Professor Stark came in through the classroom door, still wearing his aviator sunglasses. He always wore a somewhat odd outfit coordination, consisting of a nice jacket and pants, paired with a vintage band shirt. He was always clean cut, rarely a hair out of place, and his mere presence was commanding - everyone shut up as soon as he entered the room, like a natural reflex.
“Alright everyone, velocity assignments on my desk within the next five minutes, and then the lecture starts.”
Peter Parker had been waiting for this moment ever since he woke up. Probably even earlier than that, since last night when he finished the assignment. He remembered how he shut his eyes, and pictured how he would turn in his assignment on Professor Stark’s desk - he'd push the paper near the older man just so, look up to meet his eyes and smile, blinking his lashes at him. Peter would thank him, still looking back at him as he walked away back to his desk.
He’d do that today - and every time after, he’d change up the style a little bit. The important thing was maintaining eye contact -
“Alright, phones away, and strap yourselves in because this is gonna be a long one.”
Jerking out of his daydream, Peter gasped audibly and jumped up from his little desk, yanking the assignment from his backpack. In the process of racing to Professor Stark’s desk, his foot caught the very edge of one of the desk legs, making him land flat on his face.
While pain throbbed through his cheeks and his chest, he only winced because of the odd combination of giggles and shouts of concern around him. Someone was trying to help him up, but Peter pushed their hands away, sputtering out that he was fine. It wasn’t until he looked up that he realized that it was Professor Stark who had come to his aid.
“A-ah, Mr.- Mr. Stark - P-Professor Stark-”
“Huh. Haven’t been called Mr. Stark for a while,” Professor Stark answered, cocking one eyebrow up as he stared at the boy.
Peter thought he was going to faint on the spot. All of the blood he had in his body rushed through his head as he muttered a weak “Sorry.”
Professor Stark already had Peter’s now wrinkled assignment in his hand. “Next time, pay a little more attention to when I ask for things, Parker.”
“Yes, Sir,” Peter replied breathlessly, feeling like his lungs were collapsing. His legs threatened to fail him as he hurried back into his seat. He was faintly aware that students around him were barely trying to conceal fits of giggles, but it didn’t bother him as much as his interaction with Professor Stark. The sheer amount of embarrassment was almost enough to swallow him whole - and it was painful to think about how that fiasco compared to the far more sophisticated daydream that he had spent way too long planning.
Peter’s coordination went to shit as he tried to pull out his notebook a couple of minutes into Professor Stark’s lecture. Of course he would drop his hardbound composition notebook onto the tile floor, along with two of his best pens (uni-ball, pentel RSVP). Much to Peter’s relief, the giggles lived very short lives, but it was still a solid minute until Peter could compose himself enough to start actually writing down what Professor Stark was trying to teach.
The semester was still in its early stages, which not only meant that the lectures weren’t too brutal yet, but Peter still had time to mend his faux pas of today. Peter sighed, trying to make his brain concentrate on the material, but kept getting horribly distracted by Professor Stark.
His hair had the faintest hints of silver in it, the streaks whispering along his sideburns and through his stubble. That alone, the slightest indicator of age and maturity had no qualms about heading straight to Peter’s cock.
Peter didn’t like to outright admit to himself that he had ‘Daddy Issues’, but had to face the facts that he had a quite fucking massive age kink. It didn’t help that Peter saw himself as still a bit naive and that he was the youngest student in the class at sixteen.
Peter’s impressive amount of intelligence led him to speed through high school. Teachers and higher-ups alike spent their time fawning over him, each one trying to guide him in a different direction to go. Princeton, Yale, Ivy League dreams - but Peter already had his heart set on MIT.
So here he sat now, at none other than fucking MIT, in Honors Physics, with the hottest Professor on campus, looking like a clumsy idiot who should’ve stayed in High School.
His notes were laughable. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make any sense of them later. Wherever Professor Stark had ended up in his lecture as of now was lost to Peter entirely. He thought to himself that he’d read this chapter in his textbook either at home or in the library after class, where he could concentrate and not have to fantasize about Professor Stark bending him over a piece of furniture in a spare office somewhere on campus, practically tearing off his clothes as he rasped in Peter’s ear about what a nasty, filthy -
“Y-YEAH?” Peter answered rather… loudly, his entire body jumping in his seat.
“I said, I was wondering if you could tell me what the difference is between centripetal acceleration and centrifugal force.”
“Uhm… The centripetal force of the arc - I- I mean, with respect to time, uhm-”
A fraction of a second hadn’t even passed before one of Peter’s snickering classmates piped up, smoothly explaining the answer as if they did it every day.
Peter was mortified. What was he even talking about when he answered Professor Stark? Now he wouldn’t have a shot in hell. It was even worse when Peter noticed that Professor Stark was staring at him the entire time the snarky classmate was answering his question. Peter knew that his face was heating up, but he couldn’t even feel anything positive about Professor Stark settling his eyes on him. He knew it was because he looked like a stupid kid, and not an object of desire. He knew it was because of his disaster of a morning, and not because the professor thought of him as anything but.
Just like the majority of it, the rest of the lecture was gibberish to Peter. The universe seemed to take a little pity on him, and class was over before Peter could anticipate it. Dejected, he gathered up his unused supplies and dropped them back into his backpack. He kept his gaze downward, biting the inside of his lip in an attempt to keep his tears of frustration away. His sole focus was getting to the door and getting the hell out of -
“Peter. One minute, please,” Professor Stark called out.
He felt himself turn around, but he was numb everywhere else. He just had to get through these next ten minutes, and then tomorrow was a new day.
“Yes, Sir?” Peter asked as he walked back towards the professor. The older man’s jaw seemed to tighten.
“Peter,” he repeated, “Can you explain to me as to what’s got you so off kilter today?”
Peter’s heart felt like it shot straight down to the center of the earth.
“The question I asked you earlier was one of the most basic questions that could be presented to you in any low-grade Physics class. I figured I’d toss it at you because I had a feeling you were… somewhere else. I know the semester just started, but from day one you’ve really shown me that you’re capable of much more than… that.”
“Really Sir, I’m s-sorry, I was kinda staying - staying up late - too late last night-”
“Why do you keep addressing me like that?” Professor Stark asked darkly.
“Because… it’s polite? I-I’m sorry, Professor Stark -”
“Look, Peter: You’re clearly overwhelmed with all of this, here,” Professor Stark used his hands to gesture around the room. “Don’t you think that you’d be perfectly fine getting Magna Cum Laude in some private pre-ivy high school somewhere?” The older man’s voice became quiet.
“No, Sir, I mean, Professor. I’m already done with high school, nothing there can challenge me enough -”
“Sure. But it’s my duty to make sure that you’re handling well enough on your own here. Along with your other professors. I know that you’re a special case Peter - you’ve made that clear on several occasions. But it seems like you’re already burning out, and fast.”
Great. Wonderful. Now his wildest dream thought that he couldn’t do any of this. Ultimately, Peter knew it was the fault of his fantasies. If he hadn’t been plotting how he’d turn in his assignment for fuck’s sake, he would’ve been actually able to do so as planned instead of rushing and falling flat on his face. If he hadn’t been thinking about what Professor Stark was like in bed, he would’ve been able to answer his professor’s question that was meant specifically for him.
“I’m really not, Mister - Professor Stark, I’m just having a bad day - a really bad day is all. I swear,” Peter stumbled.
“...Alright, kid. You let me know if you need anything. And I’m assuming you were at least put together enough to note down what tonight’s assignment is.”
He had not been.
As Peter left the classroom, Tony let out a shuddering sigh, and prayed to every god he hoped there was that the boy didn’t notice how impossibly hard he had gotten when he kept fucking slipping up and calling Tony ‘Sir’ and ‘Mr. Stark’. Tony knew that he wasn’t such a man-whore that those names would turn him on anyways, but it was solely when Peter said them that drove him wild.
From the first day that that little tight thing named Peter Parker stepped into his classroom for his first lecture of the semester, Tony knew that he was in trouble.
Peter’s skin looked so smooth, completely free of blemishes that teenagers usually had. It was as if someone had poured cream and the most amber honey together - he looked a little pale, but still had a healthy sun-kissed overtone. He carried himself with a unique humbleness - he clearly didn’t want any confrontation or interaction, but he still knew he was supposed to be there. (Plus, he was eager to learn.)
Peter’s first few classes had been flawless. He outshone everyone in that fucking room. He participated in every discussion, wasn’t afraid to ask questions (on the rare occasions that he had them), and did it all without a hitch.
Except for recent days.
Two weeks in to the semester, and Peter seemed to fall into a really odd decline. He seemed less relaxed, less confident in his abilities, less on earth. After about the fourth or fifth time that Tony caught him staring off in some random direction, his educator instincts nagged at him to keep a closer eye on Parker - which was dangerous in itself. Tony would be lying if he said he didn’t imagine himself walking over to Parker in an otherwise empty classroom while he was staring into space, grabbing him roughly by the chin and forcing his mouth down on to his aching cock that was already out and bobbing, waiting to be serviced.
‘Yeah, Parker,’ he’d grunt, ‘not fucking paying attention, huh? Then let’s see if I can help with that. Be good for me and take it all, baby.’
If Tony let his thoughts wander into dark enough places, he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t have a problem with going to prison, as long as it meant that he could have his way with Peter Parker. The things that he’d be willing to give up - his career, his home, his good name - he’d happily toss it all out the window if he could just spend one night alone with Peter.
After that, who knows? Would he be done with Peter? Would he want him again? And again after that?
As Tony finally gathered up his things and prepared to head out (he cancelled the rest of his classes for the day), he reluctantly let himself toy with the idea of having a little protege by the name of Peter Parker be his long term fuck toy. What would the rest of the department think? What would they say if they saw Tony kissing the daylights out of a teenager on a regular basis? Not just any teenager - but Peter Parker himself? The only high schooler from the east coast who was able to snag a spot at MIT way prematurely?
Tony was used to getting what he wanted from life.
So, he would get Peter.
And that day would be glorious.