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By the time the suit finally stops fucking him, Peter is trembling and so limp he can’t do anything but press his forehead to the cool metal of the desk, heaving. He hears Mr. Stark laugh; a finger drags down his spin, making him twitch and whine.

“You did great, kid.” Mr. Stark’s hand kneads his ass. “Can you handle more?”

“Yeah. Can’t move, though.”

“I can work with that.”

Mr. Stark is gentle when he pushes in, but quickly picks up speed, ramming the spot he knows makes Peter see white, waking his cock up again. Almost too much, but there’s no such thing when Mr. Stark is touching him.

“Good boy,” Mr. Stark groans, chest pressing against Peter’s back. He yanks his hair, exposing his neck. Bites a mark there, sucks until Peter screams and comes for the twelfth time; peppers his cheek with kisses as he fucks him through his orgasm. “This is better than any suit, right?” he growls in his ear.

Are you jealous of your own suit? Peter wants to tease, but the attempt at words comes out garbled. He’ll make fun of Mr. Stark later. For now, he pants out one word: “Harder.”