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Peter blames it all on chemistry.
February was a drag, but midterms were right around the corner and unlike his other classmates, Peter had a reason to be worried since his college GPA was on the line. He’d started taking classes at Columbia this winter because Tony Stark thought it would be silly for his protégé to waste his last semester of high school repeating courses he’d already placed out of.
“No harm in getting a head start. Besides, this will free up your schedule to take more electives in the fall! ” Mr. Stark had said, when he’d introduced the idea to Peter at Thanksgiving. Peter would still be able to finish up his senior elective classes at Midtown while starting part-time at Columbia. Mr. Stark had looked so excited pouring through the course catalog with him, offering comments on professors and labs he should definitely keep on his radar that Peter couldn’t imagine turning him down.
After everything they’d been through in the last couple of years, Peter was relieved to see a little of that mentor spark back in Mr. Stark’s eyes.
It was a lot of work of course, but not without its perks. Mr. Stark had been very supportive about the whole ordeal and gave Peter 24/7 access to study in the lab and the Tower. Peter was pleasantly surprised to find that more often than not that Mr. Stark would be in the lab with him. While Peter was hunched over another grueling problem set, Mr. Stark would be tinkering in the background with some science-boggling project and occasionally asking DUM-E to bring them both smoothies when he thought Peter deserved a study-break.
Peter sighs, he could use a study-break about now but Mr. Stark was working on a new prototype of the web-shooters and didn’t look like he was stopping anytime soon. It was Sunday afternoon and Peter had been staring down at his orgo review problem set all morning, his hands fidgeting with his pen. AP Chem had been a breeze for Peter, and while he had a much firmer grasp on the subject, considering the hours he’s spent on his web fluid, Organic Chemistry was over twice as much the material. Not to mention Professor Garcia was a notorious grader and hardly ever handed out A’s. Peter has a A- right now but he really, really wants that A. It’s mostly about his GPA and only a teensy bit about how Mr. Stark had said if Peter could get an A in Garcia’s class he’d congratulate Peter personally. Which like, Peter wasn’t exactly sure what that meant but Mr. Stark’s hand had ruffled through Peter’s hair and if it meant more of that , Peter was going to get the A even if it killed him.
And it was… killing him. Rather painfully, the diagrams on the page look less and less like molecular structures and more like random squiggles the more his eyes flit over the sheet trying to make sense of the answer. Peter groans, sitting up and squeezes his pen in frustration —only to hear the crack a second too late.
“ Damn it” Peter mutters, his hands, homework, and white don’t drink and derive shirt now stained in copious amounts of blue ink. Mr. Stark whirls around from where he’d been working, eyebrows raised as he takes in the mess. He walks over, dressed immaculately as always, picks up Peter’s splattered sheet of problems, eyes scanning until he finds the one Peter was stuck on and clicks his tongue. “Kid, you’re missing a number. You can’t balance the reaction without it.” Mr. Stark’s eyes narrow further, “Hell the equation doesn’t even make any sense without three hydrogens. It’s not an existing compound.”
Peter doesn’t know what to say, but he feels his jaw twitch. Especially when Mr. Stark decides to grab his wrist, turning his bluing palm upwards. Peter hisses, noticing the small shards of plastic sticking into the pads of his fingers from where he’d been holding the pen. His skin is trying to heal over the plastic, and the older man makes a tired sound. “You know, next time you could just ask me for help?”
“O-Okay. I’m sorry Mr. Stark” Peter says, in between sharp inhales as Mr. Stark tries his best to clean the plastic out of Peter’s wound with his fingers before reaching for a pair of tweezers from his work station. DUM-E brings over a clean towel and Peter does his best to wipe up as much of the messy blue ink as he can.
“Seriously Pete, we’ve been doing this long enough. You have to know that I’m here as a resource right?”
“It’s just chemistry, Mr. Stark. I don’t want to bother you —” Peter winces as Mr. Stark pulls out another sharp sliver of plastic, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into Peter’s wrist as he works.
“Call me Tony and how many times do I have to tell you’re not bothering me? I want you to be here.” Mr. Stark says, voice a little softer when he adds, “Besides you’re my responsibility, spider-stuff and non-spider stuff included. I want to help you, Peter.”
Maybe it’s the combination of I want to help you, Peter with how Mr. Stark’s hand was warm against his own but Peter’s brain short circuits. If you only knew the ways you could.
“Kid,” Tony asks, after a moment, “Are you alright? Your pulse is racing.”
Right. Mr. Stark was still holding his wrist and well… Peter has a stupid crush and hyper-sensitivity issues. He’s never been more grateful for the cover of the work bench because he was sure his jeans would do little to hide the obvious bulge in his pants.
“I’m fine. My pulse just picks up sometimes when I’m healing.” Peter says, hoping Tony wouldn’t question his white lie.
The older man frowns, as he finishes bandaging Peter up. “Hm. I hadn’t really noticed it before. Do you think it depends on the injury? Honestly, I’ve always been interested in your response to pain, considering the material of the suit. We should test that sometime in the lab.”
Peter stares at the ground, a slight blush rising on his neck because hearing Tony Stark say I’ve always been interested in your response to pain sounds something right out of one of his wet dreams. He imagines Mr. Stark testing his hypothesis, hooking him up to sensors, stretching the limits of Peter’s pain complex. Would he hit him? Slap him? Use a crop until he’s satisfied with the red of Peter’s skin? Or maybe the gauntlet squeezing down on Peter’s throat —
“Peter?” Tony asks, and Peter blinks dazedly. “I said I think you should be plastic-free.” He takes a moment to just look at Peter, his palm sliding up Peter’s wrist. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Y-yeah. I’m fine. Sorry, just tired.” Peter stutterers, cheeks heating up with all the extra physical attention. But Tony doesn’t pull away, if anything he leans closer over the workbench, his eyes never leaving Peter’s face. He’s closer than Peter had expected him to be, close enough that Peter can pick up traces of his expensive cologne.
“Tony?” Peter asks, his eyes widening as he feels the warmth of his Tony’s palm against his face. They’d always been touchy, more-so since Tony had been resurrected, but it was always like a comforting pat on the shoulder or occasional hug — Peter had only dreamed of his mentor’s thumb brushing over the hinge of his jaw.
“Sorry kid,” Tony starts but then pauses in surprise as Peter automatically leans into the touch. Peter swears he hears the older man’s heartbeat quicken at the action, but Peter couldn’t imagine pulling away. Not when it was Mr. Stark, so close within almost kissing distance.
“Yes, Mr. Stark?” Peter whispers, and Tony freezes as his thumb accidentally brushes against the soft corner of Peter’s mouth.
“You uh you had an ink stain.” He says abruptly, taking a step back from Peter.
“Oh,” Peter mumbles, trying to swallow his disappointment.
“Also you probably need a new shirt before we can get back to your chemistry homework.” Tony adds, already turning back to his own work station.
“It’s fine — Hey!” Peter barely gets a chance to protest before DUM-E is pulling him to the elevator, one robot hand caught in Peter’s ruined t-shirt.
“Mr. Stark it’s really okay!” Peter tries again, but Tony doesn’t seem to notice as DUM-E corners Peter into the open elevator.
“You can pick anything you want from my closet. If you need help, ask FRIDAY.” Tony yells just as the doors ping close and FRIDAY takes Peter up to the penthouse.
+
“Keep it. You can’t take the subway shirtless. ” Tony says, when Peter tries to return his Black Sabbath shirt before he leaves. “I already put your old one in a trash compactor.”
“Hey,” Peter pouts, “I really liked that shirt.”
“Oh right, you and your math puns.” Tony rolls his eyes, “If it makes you feel better, I thought this would happen so I ordered you a few new ones.”
“New ones? Mr. Stark, I only stained one shirt.”
“Consider it part of an early birthday present.”
“My birthday is like six months from now.”
“Kid,” Tony sighs, “Could you just let me be a billionaire sometimes? I’m pretty sure that shirt had like three holes in it. Forgive me for worrying about the rest of your wardrobe. ”
“Four holes, and fine.” Peter concedes, before adding in a softer voice. “Thank you, Tony. I really appreciate it. ”
“I’m always here to help, Pete.” Tony responds, repeating what he’d said earlier. “All you have to do is ask.”
+
They’re touchier after that. Tony never gets as close as the pen-incidence again but Peter keeps count of the extra hair and shoulder pats, not to mention the bonus finger brushes as they pass things to each other in the lab.
Tony helps him study for Garcia’s class and the extra tutoring pays off — Peter doesn’t just ace his midterm, he even impresses some sophomores in his orgo study group and gets invited to a party on Saturday.
Tony greets him with a hug when he shows up for his morning in the lab. Peter leans into it, his voice muffled against Tony’s ACDC t-shirt. “This is nice, but what’d I do?”
“I heard about your midterm. Garcia called me personally to let me know, not that we had a bet or anything. But he definitely lost.“ Tony says, and Peter can tell he’s grinning.
“What’d you win?” Peter asks, curious. He knew they’d been classmates at MIT together, which is why Tony had recommended him to begin with. Sure enough, Garcia was a great professor despite his certainly-evil grading scale.
“Another opportunity to impress upon the world just how brilliant you are,” Tony says, running a hand through Peter’s hair. Peter blushes and bites back the soft gasp when Tony’s fingers pull at a loose curl.
“Anyway, we’re celebrating. I’m taking you out to dinner, and yes it’s going to be one of those places with tiny plates and a tasting menu. So dress nice!” Tony says, before stepping away from Peter.
Peter meets Tony’s eyes and can’t help but feel the energy of something unspoken between them. They’ve had plenty of dinners together, but ever since his resurrection and Peter approaching college, things have been different. Sure they’d talk about science and super-hero stuff, but lately the conversations had reached new depths. Tony didn’t irk away from the questions about his nightmares when Peter asked, and Peter didn’t lie about his own fears. It was if Tony was no longer holding him at arm’s length, and Peter’s never been more grateful. He doesn’t think he could handle it, not after all the shared grief and trauma caused by Thanos. Everything was a little different now that they’ve both watched each other die.
Peter opens his mouth to respond, but his phone buzzes in his pocket with a text from MJ — the party sounds cool. will accompany you. I’ll be at your place @ 7.
“I actually um… I can’t tonight,” Peter says, awkwardly once he checks his phone and Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “I have to go to this party with MJ. I totally forgot, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize underoos,” Tony says, seemingly unfazed but Peter can tell he’s disappointed anyway. “It’s Saturday night, you should be out there partying it up with your girlfriend. I couldn’t be prouder.”
He gives Peter one of those trademark playboy winks even as Peter stutters out, “Uh she’s um not my girlfriend.”
“Whatever you say, kid.” Tony shrugs and whirls around back to his work bench, pulling up schematics for the web fluid. “Seriously don’t sweat it. I’ll raincheck dinner. Just let me know when you’re free and we’ll work something out.”
“Okay,” Peter says, as he walks up to Tony’s workbench.
And if neither of their smiles reaches their eyes, they don’t talk about it.
+
“You know, Tony Stark thinks you’re my girlfriend.” Peter says, staring out the window of some Manhattan apartment as he passes the blunt to MJ after taking a hit.
“You’re kidding,” MJ deadpans, taking a sip of her beer. Peter shakes his head, and then immediately regrets how swimmy it makes the room. “And I thought Ned had a bad gaydar.”
“I know! It’s crazy. I don’t know what I’m doing.” Peter makes grabby hands at the blunt and MJ rolls her eyes before passing it to him. Peter closes his eyes as he breathes in the weed, the high making it easier to filter out the sound of the music from the living room and the incessant chatter of college students. Parties were always hard on his hypersensitive senses, but weed definitely helped the experience.
“I think I need another jello shot if we’re going to keep talking about Tony Stark.” MJ mutters, ashing the finished blunt against the window sill. “You want one?”
Peter shrugs and follows her into the kitchen.
+
Four red jello shots later, Peter is sprawled on the couch next to MJ staring at the multi-colored LED light patterns on the ceiling, lamenting about his unrequited crush on Iron Man. The party was past its peak and most of the room was full of quiet chatter, with the occasional couple still dancing to whatever indie song was on shuffle.
“I want him so much. I can’t stop thinking about it. And I don’t even care that it’s wrong because he’s like my mentor or the age difference, because he’s it for me, MJ.” Peter whines, and MJ pats his head.
“There, there, little spiderling.” Peter leans into her touch like a cat, which is normal considering how fairly crossed he is. “I don’t know if Tony Stark is your soulmate, but I do know that you need to get laid. Preferably by the dude you’ve been pining after since you were sixteen. Which just so happens to be Tony Stark.”
“Exactly,” Peter pouts. “What do I do, MJ?”
She’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “You could, like. Just ask him.”
“Ask him?”
“Well. He’s your mentor. And you said he’s always offering his help and stuff. Maybe just be like, ‘hey Tony could you do me a favor and bend me over a table sometime? Or a bed? I’m not picky.’ ”
Peter giggles at MJ’s impersonation of his voice, which isn’t very good but definitely still accurate. “I’m mortified because that’s literally what I’m thinking about everytime I’m in the lab.”
“See. There you go. You never know, he just might surprise you.” MJ says, grinning.
+
Which is promptly how Peter finds himself an hour later in the elevator of the Tower still a little crossed wearing Tony’s Black Sabbath shirt and asking FRIDAY to take him up to the penthouse.
It’s weird because Tony's floor doesn’t really have a doorbell and he can only hope that he isn’t interrupting something — Not that Tony was seeing anyone in the aftermath of his divorce.
When the doors of the elevator ping open, Peter doesn’t have to worry about finding Tony because he’s standing right in front of him, in spider-man pajamas no less. “This isn’t real.” Peter blurts out, because there was no denying the tiny red spiders on Tony’s blue pajama bottoms.
Tony looks down at his pajamas. “They were a gift from Morgan, I swear. You’re her favorite superhero, it's a bit annoying actually.” Tony crosses his arms across his chest. He’s wearing a white undershirt that does nothing to hide his arms and Peter can’t help but stare. “She’s ten and already has better taste than most kids. Besides, you’re wearing my shirt, so I say that we’re even. ”
“Okay,” Peter says, and walks past Tony and into the living room. Tony’s eyes widen as he turns around to follow him.
“Kid, you shouldn’t be here. Does your aunt know where you are?”
“Don’t worry I already told her I’m sleeping over at MJ’s. Plus, Happy and her have date night.” Peter says, leaning back on his heels with his hands in his pockets. He lightly bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the jitter of his nerves at just what he was about to do. “Anyway, I’m here now.”
“Okay.” Tony’s eyes narrow, “and exactly how much did you drink tonight?”
“I had like four jello shots! And half a beer. ” Peter exclaims, running a palm through his hair in frustration. “Some weed too. But that’s not relevant right now.”
“How is that not relevant? Peter — “ Tony begins, but Peter cuts him off. If he doesn’t say this now, he knows he never will and he just needs to know.
“ Mr. Stark , I respect you — as a man, as a mentor, as a scientist, I respect you.” Peter says, in a rushed breath. He pauses, meeting Tony’s eye before shrugging off his jacket, “so teach me.”
“Kid, what are you doing?” Tony asks, confused as Peter toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks.
“Teach me.” Peter repeats, removing his flannel and emptying his jean pockets on Tony’s coffee table.
Tony’s mouth falls open as Peter’s hands go to his belt, pulling the leather out fast. “Kid, we can’t — I can’t do this.”
But Peter isn’t deterred. He can see Tony’s resolve breaking with the way his eyes follow his hands. Peter takes a step closer, before pulling the Black Sabbath shirt clean over his head. “Teach me,” He whispers, into the space between them.
“You’re my protégé ! I can’t — I promised I wouldn’t. I’m old enough to be your professor!” Tony mutters, his hands crumpling into fists by his side.
“So, teach me. ” Peter repeats, breathing the words inches away from Tony’s mouth. He steps back to unzip his jeans and kick them off until he’s standing in front of Tony in nothing but his boxers, breathing hard.
“ Peter,” Tony says, sounding absolutely wrecked. He runs a palm over his face as he takes a step back from Peter.
For the first moment all night, Peter falters. Maybe he did read this wrong, maybe he wasn’t as good enough for Tony as he thought. “Come on, Mr. Stark.” Peter does his best to hide the way his voice wobbles. “Am I really so bad?”
“No,” Tony whispers, his voice cracking as he finally meets Peter’s gaze. “I am.”
And then Tony’s pulling him into a kiss, open-mouthed and wet and better than anything Peter could’ve imagined. Peter’s hands cling to his shoulders, and before he can even blink, Tony’s arms are lifting him up until he’s straddling the older man’s hips. Peter gasps into the kiss, surprised and Tony just smirks, nipping at his neck as he walks them to the master bedroom.
+
In the afterglow of their second round, Tony kisses Peter’s forehead, murmurs, “Really wished you’d let me take you out to dinner first.”
“It’s not my fault you thought I was dating MJ!” Peter huffs,"Actually, this was kind of her entire idea.”
“Remind me to send her like a fruit basket. Or would she prefer a weed basket? I can do either. Whatever you kids are into now.”
Peter laughs, pressing a sleepy kiss to Tony’s cheek. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, kid.” Tony says, and Peter kisses him properly then, just because he can.
“Let's hope we never have to find out again." Peter murmurs, and Tony's eyes soften. "I don't want to walk away from this. I don't care what anyone says."
“Mr. Parker, are you asking me out?” Tony cups Peter’s jaw and let’s his thumb slide against the plush of Peter’s bottom lip.
“Mr. Stark, are you a carbon sample?” Peter whispers, his voice teasingly low. Tony blinks at him, confused.
"Yes? I mean. Is this a jab at my age? Because I'll have you know — "
Peter kisses him to shut him up, licking into his mouth with a confidence that Tony was sure wasn't there a couple hours ago. It makes something tight glow warm in Tony's chest.
"No silly," Peter hums against his lips, stifling a laugh “I only asked if you were carbon sample because I want to date you.”
In the end, Tony blames it all on chemistry.