5 Times Tony Was There

by Alexei2020

Summary:

And the one time Peter was there

Chapter 1: I

Peter is late. He has yet to replace his alarm clock after breaking it (again) in a rush to turn it off. His hair is sticking up at places where he would prefer it to lay down, his shirt is wrinkled and his sweater is on backwards. 

 

It's a mess. It's a messy morning. A messy week. He has two tests just this morning, a Spanish project he needs to finish by Friday and a literature quiz he needs to study for. All he wants to do though, is go back to bed and sleep until his bruised hip and split lip is healed. 

 

He can't do that. He has a stupid math test in thirty minutes and he has yet to put his shoes on. May is already at work so he can't ask her to drive him, and he doesn't want to swing around the city with his backpack. (New York doesn't need to know that Spider-Man is in high school, people tend to not be scared off by teenagers in tights.) 

 

He runs out the door with a burnt toast between his teeth, backpack over his shoulder and shoelaces wrapping around his ankles with each jump down the stairs (Thank the disturbed scientist at OsCorp for spider powers when they're really needed.), and runs straight into one of his biggest superhero idols on the way out of the building. Oof.  

 

"Sorry! Sorry, I didn't see where I was going!" He manages to push out between teeth and toast and melted butter as he shuffles past and pushes open the door. 

 

He stops in his tracks with his palms on the glass. Wait a minute. He turns around to see none other than the Tony Stark standing in the middle of the hallway, hands in pockets, sunglasses on his nose and a very amused smile on his face. He looks like a god, and Peter doesn't know what to do with himself.

 

"You're Iron man!" He says, and oh my God. Idiot! The hero smirks and nods. Great job, Parker.

"The one and only. You in a hurry, kid?" Right . Test. School. Important for college stuff. Iron man is standing in front of me! Oh my God! Holy shit!

 

"Wh— ye— no? Can I help you sir?" Mr. Stark quirks an eyebrow and Peter wants to slap himself. 

 

"You're not sure? I can give you a lift, and we can talk in the car?" Tony Stark wants to talk to me? 

 

"I'm sorry, but I was taught not to get into cars with people I don't know. Stranger Danger and all that." Peter's pretty sure his brain just went offline. He's Spider-Man for fucks sake. But there's a slight tingle in the back of his neck, so maybe getting into that car isn't such a good idea anyway. 

 

"Well, in that case — "the billionaire takes two long steps until he's standing very close to Peter's personal space, and he instinctively wants to take a step back. He can smell the ridiculously expensive cologne on the man's clothes and count every eyelash behind the yellow tinted sunglasses. (How is it even legal for a man to have such long eyelashes)

 

" — Hi! I'm Tony Stark, also known as Iron man and the owner of Stark Industries." He stretches out his hand for Peter to shake, but his brain is a liquid mass of what the actual fuck and all he can do is look at it. 

 

Until the very important man in expensive suit and cologne (and oh my God Tony Stark wants to shake my hand ) is clearing his throat, looking just a little impatient. Right. Peter dries off his sweaty, shaking hand on his old, worn down jeans and makes sure not to crush the man's hand in his grip. Shake three times. Firm, not abusive. You got this Parker. Holy shit I'm shaking hands with Iron man! 

 

"Peter, sir. Parker." He has to remember to congratulate himself later, when he's done fanboying, for not stuttering and sounding somewhat like the semi humanoid adult he's so desperately trying to pretend he is.

 

"Right. So, how about that ride? Where are you headed, kid?" Peter's eyes widen with the realization that there's no way he'll make it to class on time, not even if Tony Stark drives him. New York traffic doesn't bend for anyone. 

 

"Shit! Fuck! I'm gonna be so late. I'm so sorry, mr. Stark, but I really have to go!" Swinging with the backpack it is, then, Peter thinks as he pushes open the door once more and runs down the street to the first empty alley he finds. 

 

He's half dressed in his suit when he hears the odd heartbeat of the billionaire coming from behind him, and Peter wonders for a second if the arc reactor he's been studying (it's totally for scientific reasons) is actually lodged in the man's heart. He's not going to ask, though. Even he has a limit to his weirdness.

 

"Let me drive you, kid. I already know about your secret night time adventures. I won't tell on you. Just take your clothes and get in the car."

 

The tingle in the back of his neck makes a little more sense now, and he really wants to know how Tony Stark knows who he is. As far as he knows, he's been pretty careful with his identity. (Changing in the alley and getting caught red handed a minute ago doesn't count, shut up.) 

 

"You won't kidnap me or anything, right? Cause I'm pretty sure I could take you down if I had to." Peter is able to lift a bus, after all. Taking down a normal dude in a suit shouldn't be a problem. He doesn't want to be one of the douchebags who ruined Mr. Stark's ego, though. 

 

"It wasn't on today's agenda, no. I would very much like to talk to you, though, so just get in the car, already. We don't have all day." 

 

Peter picks up his bundle of clothes and holds his jeans up as he shuffles into the backseat of a neat, black car that has nothing to do in his neighborhood. Tony gets in on his other side, and Peter gives a polite hello to the driver before the partition goes up and he's left alone with the other man. 

 

"So, you're the Spider-kid." Is the first thing he says, and Peter is glad his face is currently well hidden in the sweater he's frantically trying to pull over his head. This is not how he pictured meeting his greatest hero. (Right next to Captain America, but it's not Iron Man's fault Steve Rogers had comics before he was even born.)

 

"Spider-Man, sir." Peter corrects, a little shy suddenly. Not that anyone can really blame him. This is so far from anything he's ever imagined would ever happen, it's borderline insane. 

 

"Right. So, I'm just gonna go straight to the case. I need you to fight with me in Germany."

 

What now?

 

"I can't go to Germany, sir. I'm sorry, but I have exams and tests and stuff to do. It's the end of my senior year, I can't skip school." It sounds ridiculous when he says it out loud, but it's nothing short of the truth. Not that he wants to join Iron Man on any big time fight anyway. He takes care of the little guys. He's a street level vigilante. Not a world saving superhero.

 

"Excuse me, what?" Mr. Stark looks like he's never been turned down in his life, and doesn't know how to handle rejection, which is most likely true, Peter muses. He should probably feel bad about ruining his view of the power he holds over the world, but there's no way he's jeopardizing his education for a fight he knows nothing about. 

 

"I'm sorry. We don't fight in the same league. Whatever's going on in Germany, It's not my thing. I swing around in Queens, taking care of petty thieves and helping old ladies cross the streets." Mr. Stark lets out a very loud sigh, and Peter shrinks in his seat. He doesn't want to be the douchebag who disappoints the man either, he figures, a little too late. 

 

"Okay, so you just want to stay here, doing what you do?" 

 

"Well— yeah. If not, I wouldn't be doing it. I've been doing this for four years now Mr. Stark."

 

"What made you start doing this anyway?"

 

Peter blinks, isn't it obvious?

 

"I mean, you don't get paid, I can see that. The newspaper writes trash about you, you don't do it for fame, or if you are, you're heading in the wrong direction. So, why did a kid in high school decide to save the day?"

 

Peter looks at the man, now waving his fingers in the air to point out all the reasons Peter doesn't do the hero thing. Honestly, all those reasons are so far away from his mind they were never even considered. 

 

"Well, sir. I have these powers, and I have the ability to help. So if I don't, and the bad stuff happens, it happens because of me. With great power, comes great responsibility, y'know?" Surely Tony Stark knows all about that, right?

 

"Oh, well okay then. Anyway, that web-string-thing you use, who makes that? I'd love to get in touch with your guy." He doesn't look like he knows all about power and responsibility, and Peter might have to reevaluate everything he knows, and what does he want the web fluid for?

 

"Why? What do you want with it?" 

 

"None of your business, kid. SI stuff." That has got to be the worst answer in the history of answers. And Peter is just a tad sick of being called a kid. He's an adult, damnit. 

 

"Well, in that case, Mr. Stark—" Perfect timing. The car stops outside Peter's school, and he's absolutely going to make Ned hack into Tony's computer to get rid of all the information the man has on him, because this is beginning to look just a little creepy. " — I won't give you the information. Good luck in Germany. And thanks for the ride!"

Chapter 2: II

II

 

Peter drops from his web mid swing, flips in the air and catches the tiny ball of destruction thrown towards the cars buzzing underneath him. "Hey, Gobby, you lost this!" He yells as he throws the pumpkin bomb back towards the laughing maniac. (Peter should definitely have joined the football or basketball team in high school, he'd been way cooler than the nerdy, scrawny Puny Parker.)

 

The purple and green lunatic keeps laughing hysterically as he rounds the corner and the bomb goes off, leaving a void of black smoke and red sparkles, effectively blinding Peter's sight for a second too long as he almost meets the newly cleaned window of Stark Industries nose first. 

 

He waves to Tony Stark as he quickly passes by where he's standing in the colossal building, watching the fight with his arms crossed, looking majorly unimpressed. Asshole. He follows the sound of his number 1 enemy and picks up another bomb thrown in his direction. "Fire in the hole!" he yells as he launches it back up in the air. 

 

Peter uses the nearest rooftop as a springboard, directing his body towards his target, and landing gracefully on the tips of his toes behind the Green Goblin. He points him on the shoulder and gives the man a solid knock in the chin when he turns his head. 

 

He’s careful not to use too much force, though. They’re flying dangerously wobbly above the city, and neither of them have indestructible bones. The Goblin loses his footing for a second and the board turns upside down. It’s a lot like surfing in a hurricane, Peter thinks, and he’s one hundred percent sure he never wants to do it again.

 

"Hey, Gobby, you thought about going into the firework business?" Peter asks casually as he clings to the underside of his hoverboard, watching the last bomb going off with green and purple sparkles. He opens the panel with all the wires and starts ripping them out, thanking his creator for his sticky fingers while thinking about how to not join in on the eventual crash as they start the fast trip towards the ground.

 

"Hey, kid. Need a ride?" Peter groans and curses the universe. You couldn't have sent me anyone else to my rescue? Literary anyone else would do. Even cocky asshole Johnny Storm. 

 

The concrete is coming a little too close for comfort though, so Peter shoots a string of web, attaching himself to the Iron Man suit and lets go, just to thwip a new string at Norman, letting him dangle securely as Iron Man shoots into the air, putting more space between them and the unforgiving city floor. 

 

Norman is still laughing like it's the only thing he knows how to do, and it's only because Peter knows him, like, really knows the man, that he's not fooled to think there's something seriously wrong with him. (There's definitely something seriously wrong with him, considering he flies around bombing the city he's trying to control as a major, but he is in fact a very intelligent man, albeit an evil one.)

 

"Where should we put the passenger? The mental hospital?" Peter has already tried that, it lasted a week. There's got to be somewhere else to stuff the guy, where he's safely tucked away for at least a month. (Peter doesn't have time to play fetch right now, he has a group project in Biochem he should be doing.)

 

“Don’t you guys have your own prison for guys like him?” God, he sounds like he hasn't been doing this for half a decade already. But somehow, it feels like just leaving him with the police is the same thing as telling a toddler they can’t have more candy and placing a bag full of it right in front of them.

 

Peter adjusts his hold on the squirming villain, and wonders what he’ll tell Harry. It’s not like they haven’t had this talk before, exactly, but it doesn’t get any easier. (Hey, Har, guess what I did today? I had a fist fight with your dad. Again. No worries though, he’ll be back to mentally assault you in no time!) 

 

He’s brought back from his wandering mind by the snap and quick vibrations of the web he wrapped Norman in, and looks down to see that the idiot has managed to cut it somehow and is freefalling towards the city. “Shit!”

 

He drops the string connected to the golden suit above him and dives for his best friend’s dad, not really sure what he’ll do when he catches him, but it’s not like he can just let him become a disgusting splat on the sidewalk. Spider-Man doesn’t traumatize the citizens, and it’s not like Norman would be there to take the blame if he let him actually meet his doom. 

 

He reaches out with one arm, shooting out a perfectly aimed web, and yanking it hard , making them collide mid air and wrapping the webbing around them both, trapping their bodies together with arms tucked between them. Great job, Parker, now we’ll both be colorful pancakes on the sidewalk. 

 

The annoying whirring sound of the red and gold hero is blocking all other sounds, and Peter is going to be mad at him for interfering when he’s done falling. He totally had this all on his own. He doesn’t need the narcissistic asshole to step in and save the day from his supervillain. Get your own maniac to chase around the city.

 

“Stop moving, and I’ll get us out of here.” Peter snaps at the green idiot squirming in the tight hold of his webs. “Believe me, I don’t want to be stuck like this anymore than you do.” Peter just hopes there’s no phones documenting this, Harry’s going to laugh at him until the day he dies. He squints the white lenses of his mask at the Goblins sickly green face, who’s just a little too close for comfort. 

 

“You okay there, Spidey?” If it wasn’t for the mechanic tilt to Mr. Stark’s voice, Peter would have sworn he heard an amused hint to his tone. Not fair, dude. You try being glued to the one person in the whole world you’d rather live without.

 

“M’fine. Just gotta get the spray bottle from…” He groans and reaches behind himself to the pouch in his suit, he’s almost got it, just a little… pop! “fuck! That hurts.” At least he can reach the damn bottle now that his arm isn’t locked in place by his stupid human anatomy. Gobby flinches and looks like he sympathizes with his nemesis for once, and it’s not reassuring at all. Peter just wants to get out of here and back to his study group. 

 

The webbing dissolves and Peter is ready to wrap another one around Norman the second he’s free, just to make sure he’s not going to pull one of those circus stunts and disappear in a wall of green smoke. (He’s done it before, it’s not a good self esteem booster.) 

 

“I have a reinforced cell in the basement of the Tower. We can put him in there and let S.H.I.E.L.D take care of him.” Okay, so what kind of business does Tony Stark do in that building of his, really? Who has a prison cell in their basement? Except for evil douchebags like Normie here? 

 

“Sure, you do that. I need to get going, I have somewhere to be.” Peter hands over the leash to his prisoner and raises his arm to swing away, only to wince in pain. Right, I might need to fix that shoulder first. 

 

“You wanna come back with me, I can have someone look you over, set your shoulder back in place?” Yeah— no. No way is Peter willingly heading to a place with reinforced prison cells in the basement. According to the law he belongs in one of those himself. Not happening.

 

“I’m good. You take the bad guy to your castle and let the important men in black suits figure out what to do with him.” He grabs his shoulder and yanks it back in place, barely suppressing the cry threatening to escape as he hears the bone pop back into place. Easy peasy. (There’s not tears in his eyes or anything. He’s a badass hero. This is nothing.)

 

“You sure, kid?” Peter scoffs. Did Tony Stark just sound concerned? That has got to be the first. He tests the mobility of his arm by swinging it around a little and rolling his shoulder. Definitely better than it was. He turns towards Norman, who’s looking like a sulking child where he sits on the sidewalk with his arms crossed. 

 

“You—” Peter points at him, and the yellow eyes snap up to meet his own white lenses. “ — behave.” He grins mischievously, teeth on display and everything, and Peter shudders. 

“Always, Peter. You know me.” Peter sighs and drags his hand across his mask. Shaking his head he turns away from them both, shooting a web at the building across the street and pointedly does not let his mind torture him with the fact that Tony Stark now knows that the Green Goblin knows who he is. He has a group project he needs to work on, after all.

Chapter 3: III

III

 

Peter actually enjoys his job at the bar. It’s fun to study how all these people come in all stressed and sick of everything even remotely related to a life and watch as their shoulder sag and with each gulp of whatever alcohol of choice, the negative and tired mindset takes one step further away. Like alcohol is somehow a cure keeping the poisonous thoughts on hold for a few hours.

 

Well, that’s most of the business folks coming in on the weekdays anyways. Then there’s the cocky guys who think they can conquer the world, and somehow always end up the most beat up at the end of the night. Not that Peter minds, really. If they’re here, then he won’t have to chase them down the streets. 

 

And then there’s the very loud college students that stumble in on the weekends to celebrate whatever project or exam they’re done with. Peter wishes, sometimes, that he could join them. That he could let his body loose on the dance floor, and laugh along with whatever ridiculous joke Harry is telling. 

 

He doesn’t do that, though. He tries it a few times, but his metabolism does not agree with alcohol of any kind, it seems, and his senses don’t know how to handle the extra input, and the normally dialed up to 11 sensations is suddenly at least a 20. It’s not fun, and it ruins the whole point of relaxing and enjoying the night. 

 

Besides, he’s seen what booze does to People who use it to escape reality, and Peter is a little scared he’ll end up in that category if he doesn’t keep himself in check. It sounds amazing, sometimes, to not have the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

 

But as it is, he enjoys serving the people who come into the bar, give them a kind smile and offer small talk to the lonely ones. It’s nice, and so different from the usual adrenaline filled day-to-day life he made for himself, so he’s not complaining. 

 

He’s leaning against the counter, casually flirting with one of the regular day-drinkers (it’s good tips, okay? He’s a struggling college student, he’s allowed to be a little cheap.) When the door opens, Peter's nose picks up the expensive cologne along with the fresh (as fresh as possible in the middle of Manhattan) March air that sneaks its way inside, messing with the warm, cozy atmosphere. 

 

He excuses himself from the tired-looking woman he’s been chatting with and strolls over to the newcomer, and picks up a glass of their most overpriced whiskey on the way. He hasn't actually seen Tony Stark here before, but he’s read an interview or two about the man, and after he started his bartender career, picking up on people’s drinking habits became like second nature. 

 

“Welcome, Mr.Stark. Having a nice day?” It’s not necessarily a good thing that the Tony Stark finds his way into a hole-in-the-wall bar in the middle of the day on a Wednesday, but as long as he’s still able to take of aliens and terrorists so that Spider-Man doesn’t have to, he’s not going to judge. 

 

“Peter? What are you doing here?” He looks like this is the last place he’d expect to find Peter, but really, where else would he be? 

 

“I work here? If you can’t tell? Seriously, Mr.Stark, I’ve got a name tag and everything.” He points at said name tag and smirks at the confused look, feeling a little confident boost he didn’t know he needed.

 

“Shouldn’t you be in class? Or running around in tights? Jesus, kid, when do you sleep?” Peter snorts, and starts wiping the counter to have something other to do than look at the disapproving look across the bar top. 

 

“Not everyone’s a born billionaire, y’know.” He says and points a finger in Mr. Stark’s direction, but offers a smile, just to show that he’s really okay. Which he is. It’s not like Iron Man can do anything about he’s packed everyday schedule anyway. 

 

“I know, but you’re so young. You should be out having fun. Getting drunk and testing the limits of your body. Not working yourself to an inch of your life and sacrifice yourself for ungrateful New Yorkers every day. Seriously, kid. When are you going to live a little?” 

 

Peter looks over to the lonely woman at the other end of the bar and taps another beer for her and heads over to get some time to think about his answer. It feels like he’s had this discussion with the other man already. It may have been a couple of years ago, so maybe Mr. Stark just needs a refresher, but it sounds wrong that Tony Stark would just forget the first time he was rejected. Maybe his genius brain wasn’t able to process it?

 

“Here you go, ma’am. Let me know if you need anything.” She gives a grateful smile and nods, but doesn’t say anything, too busy gulping down the bitter drink. 

 

“Maybe when New York isn’t the training ground for super villains?” He offers to the billionaire, who hums in return into his glass, and Peter really wants to know what the man is really doing here. “Anyway, what made you come here? Sure there’s some better places for you to spend your free time?” 

 

He snorts, and scrunches his face a little. “No one expects me to come here, and my assistant won’t murder me for not being in the office if she can’t find me.” What a work ethic, Peter muses, but he’s at work, and doesn’t want to get fired for being rude, so he keeps his thought on the matter to himself. “Anyway, when are you off work?” 

 

“What? Why? Planning on kidnapping me today?” At least that gets a laugh out of him, even if it is a hollow one. 

 

“Nah. Buy you some food, maybe. Kidnapping isn’t on today’s agenda, either, kid.” 

 

“Good to know. I can buy my own food, though.” He’s not sure why he even considers saying yes to the offer, he doesn’t really like the man, and the years they’ve kind of known each other have not exactly been pleasant meetings. When Peter thinks about it, it’s actually mostly Mr. Stark showing up whenever Peter would rather not have him there. Like when he’s totally got the situation under control, and Iron Man messing it all up. Totally. 

 

Maybe it’s the way he’s sitting in the rundown bar drinking whiskey in the middle of the week, looking all miserable and lonely. “I’m off in two hours. There’s a Thai restaurant down the street that serves the best Tom Kha Kai.”

 

“Sounds great. I’ll meet you back here, then. Thank you for joining me.” He slips a hundred dollar bill over the counter and gets to his feet with a smile. Peter is ready to argue about the amount of money presented to him, because even their most valuable liquor doesn’t cost nearly that much, but there’s something that feels a lot like a brick weighing down his entire jaw, and he can’t get anything other than a stuttered thank you out of his mouth. 

 

He’s definitely paying for dinner, that’s for sure.

 

Mr. Stark shows up in a new suit when Peter comes back from changing out of his work clothes. It doesn't look like they're headed the same way, Mr. Stark in what looks like a million dollar light grey suit and burgundy tie, shiny shoes and perfectly groomed hair, next to Peter in his oversized, dark blue hoodie, old jeans, duck taped sneakers and curls sticking out in every direction. 

 

"Uhm— you wanna head out first? So People don't think you're just picking up homeless people or something?" He gestures to himself and offers a weak smile. Mr. Stark looks him up and down with a frown, and Peter suddenly regrets the whole thing.

 

“Yeah— no. We’re going shopping first.” Peter opens his mouth to argue, he doesn’t need new clothes. Mr. Stark just needs to learn that not everything is requiring formal wear. But the man is already walking out the door, so whatever Peter was planning to say is lost in his hurry to catch up with the man he’s supposed to have dinner with.

 

“Hey, wait up. What do you mean, shopping?” 

 

When Tony says ‘we’re going shopping’ it’s not a new pair of jeans or a new shirt or something like that. That, Peter could live with, somehow. No. What Tony means is ‘you need a new wardrobe, and if your new clothes (plural) doesn’t fit in your dresser, I’ll get you a new one.’ 

 

So Peter’s day shift at the bar ends with him face planting his bed, legs aching from walking around the city for hours (he’s not made for walking, okay? He made his web shooters for a reason.) his bedroom is filled with bags from so many different stores he’s never even heard of and there’s a new dresser standing next to his old one, and he has absolutely no idea how it got there. 

 

Oh, and the billionaire apparently refuses to be called Mr. Stark anymore. It’s Tony, to you. Or I’ll be forced to call you kid. And then there’s the privilege of having Tony’s personal phone number. 

 

If you ask Peter how he let all this happen… he’ll probably blame it on aliens or something. He doesn’t have a single clue. But he did enjoy their night out, surprisingly. Tony is actually not so bad when he peels off the public Stark persona. So, even more surprising, is that Peter agreed to hang out again. 

 

What has his life become?

Notes:

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Chapter 4: IIII

IIII

Well, no one can say that Peter never joins a party, but he’s going to kill Harry for dragging him off to this mess when he finds him. It reeks of alcohol and sweat and weed and it’s nauseating. Peter’s head is buzzing and he can hear everything going on seven blocks away. 

 

But the music is so good and he’s sure that he’d be the coolest guy here if he walked out on the hardwood floor and started dancing. He’s Spider-Man, dancing shouldn’t be a problem. He just needs to find Harry first. 

 

He was here just a minute ago, coaxing Peter to take those stupid pills. which he probably shouldn’t have agreed to, but he’d been drinking (also peer pressured by the one and only Harry Osborn, ladies and gentlemen) and Harry did have some very convincing arguments. It’s for science, dude. You need to know how these things work if you catch someone out on the streets with them, y’know. 

 

Not that Peter feels any different. Maybe it’s that terribly efficient metabolism that’s messing it up. Anyway, Harry was just here, and that dance floor is really tempting, and maybe he should just let Harry do his thing, he’ll find him eventually. He wants to dance. And there’s a really hot guy looking way too lonely in the corner, and the music is so loud and catchy and

Peter really needs to move.

 

Peter should do this more often. It’s not like he gets laid too often, and if it’s this easy getting some, he kind of feels like this is something Harry should have mentioned earlier. The hot guy surely doesn’t seem to mind too much, and his lips are so soft and his body is sparkling in the dull lights and yeah, I could get used to this . 

 

The hot guy licks into Peter’s mouth and he just about melts on the spot, sparks flying everywhere and everything is so loud and the hot guy is wearing way too much cologne, but he tastes so good and Peter needs more.

 

They fumble their way across the house and find an empty bathroom. It’s small and dark and everything is still so loud , but the hot guy has his hands on the inside of Peter’s shirt and is pressing his very hard crotch into Peter’s hip, so it’s not like it matters. 

 

There’s a phone ringing, and it takes a second for Peter to recognize the ringtone as Tony Stark’s, but in his defense he has his dick very deep down the hot guy’s throat, so it’s not like his brain is working at full capacity at the moment.

 

“Hello?” he manages to put the phone to his ear and still keep his hands on the hot guy’s head. It would be rude not to answer after all, Peter was raised better than that. 

 

The hot guy moans and the vibrations sends a wave of heat down Peter’s spine and he groans in pleasure, leaning his head against the tiled wall. 

 

“Pete? Are you okay?” Right. Tony’s on the phone.

 

“All good, Mr. — oh fuck! — What can I do for you?” The hot guy’s tongue does something magic, making Peter shudder all over and his breath hitches. 

 

“Are you busy right now? I can call you back.” He looks down at the hot guy slurping on his dick and for a second he wonders what Tony would look like on his knees like that. 

 

“Hey, do you suck dick?” 

 

“What? Pete, are you high or something?” A low moan escapes Peter’s mouth when the hot guy swallows him down again, and he sees stars.

 

“I might be. Don’t avoid the question. This is important, Tony. ” The hot guy’s blond hair is suddenly raven black in the dark bathroom and his previously bare chin is now covered in a perfectly trimmed goatee. “I think you’d look beautiful on your knees, sucking my dick.”

 

“That’s it. Stay where you are, I’ll come pick you up.” Right, because Peter was really planning to go anywhere anytime soon. He can hear some muttering about kids and stupid decisions, but he doesn’t really care. Tony Stark is sucking his dick after all. Harry’s definitely not going to believe him. 

 

Peter drags the man to his feet, kissing him like there’s no tomorrow, and then there’s a condom pushed into his hand. Peter smirks and kisses him again, before he orders him to turn around and drop his pants. 

 

He finds some lotion in one of the small cabinets in the dark room and makes quick work of the ass that’s so beautifully presented to him. He doesn’t want to hurt the man, but it’s been way too long since he got to do this, and his dick is aching . 

 

It feels amazing, so tight and warm and the sounds he gets is like music to his already thrumming ears. He’s so absorbed in the sensation, he doesn’t notice the door being ripped open at first. 

 

There’s hands on his shoulders, trying to pry him away, and then Tony Stark is turning back to the hot guy from earlier and Harry is shaking him so hard Peter is sure he has some hidden powers of his own. “Hey, Pete! You with me?” What, of course. Where else would I be?

 

“The hell are you on, man? I’m standing right here.” Harry is a little blurry, though, he might dissolve into nothing anytime now. “Are you okay? You look like you’re disappearing.” Harry laughs, and Peter doesn’t understand what’s so funny. 

 

“Oh my God, Pete. I’m never giving you drugs again.” He pulls Peter’s jeans back up and smooths out the wrinkles on his shirt. “Tony Stark called me, by the way. He’s on his way to pick you up. Apparently you sounded really weird.” The room starts spinning and the sounds and vibrations from the bass down stairs is making Peter’s stomach have a party on it’s own. He locates the toilet just in time and almost hits his head on the porcelain as he dives.

 

“Jesus, Pete.” A door closes and the blaring music is muted just enough for Peter’s brain to start rebooting. Holy shit. I’m never doing this again. There’s a gentle hand combing through his hair, and Peter could fall asleep right then and there.

 

“Hey, hey. You need to stay awake. Stark will be here soon, okay? He’ll get you home to your bed. You wanna get out in fresh air and wait?” Fresh air. Yeah— that sounds good right about now. Harry hauls him to his feet and produces a glass of water from somewhere, and Peter makes a note to ask him about his secret powers. Tomorrow. Or next week. Maybe after he’s done dying and is back with the living. 

 

“Thanks, Har. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

“Probably not be high as a kite fucking some random dude so hard he can’t walk for a month.” Shit.

 

“Fuck. Did I hurt him? I did, didn’t I? Oh my God, what if he calls the cops? Harry, what if I get arrested for rape? Did I rape him? Is he okay? Where is he anyway? He was just here.” Peter looks around the dark room, and then at Harry, who’s trying really hard not to laugh. Rude.

 

“He’s fine. It didn’t look like he was complaining, anyway. He ran out when he saw me, though. I don’t think he wanted the extra company.” 

 

“Right. Good. I’m gonna murder you for doing this to me. I’ll let you know when.” Peter opens the door again, and grits his teeth as he stumbles down the stairs. His ears have to be bleeding. It certainly feels that way. 

 

The night air is cool against his damp and heated cheeks. What is he doing here again? “Did you say Tony Stark is picking me up?” The grass looks really tempting, and Peter doesn’t hesitate to throw himself down on it, feeling the dewey green stickiness on his cheek. 

 

“Yeah, he called me. I don’t know why or how he knew we were together, but he should be here soon.” 

 

“Maybe he’s some creepy stalker.” His voice is a little muffled by the grass, but he nuzzles his nose deeper into it, smelling the clean spring. “You comin’ with me?” 

 

“Nah, I’m good. Just call me tomorrow, yeah? We can grab lunch?” Peter hums, trying not to think about how his ears are exploding and focuses on the cotton wrapping around his brain instead. 

 

He thinks maybe he passed out, because when he opens his eyes he’s staring at a pair of very expensive looking shoes, and he hasn't ever seen Harry in those. Not that it would be odd for Harry to suddenly have a new pair of shoes, but they generally all look the same, and this is dress shoes, for some reason. Harry doesn’t wear those.

 

“Hey, kid. Grass comfy enough for ya?” Ah. Mr. Stark. The shoes make a lot more sense now. And yes, the grass is plenty comfy, thank you. He turns over to his back and blinks a couple of times, feeling a new wave of nausea building up. 

 

“I would move if I were you, unless you want to go shoe shopping anytime soon.” He manages to get out through a very raspy voice that doesn’t sound like him at all, before he quickly turns over to his side with the force of his stomach content making a return. 

 

“Come on, kid. Let’s get you in a bed, yeah?” There’s a warm hand under his arm, helping him up, and guiding him into a car that smells of the same cologne he’s come to associate with the billionaire over the years and Peter wants to ask if he can have a sample to spray on his pillow. 

 

The car is almost soundless, and it’s so soothing, so warm and cozy and Peter feels safe, for the first time in a really long time. He doesn’t have to be alert or listen in on everything going on around him. He’s in Tony Stark’s car. He came to pick him up, and is taking care of him. Protecting him. 

 

“Thank you, Tony.” He mumbles and closes his eyes. It’s okay, I’m safe now.  

Chapter 5: IIIII

So, it's not like Peter really cared if his date went well or not. He doesn't need anyone. He's a lone wolf, always has been, and probably always will be. It's fine. 

 

It's what he keeps telling himself, anyway, as he dangles his feet over the edge of an abandoned building down by the docks, trying desperately not to think about all the things he could have done differently during the evening. 

 

This is all Harry's fault. He should have known setting Peter up with some random dude was bound to end in disaster. It's not like the last time he hooked up with some stranger was a lot better. (Peter doesn't remember much of it, but Harry has yet to move past the point where he had to rescue him from tearing a guy in half because he couldn't keep his powers under control.) 

 

At least the night sky is pretty to look at. It's quiet and the wind is calm and summer is doing a sprint to show up early this year. It's nice. Much better than that awkward blind date. The guy didn't even look good. Even Deadpool has better facial features, and that guy isn't exactly the prime example of eye candy. 

 

Not that looks is all that matters. But it makes an important first impression, right? Right. He didn't know how to talk to people either. Hell, he was even worse at communicating than Peter is, and that's saying something. 

 

Peter lets his mind wander as he stares at the starless black sky, blaming it all on Harry(He deserves it. He's the worst). Some day, when all the crazy animal themed villains decide that maybe Peter should get a break, he'll travel to a deserted island somewhere and watch actual stars. 

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he's seriously considering throwing the damn thing in the ocean in front of him as a solid fuck you to whoever wants to bother him in his peaceful state. But he can't exactly afford a new one, and the vibrations is more like having a bulldozer roll over his thigh, so he picks it up and answers without looking. 

 

"Hey, Pete." Whoever he thought might be calling him, Tony Stark was not on that list.

 

"Tony! Hey! What can I do for you?" They haven't actually talked since Peter woke up in a bed that wasn't his, in clothes he didn't recognize and a robotic female voice telling him the date and time and that he was safe in one of Tony Stark's guest rooms at his penthouse. He did get a quick rundown of the previous night, though, and left in a hurry of burning skin and several creative plans to murder his best friend. 

 

“Just wondering if you’d be up for a drink or something.” 

 

“Yeah, that didn’t exactly end well the last time I did it. I’m so sorry about that. Again.”

 

“How about I come over to your place, and we can watch a movie or something?” 

 

“Tony, is everything alright?”

 

“Yeah, everything’s great. Just wanted to ask if you maybe wanted some company.” 

 

“Did Harry call you?”

 

“He might have. Look, you don’t have to say yes, but I’ll probably show up at your apartment anyway. I’ll bring some beer and popcorn and we’ll watch one of those really old movies you keep talking about.” Peter snorts, but considering he wasn’t really planning on spending the night alone, having some company doesn’t sound too bad. Even if it is Tony Stark and Peter owes him the world for having to witness him both drunk and high and terribly horny at the same time. 

 

“Sure, whatever you say. I’ll be home in about thirty minutes or so.” There’s some shuffling on the other end of the line, and then an angelic sound that may or may not be Tony humming. Which should not be doing things to Peter’s lower department. 

 

Maybe hanging out with Tony is a bad idea. It’s actually a terrible idea. Especially when images of Peter curled up against the older man’s chest and having warm hands against his skin is what his stupid brain is making up as he swings his way home. 

 

This is going to be a disaster. It’s doomed before it even starts. But Peter is used to disasters by now. Tony is just trying to save his already disastrous night. He’s just being a good friend. (Who would have thought, right?) Peter can push his own mentally disturbed mind aside and be thankful. (He can try, success isn’t one of his many powers.) 

 

He sees Tony park his car as he swings across the street to his apartment building, and fumbles with his window to get inside before Tony makes his way up. Not that it’s a big deal or anything, but Peter may not have been up to date with his cleaning schedule lately, and he really doesn’t want Tony to look at him and think he’s some kind of pig. (He totally is. He’s living alone, and he’s barely even home, it’s not his fault New York is the starting point for every guy who wants to try the villain course.)

 

“Hey!” Peter rips open the door, and he sounds just a little breathless. But he’s been swinging through the city, so it’s not like Tony can tell he’s been frantically tidying up while picturing naked old ladies and reciting the periodic table to get his wandering mind under control.

 

“Hi. I brought some imported beer and picked up some popcorn at the movie theatre. I didn’t know if you had a microwave or not.” 

 

"What kind of college student doesn't have a microwave?" Peter shoots back as he takes the items out of Tony's hand and steps aside to let the billionaire inside his studio bachelor apartment. 

 

"The rich ones who've never used a kitchen in his life." 

 

Peter hums in agreement, not really in the mood to argue when the man is pointing out the facts so perfectly on his own. 

 

Tony takes off his shoes and hangs his coat over one of the kitchen chairs. It gives Peter the perfect view of the man as he casually strolls through his little home, looking at the posters on the walls and studying his gaming collections by the tv. 

 

Tony's wearing a long sleeved AC/DC shirt and plain jeans, hugging his thighs and ass in a way Peter's brain could never have conjured up on his own. 

 

It's not fair, how the man can look so out of this world handsome without trying, while Peter can't even look semi human after spending half the day in front of the mirror.

 

"So, what movie do you want to watch?" Tony drops down into Peter's secondhand, worn down couch, and there's something so wrong about that image, Peter is tempted to ask if they can move over to Tony's penthouse instead, just so that the puzzle looks a little more realistic. 

 

"It's whatever, really. You pick something." Peter settles in the corner and hands over the remote. He doesn't mind what they watch, really. He's probably going to be busy watching the overly hot man occupying half his couch anyway. 

 

"Footloose, it is."

Notes:

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments!

Chapter 6: +I

Peter should not have butterflies fluttering in his stomach as the personalized ping for Tony goes off on his phone. It’s wrong. Horrendous, really. The man is a freaking billionaire, he doesn’t need a pining, struggling college student ogling him at every chance. Peter doesn’t even know how this happened. 

 

He did so well, resenting the man’s very existence, after that first meeting when the man showed up and expected him to follow him around and take orders. Peter’s good at that. (Not liking people, that is. He’s terrible at taking orders. Ask anyone.) 

 

And then, somehow, somewhere between serving ridiculously expensive alcohol and having spontaneous dinners in the middle of the week, things changed. And Peter doesn’t know how to deal with this.

 

He doesn’t do feelings. He doesn’t have time for it. There’s not enough hours in the week for crying over the stress that is his senior year at ESU, scolding purse nappers on the streets in tights, flirting with old ladies for money and ripping his own hair out for having unwanted feelings for a man he can never get. 

 

Tony doesn’t even like dudes. He thinks. He’s not a hundred percent sure, but he’s never seen or heard any gossip about it, and he never mentioned it. It’s hopeless. A catastrophe. 

 

But Peter is nothing if not determined. And it’s not exactly the first time he’s come across a problem he doesn’t know how to solve. So he does what any desperate, sleep deprived college superhero would do. He asks google for help.

1. Allow yourself the indulgence of being hung up on them (for a while) ...
2. Write them a letter (don't send it) ...
3. Stop giving them so much attention. ...
4. Double check that you haven't got too much time on your hands. ...
5. Figure out what was so captivating/attractive about the person.

 

Should be easy, right? Right. Peter’s going to get all over that list. Once he’s checked Tony’s message. Totally. 

 

Hey, Pete. You wanna come to the tower and watch a movie?

 

Okay, so Peter’s all over that list after he’s checked out the tower. It’s not every day he gets a chance to explore the tallest and most impressive building in New York, after all.

 

Do I get a tour?

 

Of course. I’ll even take you down to the labs if you want. 

 

Awesome! I’ll be over in an hour

 

Can’t wait! :*

 

Peter locks his phone before he’s able to think too much about that emoji at the end. It’s just Tony being Tony, it’s fine. He throws the phone on the coffee table and starts stripping instead. He needs a shower anyway. 

 

A cold shower. A really cold, refreshing shower.

 

*

The tower is out of this world, and everything about it is so typically Tony , it’s kind of ridiculous. Peter loves it. It’s nothing like what he’d pick out for himself, but it’s clean and flawless and beautiful. 

 

Tony is looking like a god where he’s standing by the receptionist, leaning against the desk with his hands in his pockets, wearing a Metallica shirt and faded jeans. Even the casual wear and posture is putting Peter's entire existence to shame. It makes Peter wonder yet again what the hell Tony is using that big brain of his for, if he thinks he has anything to do in the poor college student's life.

 

"Pete! You're here!" Of course. I got an invitation to see the massive building I admire from the sky every day, on the inside. I'd be an idiot to turn it down, Peter wants to say. 

 

"Nowhere else I'd rather be, handsome." Is what comes out of his mouth, and he immediately slaps his own mouth, cursing himself in every direction in seven different languages. You couldn't pick a better time to have maintenance on your brain-to-mouth filter, huh?

 

Tony just laughs at him, and it's probably meant to tease and tell Peter it's no big deal. What it does is heat his cheeks up worse than when Johnny decided to grab his face with burning hands during the last snow storm. 

 

This is a disaster. He thinks, resigned, and figures he can always blame it on the famous Parker luck when he inevitably messes up again. 

 

*

It doesn't go too bad , after that. Peter stumbles over his feet a couple of times, and has to purposely almost walk into a wall to check if his spidey-sense is still online. He drops a steaming cup of coffee all over Tony's newest project while they're touring the world famous lab, and his hands are shaking so bad he can't even clean it up properly. 

 

At least Tony gets to laugh, which is a good thing. Even if Peter has to embarrass himself enough for three lifetimes to make it happen. The only thing that's whirring in his brain when the godly sound rumbles from the other man's perfect lips is fuck, that's hot and I did that. He can worry about it all later. When he's home in his bed and can hide under his own pillow mountain for the next week.

 

They're standing in a large kitchen, talking about something dumm-e did last week, when the elevator doors ding open and Peter's spidey-sense is pressing daggers into his skull. At least they're working.

 

Peter works on instinct and places himself between the unknown threat and Tony before the person has even entered the room. 

 

It's Steve Rogers. The magnificent, exiled asshole who left his best friend for dead. Peter looks over his shoulder and can see Tony tense when he sees the former Avenger. 

 

"Is he supposed to be here?" Peter asks, because isn't he on the run from 117 nations or something?

 

"Yeah, they were pardoned a few days ago, but they have to stay here." Peter hums, and crosses his arms over his chest, looking the newcomer up and down where he's stopped at the entrance.

 

"Stark! It's good to see you. Who's the kid?" Peter raises an eyebrow and huffs. This isn't really his fight, a rational part of his brain tries to scream, but it's muffled by the other part yelling with every nerve ending that this asshole left Tony to die!

 

"Wish I could say the same, Rogers. Did you want something?"

 

"Can we talk? Alone? I've been looking for you for days." Steve looks rather innocent where he stands, rubbing the back of his neck and sporting a pair of huge, blue puppy eyes. No wonder Tony fell into his trap. Peter sure would have, if it wasn't for the pulsing electricity at the base of his neck telling him to protect. (Which is new, by the way. Usually it goes something like get the fuck away . Peter's going to think and prod about that later, though. When the asshole with kind, blue eyes is dealt with.) 

 

Tony takes a hesitant step forward, still standing behind Peter, but he has his hands in his pockets and looks kind of bored. The anxiety is flaring off him, though, sending spikes in Peter's direction, only adding to the increasing scream that tells him to protect this man at all costs.

 

"Geez, I wonder why." He says, and shrugs his shoulders casually. Peter wants to roll his eyes at the whole thing. Tony is clearly not as relaxed as he looks, and obviously has been avoiding the blond super jerk. 

 

"Hey, son. It's okay, you can go home." Peter huffs and squares his shoulders. 

 

"Sorry. I'm not your son. I don't know you at all, really, so you don't get to give me orders. I'm here for a movie night, and you're kind of disrupting that." He wiggles his fingers in Steve's direction, and the man's face does some weird thing. It looks like he bit down on a lemon while watching something impressive on the tv at the same time. 

 

"Hey, Pete. How about you go pick out a movie, and I'll be with you in about 5 minutes, yeah?" Peter has no idea how he's supposed to do that, but Tony's hand on his shoulder is warm and calm and he looks at Peter with such fondness that Peter can't really do anything but nod. 

 

Friday guides him away to something that looks suspiciously like a bedroom. It's huge, and the bed in the middle is the size of three or four of Peter's own. He finds a couch and sinks into it, letting out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding in.

 

The problem, with sitting alone in a bedroom at his crush's place, is that it gives him time to think. And he really doesn't want to do that. Maybe that's because he already knows the answers to the never ending loop of what is going on?! That's running on repeat in his head. You're falling in love, dumbass. The real issue is that he can't for the life of him figure out why . But it doesn't matter. Not now. Tony is facing one of his best friends, who left him to die , alone, and the energy in that room was not good. Peter shouldn't have left.

 

So Peter heads back. The least he can do for Tony is be backup if he should need it. Peter kind of owes him, anyway, for the disasters he's put the man through lately.

 

Peter walks in on Steve aiming a fist at Tony's golden mask, and before he's even able to fully take in everything, he's grabbing Steve by the collar of his shirt and yanking him back so hard he hits the wall behind them. Ouch .

 

"I wasn't even gone for that long. You're like toddlers. What the hell?" Tony's mask peels off his face in one fluent move (awesome, holy shit) and tries for a chuckle. It gets out a little wrong, and sounds like a mix of a whimper and a  hysteric laugh. Peter doesn't blame him really.

 

He doesn't know what happend, and he shouldn't pick sides, but something deep, and feral and animalistic is vibrating in his entire body and he's back in his defensive pose between the other men, glaring at Steve with a look that has to be screaming mine .

 

"This isn't your fight, son. Stay back." Steve grumbles as he gets out from the wall. (Peter would totally offer to pay for that, if the owner of that wall wasn't multi-billionaire Tony Stark.)

 

"You wanna bet on that, big guy? You try coming any closer and you'll end up on the sidewalk." Steve stops, thank god. It's not that Peter wouldn't do it, but they're like 80 floors up, and Steve isn't invisible. 

 

"We'll talk later, Stark." He points at Tony, and then looks Peter up and down with a wariness that has Peter's skin crawling all over again. 

 

When Steve is out of sight, and Peter's senses have calmed down enough for him to focus on the distinctive heartbeat behind him, he turns around, mouth open and ready to apologise for both the wall, the intrusion and a whole lot of other stuff he can't really think of at the moment.

 

What does happen is a pair of warm, calloused hands cupping his face and deep, brown eyes staring at him like he just saved the fucking world. "I could kiss you right now. Thank you!" 

 

Somewhere deep in Peter's big brain, he knows it's a joke. It has to be. There's no way Tony meant that. So he blames it on adrenaline when he answers way too quickly "I'm not gonna stop ya." 

 

Maybe Tony is pumped up on adrenaline too, because their lips smash together in an instant, and it's wet, and desperate and hungry and Peter wants it to last forever. 

 

This is a weird day, he thinks as he flutters his eyes closed and grips Tony's hips and yanks him towards himself. Screw the list that's still up on his computer, screw every negative outcome when everything calms down. He's going to enjoy this. For as long as he can. And it doesn't feel like Tony has any plans of letting go of Peter's face any time soon. 

 

Notes:

Let me know what you think in the comments! I hope you enjoy this!