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The thing about Noir is, the hero never gets the girl. Alright, sometimes he ends up with the Gal Friday, but considering I’m basically fulfilling that function for Perry at the moment, I’d rather not think about the implications of that one. There is guy-on-guy action in this story, but it’s not me and him. Shit, I just gave away the whole thing, you’d think I’d be better at this narration stuff by now.
Anyway. The girl, and the not-getting thereof. Harmony got a part in this godawful science fiction show filming up in Vancouver, and we were seeing each other every time we got a chance, but it was fucking Canada, man. Land of maple syrup, Mounties, and douchebags from the motherfucking CW who steal my girl. Yeah, yeah, “you can’t steal a person unless they’re already willing to go,” but whatever. I’m over it. Yes, really.
Having set the scene so I don’t look like a cheating bastard, let’s get on with the actual plot, here.
I was at a party. I swear normal stuff happens to me at parties too. It’s just that given the amount of time I spend at parties, statistically weird shit is more likely to happen there than anywhere else. I think. Perry did make me take a math class after he hired me, and don’t tell him, but it completely didn’t help. Just go with it.
Party, LA, some kind of casual benefit for some damn thing no-one there actually cared about, following Perry around like his goddamn cabana boy, the usual. He was making smalltalk with the client, I was staring into my gin and tonic, when this gorgeous redhead wandered over.
“Why hello there, Pepper Potts,” Perry said, all cool, and I’m sorry, between the name, the retro suit, and the fact she’s at least six inches taller than me I started assuming drag queen.
I’m not short, by the way. I’m not. I’m just always standing next to Perry, he’s taller and broader. I’m wiry and not short, but I suffer by comparison. Nor do I have any problem with drag queens, just putting that out there, though Pepper’s not one, it turns out. I remain grateful that she can’t actually read minds like her reputation suggests because there’s no shame in admitting she kinda scares me.
Pepper was there because her boss was. Apparently she doesn’t get to clock out of assisting just ‘cause it’s 11pm either. Perry says I should take lessons from her, she’s a legend, but I like having a life, thanks, and a brilliant fratboy with a flying suit seems like more of a challenge than I want on my hands. Heh. Sorry. You’ll get why that’s funny later.
They got to talking about “The Incident Of Which We Do Not Speak,” and you could just hear the capital letters in their voices. It must have been something juicy, but you know, they’re Not Speaking Of it, so I never did find out what happened. Since it probably involved Tony, I might be better off not knowing. Yeah, I get to call Tony Stark by his first name. He even remembers mine most of the time. It doesn’t suck to be me.
Whither Pepper goest, so goest Tony. Unless he’s fooling around with models on a lounge chair. No, even then, it just takes him longer to get there and he’s smirking more than usual. On this particular occasion there were no models. I mean, there were some at the party, but he was ignoring them. Which is, I think, unique in the history of straight mankind. He’s unique in a lot of ways. Great, now I sound like a fourteen year old girl with a crush, can we pretend I didn’t say that?
I know, I know, you’re thinking, “stop telling us about your blossoming womanhood and get on with the good bits.” Sorry. I’ll skip ahead. Tony, introductions, scotch, Perry giving us weird looks every couple minutes.
Tony was working the billionaire playboy charm like the result of a drunken hookup between Spencer Tracy and Cary Grant and, in hindsight, was kind of in my personal space. And then he says: “Keep me company on the way to the bar?”
It wasn’t like Perry was going to need something in the twenty minutes it’d take to get there and back again. And it’s not every day superheroes wanna throw one back with me. Of course I said yes.
You’re laughing at me now, aren’t you? You know where this is going. I didn’t. I swear I didn’t, no matter what Perry says. I did not expect getting kissed within an inch of my life the minute we’d turned a corner Perry and Pepper couldn’t see us around. Tony can kiss like a motherfucker, by the way. Second best kiss I’ve ever had, and this one was slightly less likely to end with finding out he slept with my best friend. I tried to back up out of it, but that put me up against the wall, and… yeah.
Wait, I need to clear something up. You’ve seen the movie, you know I freaked when Perry kissed me. That was not gay panic. That was “the asshole who generally acts like he hates me just attacked me with his face” panic. I don’t go around making out with guys on a regular basis or anything, but I’m not opposed, clearly. Whatever, it was hot, I wasn’t gonna complain about those hips sliding against mine having a cock attached or a little bit of beard burn when Tony’d found the place behind my jaw that gets me every time and had bitten it, hard.
At least not until he stopped and said: “This will be on TMZ in ten minutes. Though they probably won’t know your name.”
I looked around, and sure enough: “Cameraphone.” I said.
He didn’t back off, just smiled and said: “Well, c’mon then, Snap Pea, unless you’ve got a burning desire to be an internet porn star. In which case, I have better cameras.” Then he turned on his heel and started sauntering away.
It took me a second to process before I followed him, by that time he was on the phone to someone called ‘Happy’ to get the car brought around. I swear he picks his staff for their weirdass names. And let’s not even get started on the robo-butler.
The ride back to his place was pretty uninteresting, aside from the fact that, oh, I dunno, Tony Stark is the biggest goddamn cocktease I’ve ever met. Before we got in the car, and I’m not a car guy, I’m a New Yorker for fuck’s sake, we actually have effective public transportation, but even I knew this was a sweet car, he leaned in, whispered: “I’m tempted to suck you off in the backseat, but I try not to weird Hap out.” Then he slapped my ass and slid in across the leather like he hadn’t just fried a whole lot of my brain cells with the image. That is a classic Tony move, it turns out.
Apparently ‘not weirding out the driver’ does not include a little bit of flirty cuddling. And then a whole lot of more-than-flirty feeling up. By the time we pulled to a stop I had his lips about an inch from mine and his hand not quite high enough on my thigh and was about ten seconds from going the kind of bugfuck crazy that got you an icepick through the eyesocket back in the day. I’m proud to say Tony wasn’t exactly unaffected, either. Glaze-eyed and breathing hard is a good look for him.
Out of the car, through the door, and then we’re getting greeted by this weird British voice from nowhere. “Your house talks,” I said, because this was worth commenting on.
Tony grabbed my arm and started pulling me along behind him. “Yes, it does. It’s very impressive, I’ll explain it later.”
This is where I have to decide how much I want to tell you. Like, saying: “Tony pushed me into his bedroom,” and yeah, I like ‘em bossy, what can I say? “Shoved the door shut behind him, stalked over like he was about to punch me, wrapped an arm around my waist to pull me close instead, started up with the mind melting kissing again, and walked us backwards ‘til my calves hit the bed,” that’s fine. But the who did what to who, I dunno. On the one hand, that’s really personal. Private. But on the other, it was fucking amazing sex, and I want to gloat a little.
Where was I? Right, I’d just bumped into the bed. Bumped into it fairly hard, actually. I don’t care what Tony tells you, I did not go weak in the knees. Just, you know, off balance, him rubbing up against me, of course I tipped over backwards. Tony still had that arm around my waist and his other hand in my hair, so he ended up falling with me. On me, really. Ow, by the way. Especially taking a direct hit to the sternum from that damn science project in his chest. Not sexy.
Once he’d gotten his arms out from under me and stopped cackling like a mad scientist, he did have the decency to apologize for that. While pulling my shirt off “to assess the damage.”
“I’m on your bed already, you don’t have to lie like a sketchy prom date,” I said.
“I’d buy you a corsage if it’ll get us naked faster.” He shrugged, which was impressive from somebody propped up on their elbows. He had a point, time to get a little more proactive.
“Up.” I suggested. My witty repartee skills go out the window when I’m hard, okay? So yeah, that got exactly the response you’d expect. After Tony’d thoroughly proven how true it was in both our cases, I finally managed to get us sitting and started the shirt removal process.
Ever tried to undo buttons while also trying to pretend your hands aren’t shaking? They’re slippery little bastards. There’s a difference between having someone on top of you and being straddled, even if you’re between their legs either way. It gives them just enough space to start doing things to you instead of with you. In this particular case, the difference was having my cock trapped right under The Advocate’s choice for “the world’s most perfect ass.” What, Perry has a subscription for the office and I get bored sometimes.
I’m pretty good at holding out ‘til the main event, or at least for the undercard and a round two, to completely fuck up my metaphor. But getting kissed and licked and bitten by a guy who’s also spent the GNP of Paraguay on strippers and is putting every trick he picked up to good use against my crotch, well, it was less like a boxing match and more like a fucking Olympic endurance trial. I did stop compulsively clutching at his back long enough to grab his hips and hold him still.
We are all very lucky Tony doesn’t even particularly like running a mega-company, nevermind ruling the world. Because he’s got the brains to pull it off and the Evil Overlord smile down. He moved off of me, off the bed, and went straight for the buttons on his pants. Which seemed like a great idea to me, but I’d barely gotten my hands on my jeans before Tony pulled them away and held them down on either side of me. “Nuh uh. I’ll tell you when you can move them,” he said.
I mentioned liking them bossy, right? This was a little bossier than my usual, I’m not a fan of taking orders normally, but after that lapdance with all the illegal parts added I was turned on enough he could pull out a fucking chicken costume and I’d probably be okay with it.
But the lack of contact followed by nudity gave me time to get self-conscious. What’s with that, anyway? Shouldn’t our biological imperatives make us want to mate with more attractive people, not feel weird about it? Not that I was getting all philosophical about it at the time. No, I was too busy staring at the guy who’d overridden my “mostly not into guys, sorry” armed only with charisma and a good makeout session. It seemed unfair he got those advantages and was really built. Not in the creepy gym-rat way, just enough offset the slightly girly hips with fantastic thighs and to distract from the rave-kid glowstick light he gives off with “hold me down and make me like it” arms.
I did say “mostly not,” not “completely not” into guys, stop rolling your eyes or no more gay porn for you.
A plotting-your-downfall grin and come-fuck-me eyes are a seriously weird combination, but like everything else, Tony made them work. Especially when climbing back on the bed, kneeling between my legs, undoing my pants just enough to ease them and my boxers down my thighs, giving my cock one speculative look, and then…
“Jesus motherfucking Christ!” I said. Yelped, really.
In the history of blowjobs I didn’t expect, and yes there’s been more than one, this was already the clear winner. Not too aggressive with the suction, not too show-offy with his tongue, not totally avoiding teeth but not trying to cause pain. Which was good, ‘cause the pinned legs and all hands on deck decree said “control freak,” not “kinky bastard,” but I’d been a little worried. All of which I may have told Tony.
“Are you seriously going to narrate the whole time?” he asked. “Because I’m aware of what’s happening, you clearly are, and Jarvis doesn’t care.”
I probably should have wondered who ‘Jarvis’ was. But I was a little preoccupied with wondering why his mouth wasn’t back on my cock. “Vow of silence from here on out,” I promised, and tried some hopefully encouraging hair petting.
Which got me a smacked hand for my trouble. “They stay on the bed, or I go finish off a synchromesh realignment instead.”
Things got kind of hazy for a while after that. I am capable of shutting up with sufficient motivation, and getting sucked off by a guy who'd spent most of his life on the Freudian field day that is weapons design is a whole lot of motivation. I did break the touching rule, but it’s rude not to indicate you’re about to come, so I was forgiven on that one.
He swallows, by the way.
After we finally got my pants off, or rather Tony did while I was completely useless with afterglow, he said: “Post blowjob kissing?”
“Weird but acceptable,” I said. I figure if they’re willing to do it, the least I can do is put up with tasting it. So he did, and it was soft and sweet for about 3.2 seconds before the rolling and shoving started and we ended up with him propped against the pillows and me on top. I have never been so grateful to give a handjob in my life, to be able to move, to get a little of my own back, even if I did manage to crack myself one on the chin with that built-in nightlight while I was doing it.
“I’d like to fuck you now,” He said, and I blinked, because people aren’t supposed to be able to say things like that in real life without sounding completely idiotic. Or maybe that’s just me. Tony manages to pull off the idle conversation trick all the time. “Like we are should work. That way we can avoid giving you another bruise with the reactor.” He tapped on the glass like I’d somehow missed he’s a blue light special. “And I suspect you make incredibly stupid faces when you come, I’d like to see them this time.”
And now we’ve gotten to the part I was thinking of when I said I was worried how much to share. The “How I Lost My Gay Virginity To Tony Stark” section. Too vague, too clinical, too gross, there’s a lot of ways it can go wrong.
The story, I mean. Not the sex. The sex was all I could have wanted in a gay virginity loss and then some. Even if I was only a gay technical virgin after a clerk at the sex shop she liked told Harmony pegging was “so on trend right now.”
It was kind of disconcerting having someone want to watch me. Especially because he did it like he was trying to figure out how I worked and upgrade me to optimal performance. Being the object of that focus was surprisingly hot, made me feel like putting the extra effort to be worthy of it. Though I wasn’t giving it all that much thought while, for example, I was kind of riding his fingers as he experimented with different speeds and pressure to see what got the best reaction, and didn’t stop once he’d found it.
He did, eventually, just long enough to grab a condom and more lube and…yeah. That. Guy, girl, doesn’t matter who’s doing it, once you get past that couple seconds of pain it’s one hell of a rush.
Tony started putting all that research into further testing, and I realized, in this weird moment of clarity, that he’d been running this fuck since the drinks we never got, and I had means, motive, and opportunity right in front of me to change that up a little. It turns out the control freak just gives in and starts writhing with his shoulders held down. And yes, making a gorgeous slutty genius lose it under you is the sexiest goddamn thing on earth.
No, strike that, second sexiest. First place goes to getting the gorgeous slutty genius’s callused-in-fun-places hand around your cock while he’s losing it under you. Things were going hard and fast and both of us trying to make the other one come first without going over himself. I would have won too, except Tony got his other hand on the middle of my chest and pushed me back ‘til I bounced into his bent-up legs, the new angle turned it into the kind of sex you can taste ‘cause your other senses are so overloaded it needs to pick up the slack, and that was it for both of us.
He turned out to be snuggly, after, which I didn’t expect. I was definitely sleeping on my stomach after that workout, and ended up with Tony up against my side with an arm slung over me.
I woke up alone the next morning when Jarvis started announcing all kinds of useless information and, once I was dressed, Pepper politely but firmly kicked me out, which is the most effective handling of a one night stand I’ve ever seen, so points to Tony there. And that was the last I saw of any of them.
Until Stark Industries hired Perry to do some routine background checks that turned out to be anything but, at least.