. He glances around the table (eyes swiftly skipping over Peter) then stations himself in front of the screen. Most of them already look completely exasperated-- one woman presses her lips together so hard they turn white-- but because it's Tony Stark everybody keeps quiet. "Alrighty then. Shall we begin?"

   With that, the genius clears his throat, and with a simple wave of his hand the blank screen behind him flickers to life, displaying graphs and charts that Peter would be paying much more attention to...

   If it wasn't for the fucking toy in his ass. If just an hour before Tony hadn't rimmed him within an inch of his life, bending him over his workdesk and using that talented tongue of his to leave him a mewling, babbling mess; then pushing a black rubber plug into his spit-slick hole, only to haul him up and press an absolutely filthy kiss to his mouth. Peter had nearly came right then and there, caged between Tony's arms, hands fisted in his silk tie.

   "Ton--y, Tony..."

   "I love it when you say my name like that, sweetheart," the older man had purred, breath hot against his skin. It drove Peter mad. "You still sure you want to do this?"

   "Yeah," Peter stuttered, flushing red and dipping to bury his head into the collar of his suit at the predatory grin on Tony's face.

   "Didn't know you were so kinky." Tony's voice is raspy, and when a rough hand reaches up to cradle his cheek Peter met dark, glinted eyes. "Fuck, I don't even know if I'll be able to focus later, knowing you're sitting there all ready for me to take once the meeting's over."

   Now, faced with the sudden realization that he has to sit-- sit, for two whole hours opposite a stoic grey-haired executive who's looking at him weird, Peter's starting to have second thoughts about this. Still a thrill of excitement is humming through his body, knowing that everyone here except for Tony is oblivious of what he's wearing under his jeans. Biting his lip, Peter makes the mistake of shifting his hips as he uncrosses his legs; jolting the plug inside him and pressing it deeper. A breathless moan escapes him, that he quickly smothers with a cough.

   Tony's properly into his presentation now, eyes sharp and focused as he discusses the merchandise. Everyone's captivated, hanging on to his every word-- he tends to have that effect on people-- and Tony strides over to the other side of the table, facing the screen with his back towards them. Casually, he dips his hand into the left pocket of his slacks--

   Peter nearly screams when the thing in him vibrates. His whole body shudders and a knee slams up into the table, swiveling heads in his direction. He's gripping the edge of his seat hard and blushing so hard the tips of his ears feel on fire as the vibrations send shock waves through his body, hot and electrifying. Then it stops abruptly, and as Peter gasps out a sigh he finally notices that everyone's staring at him. Including Tony, who has the hugest shit-eating grin on his face.

   Of course. Only Tony Stark will have a remote controlled sex toy causally lying around; honestly he shouldn't be so surprised. Except that he is totally caught off-guard, and Peter cannot do this. The thought itself that Tony has absolute control over the plug in him even now, that the man can decide to turn it on any moment again-- is enough to bring Peter to the edge; he's leaking all over, already staining his boxers. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he mutters a quiet apology, ducking his bright red face down to examine his pamphlet with sudden interest.

   With that Tony continues with his speech that Peter's completely not listening to anymore; all too focused on trying not to come in his pants, anticipating the next jolt of movement of the plug. Someone raises their hand to ask a question. Tony answers it easily, the slides on the screen flashing to the next segment.

   This time, the vibrations start off slow, almost gentle; Peter bites back a whimper, hips arching off the chair a little in an attempt to ease the pressure against his walls. Then it builds up to a higher intensity, one that has him curling his toes, pants falling from his lips; and oh god it all feels so good, and he's already sensitive all over. Experimentally he rocks his hips to grind down against the plug, only to have the rubber tip position itself perfectly against his prostate. A blind jolt of pleasure overcomes his body at the delightful pressure against that little bundle of nerves, making Peter clench his thighs together and harshly bite the inside of his cheek to suppress his whines. Fuck, he can't do this, he can't. Somebody is going to notice and then it's over, he's going to die from embarrassment with a vibrating sex toy in his ass-- it's not a good way to go.

   Glancing up, Peter looks at Tony and doesn't miss the little twitch of the older man's eyes, his hands clenching so hard the knuckles turn white, and the not so subtle way he's positioning his arm over the front of his slacks. Peter's eyes flutter the exact moment Tony looks over at him, and as their eyes meet across the room his lips fall open around a silent whimper of Tony's name. He can see how dark the man's eyes are even from this distance, the dangerous glint in them heavy with intent, promising him of what is to come; and just like that Peter gives into the mounting pleasure in his body. He comes with a breathy squeak, the back of his lids flashing white for a long second.

   Catching his breath, he then opens his eyes to the dim realisation that the plug in him is still moving; oh god, it's still moving, buzzing inside him and pressing insistently against his prostate. If he thought his senses were heightened before, it's nothing compared to the overstimulation he's feeling now. Peter's already oversensitive from just coming, helpless against the powerful vibrations-- sobbing softly he squirms and twists in his chair, trying to get away from the pleasure bordering on pain, brain blinking out; his squeezed-shut eyes snap open, however, when he feels a heavy hand on his arm.

   "You alright?" The man sitting next to him says, peering at him with warm chocolate eyes, and Peter can't help but keen into his grip, desperately yearning for any sort of touch. One hand clenching at the edge of the table, he brings the other up to his mouth, biting down on his palm to muffle what would have been a scream. "What's--"

   "Get out." The plug stops vibrating then, and in his muddled mind it takes a few seconds before Peter registers that it's Tony speaking, and just one look at the man standing in front of the room is enough to make him whimper. He's absolutely livid, the lines on his face hardening even as he meets startled looks from the others. "Everyone get out. Now," he snarls, and holy fuck Peter can't help but marvel how incredibly hot that is even in his predicament.

   To their credit, some get up without question, gathering their files and filing hurriedly out of the door; still some exchange quizzical glances. "Hold on a second, Mr. Stark--"

   "You all heard me. Meeting adjourned," Tony snaps, turning his fiery gaze to the man still seated beside Peter. With one last worried glance at him, the man and everyone else abruptly leave the room, and then it's just the two of them left. As soon Tony shuts and locks the door Peter lets out a cry of pleasure that he's been stifling since the beginning of the meeting; and in the dim recesses of his thoughts he knows they're going to be in deep trouble later, but now all he can think about is getting relief.

   "Tony," Peter cries out, and in a flash Tony's there, descending upon him with hungry depraved eyes; hooking his thumbs in the loops of his jeans the man yanks him closer to a possessive kiss, all growls and teeth. He melts into the kiss, arching desperately up into Tony's touch, silent pleads falling from his lips that the older man swallows up greedily. "Please, ah please Tony, I can't take it anymore."

   "Fuck," Tony moans raspily against his ear, palms sliding under his shirt to roam over his chest. "Fuck baby, you have no idea how gorgeous you are, so perfect for me, my baby boy--"


   "Tell me what you want," Tony murmurs, swiftly scooping him up in his arms and hoisting him onto the table as though he weighed nothing. This jostles the plug inside him, forcing it deeper than its ever been, and Peter's fingernails scratch down Tony's arms as he flails and writhes.

   "Unhh-- ah, fuck meee," he babbles, blushing red at the need in his voice. Cursing under his breath, Tony undresses him, yanking down his jeans and boxers and stepping in between his parted legs. Peter watches with glazed eyes as the man unbuckles his own belt, working the zipper; and Tony is so unbelievably hard, the tip of his cock already glistening with pre-come, the head swollen and huge and fuck Peter wants that in him now.

   "Tony, please, oh god..." he whines, reaching down to touch his own leaking cock, but the man swoops in and grabs his hands, pinning it above his head with a growl. Peter writhes uselessly against his tight grip, tears forming at the corner of his eyes, "please!"

   "Don't touch yourself," Tony demands, breaths falling hot and fast. "Only I get to touch you. You hear me, Peter? Only me. 'Cause you're mine."

   "Yes, yes! I'm only yours daddy."

   "Shit, that's right baby," Tony hisses, pressing a hungry kiss to his collarbone; viciously sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there-- Peter cries out. "You belong to daddy. Nobody else can fuck you like I do."

   Peter jolts so hard he nearly falls off the table when probing fingers tug at the base of the plug, circling his puffy sensitive rim. A breath catches in his chest as Tony twists it around before yanking it out in one swift move, and before Peter has the chance to scream something hot and heavy is sliding inside of him. Tony bottoms out in one rough slide, burying himself into the hilt; and though Peter's lose from the plug Tony is bigger, so much bigger, stretching and filling him up so wonderfully.


   Groaning, Tony's head falling onto his shoulder, one hand still gripping his wrists together, they get accustomed to each other before the man gives an experimental roll of his hips; drawing a groan from the both of them.

   "God you're tight. So tight and wet for me," Tony praises in a strangled moan, breath fanning across his cheek. Gripping his hips so hard there's sure to be bruises he begins a punishing pace, thrusting steadily into him. "You're irresistible, my pretty little boy."

   "Wanna-- wanna be good for you daddy," Peter gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head as Tony fucks him into the table. It feels so good, finally being filled up. Tony's thrusts are unrelenting, hips drawing out until the tip of his cock nearly slips out of his hole before slamming back in brutally again. The table wobbles under the viciousness of Tony's snapping hips, Peter hooking his ankles behind the older man's back so he doesn't slide away, driving his cock in deeper. The room echoes with their loud breaths, Tony's occasional growl; and the obscene sound of skin against skin, wet and loud.

   It doesn't take long for Peter to come, after everything that happened; he comes untouched, cock spurting hot white stripes up his chest and messing up his shirt. Clenching down around Tony, whines catching in his throat at the overstimulation, he lays there as the man fucks him impossibly harder, before spilling in him with a shout; hot come coating his walls and filling him up. Peter trembles from the aftershocks, lights still flashing behind his eyes, as the two of them catch their breath.

   As soon as Tony softens he pulls out wetly, come dripping down Peter's thighs and cooling sticky on his skin. He's dazed, considerably so; after all he's just been fucked within an inch of his life. If this were anyone else he'd drift off to sleep, but they're still in Tony's office--

   Fuck! They're still in the meeting room, with others outside. And they just had sex on this business table.
Yet another awful decision to add to his book.

   "You okay?" Tony asks breathlessly, and Peter looks at him, takes in his dishelved suit and flushed cheeks; registers his own absolutely ruined shirt and the mess dripping all over the table. The thoughts of what are to follow all crash through his mind, and he's completely exhausted, and holy fucking shit on a stick they are screwed.

   Peter flops back bonelessly onto the table. "Yeah, I'm okay."