Chapter Text
God, Tony hates this small fucking hick town. Nothing’s changed. Nothing. You would think something would have, considering it’s been, you know, literal fucking decades, but—
But no. Everything here is fucking dead, slow and doomed to turn to dust.
Seems like it’s determined to take him with it, too.
Why the fuck did he ever come back, again?
“I’m gonna miss her,” Arno quietly mumbles from beside him.
Oh, right.
Mom’s funeral.
What a fantastic way to kick off the holidays. Ho ho ho… or something.
Tony initially gets the call during trial. A pretty important fucking trial, mind you. But he lets it go to voicemail, because the other attorney is talking and Tony’s horrifically distracted.
There should be some sort of law that prevents ugly people from ever getting up there and speaking for so long. Seriously. Tony can’t stop staring at the oddly misshapen beard growth or the distracting little hairs poking out of the dude’s ears.
Huh, maybe all the hair growth went to the ears instead of the face. Ugh, even the jury’s bored. Jesus, can someone shoot this—
“Mr. Stark?”
“Huh?”
“You’re buzzing.”
Oh shit. He apologizes to the judge and the moron lawyer continues yammering on as Tony pulls his phone out to see 23 missed fucking calls from Arno.
Jesus fucking—
Well.
He’s bored out of his mind, isn’t he?
Might as well listen to the stupid voicemails his idiot brother left.
“Dude, do you ever answer? I tried okay, don’t say I didn’t? I didn’t wanna drop it on you via text or voicemail but you’re a really…hard guy to reach. Uh, anyway. No good way to say it. Mom’s dead. Dad’s weird. Please come home? Kinda need you little bro.”
And that’s how the call ends.
Well, fuck.
For a while Tony just sits there motionless until he finds the strength to ask to approach the bench. The judge has no issue with issuing a recess, and…
And honestly, the rest of the day is a fucking blur.
Tony doesn’t remember what happens—doesn’t remember getting home, doesn’t even remember dinner or anything Morgan’s told him about some …Jeremy? Fuck.
Fuck.
“How long are you going away?”
God. Pepper's still here. Fucking jumpscare.
Tony shrugs, continuing to absently shove crap into the suitcase.
“Tony, will you please look at me?”
“Oh, sorry,” Tony looks up, “I just have your orgasm face etched into my brain. Viper.”
Pepper deadpans, but this time she says nothing as he goes back to stuffing as much as he can into his suitcase. He knows he’s being childish, but, also? Fuck off.
“Tony, you knew we weren’t ever going to work out. We made this work because we understand how business works. Two alphas? Come on…”
So she is not fucking off. Super.
“And you don’t understand…” she continues, “I never thought I’d be awestruck the way they talked about it in books or in class, but it’s true. When you find the omega meant for you, gosh Tony I can’t even…describe what it’s like.”
“Ugh, keep it to yourself,” Tony slams the suitcase shut, “I really don’t need to hear about Greg’s slick and how dick whipped you are. Two-timer.”
“His name’s George—"
“Don’t care,” Tony walks past her to set the suitcase down in the hall. “You know, I’m…I’m not mad, or anything. Just disappointed. Once we figure out the situation with Morgan, we’ll have no reason to keep contact, so you can save your breath.”
The divorce is still way too recent for them to be talking about slicky George out in the open like this. Then again, Tony’s not supposed to give a shit.
He side steps her to go find Morgan in the massive garden, setting up some fairy houses. Fuck. He can already breathe better being out of the house.
“Hey muffin, whatcha up to?”
Morgan grins. “Putting up houses for fairies who need snacks and protection!”
Uh huh. He eyes the little colorful stones set up around each house, assuming the magical stones are what offer protection.
“Magnua, there’s something I gotta talk to you about, come here for a sec.”
He sits down on the grass and she immediacy joins, sitting criss-cross right in front of him.
“So I have to go on a trip for a while…uh, my mom’s,” there’s no cutesy way to put it, “well honey, grandma’s dead and…you know, I have to go and be an adult and stuff.”
She pouts, moving closer to throw her arms around his neck. “Sorry your mommy’s dead,” she offers in that quiet innocent kid voice that makes everything seem…so simple.
Tony smiles, leaning back far enough to see her face. “Did you give me a hug to comfort me or to steal the candy you know I have in my front pocket?”
She looks off to the side. “Both?”
“Wow. Getting hustled this early, proud of you kid.”
This makes her ecstatic and she throws herself at him again, giggling and searching in his pockets for more.
There’s of course more. He always carries two.
He forgets why.
When he arrives, Tony comes to one very simple conclusion: the town is still garbage.
Not sure why he thought it’d be any different.
Tony remembers every single corner of the damn place he ever got up to no good in. He remembers the theater where he first got high in show room 4. He remembers the abandoned factory him and Arno used to play hide and seek in. Then there’s the river where he crashed dad’s car the first time he took it driving when he was 12. Can’t forget when Rhodey and him jumped Mr. Gilmore’s fence to steal back the robot they built that the old fucker stole.
Ah, look at that, the seedy bar he ran into when he found out he was a case of a guilty adoption is still up too!
Nothing’s changed. Like, nothing.
Anyway.
Before heading home, he stops by the courtroom first, but makes sure to head up to the spectator seats on the second floor. Best not to alert Judge Stark of his presence yet.
They haven’t spoken in years. Any time he had a phone call, it was with mom or Arno texted him for one thing or the other. But he never spoke to the judge, not willingly anyway.
The last time they shared an actual conversation that wasn’t two words or looks was the night before he ran away.
So, roughly what, 30 years ago?
Yikes.
Anyway, it doesn’t take long before the jury adjourns and everyone gathers in the lobby to share their condolences. Tony stops by as well. They share a look and…yeah. That’s it. That’s all father dearest can spare.
Nothing new here.
So Tony heads off to the wake—no point in sticking around. By the time he arrives, Arno’s already there, sitting in the back quietly. Tony sits beside him in silence. They say nothing, until:
“We should go out for drinks later,” Arno mumbles, “Happy’s back in town. Just the three of us again,” he looks over to Tony and god, he’s aged.
“Guess so. Why not.”
The rest of the day and funeral is a blur. Nothing worth remembering. There’s some sort of fucked up memory in every corner of this goddamn town that fucking haunts him.
Best not remember anything else, actually.
A bar sounds like the best place to achieve that.
Now, Tony knows he needs to be making preparations to leave. To get the fuck out of this backwards, good-for-nothing town.
But he let himself get talked out of it. Arno is pretty damn efficient at guilting. He figures he owes him at least this.
So against his better judgment—he delays the trip for another day for the stupid bar. Then again, it’s only natural to end up here after a funeral, and it’s the only goddamn place here that actually looks functional aside from that shitty diner down the street, so.
By the time they arrive, it’s snowing outside, heavily, and Tony’s not sure if he wants to get drunk and drive in this. Arno insists, Happy instigates. Persistent fucks. He downs a few. He was supposed to call Morgan, let her know he’d be home a little later than intended but…he probably shouldn’t call.
Especially not in this bar. It’s getting rowdy, the atmosphere is shifting and…
Someone just walked in.
And Tony’s a simple person. He sees someone pretty, his brain stops functioning. So obviously when the hot bartender comes in late and flashes him a charming, hurried smile (that he probably gives every potential buyer in the place), Tony is already smitten.
He must’ve walked here, because he’s covered in so much snow his hair is wet, and—
Are those hints of lavender he’s smelling?
When their eyes finally meet, Tony smiles. “Do you always look this good when wet?”
“Wow,” the bartender chuckles, hints of red spreading on his cheeks. It’s dark, but not dark enough that Tony misses it. It’s pretty. “I dunno, you’d have to stick around to find out.”
“Are you inviting me to stick around? I can do that. Stick to you maybe,” Tony smirks, leaning against the counter, “I’m good at that. What do I call you, sweetheart?”
“Hmmm…” he pauses, inviting smile on his lips. “I think we can stick with sweetheart. I like that.”
I like you.
“Oh no worries, I’m filled with endless pet names…names are nice too though, I get creative when I’m moaning. Bet you do too. For example, Tony would sound great coming from you.”
Tony catches a shift in the omega’s scent and he’s more than pleased. Good, so he’s not going to get sued for harassment. Definitely not with the way the hot bartender is watching him, and definitely not with how flushed his cheeks are becoming.
God and that neck?
He’s fucking beautiful. There’s still some wetness making the skin glisten and honestly? It makes Tony’s mouth water.
“Peter.” He pauses, smiling. God he’s fucking pretty. “What can I get you?”
“Hm,” Tony shrugs, “you on the menu? Would love a glass of Peter to go.”
“I’m not the menu,” Peter chuckles, soft. Then: “Usually.”
Oh.
Usually, huh?
Tony arches a brow. “Is that so? Are you saying you’d make an exception if a proper case was made?”
There’s a shift in Peter’s scent, again. A ghost of a smile on his lips, as he starts making a drink. Then:
“I could, yes.”
“Wow,” Tony nods. “Then I’ve got all night, sweetheart and…I’ve never lost a case, so.”
Peter lifts his head up to look at him, mesmerizing glint in his eyes. “Is that what I am? A case?”
Tony’s inexplicably attracted to the way Peter speaks. Smells.
“You, sweetheart, are something way better…” Tony smiles. “How ‘bout you make me a drink you like?”
Peter grins, then. Must’ve been the right thing to say. “Is that your way of getting me to drink, too?”
“Oh gosh no, I wouldn’t dream of it but…maybe I’m looking for a companion. It’s lonely to drink by yourself you know. And you…” with your delicious scent, “ are who I want to spend that drinking time with. Maybe even more time after that, too.”
“My shift ends at 2,” Peter tells him, turning around to gather ingredients Tony knows will eventually make a sangria. Interesting. “Sure you can wait that long, Tony? ”
Well that went straight down to his nethers.
“I’ll wait all night for you if I have to, sweetheart. You look even better from the back, thought you should know.”
‘Wow’, Peter mouths, possibly to himself, but Tony catches it. Catches the way Peter’s scent spikes into something sweeter.
Tony keeps his commentary to himself as he watches Peter make the drink. And oh, does he make that drink. Tony’s addicted to the way his hands move. Though his eyes do wander off lower and lower and… oh, Peter is very pleasant to look at.
And the concentrated look on his face. He wonders if he looks this concentrated when he’s cum—
“There you go.”
“I hope it’s as sweet as you are…” Tony grins, accepting the glass and sipping from it. Perfect. “This is what you like?”
“Mhm,” Peter grins. “My favourite.”
Doesn’t sound like he’s talking about the drink.
Tony continues sipping, his eyes not once leaving Peter’s. “Want a taste?”
“Of the drink, or…?”
Tony smirks. “Both.”
Peter leans against the counter (how obedient). There’s a gorgeous, playful smile on his lips and Tony already knows he’s going to become very addicted to it. “Okay. I’ll take both.”
“Good choice, honey.” Tony takes a sip of his drink, and, oh, yeah, totally holds it in his mouth. Grabbing Peter by the back of his neck, he then pulls him in and connects their lips into a kiss. Using his tongue to part Peter's lips, the drink easily passes between them. And of course, when he draws back, he runs his tongue along Peter’s mouth. “Hm, nice.”
There’s a dazed look in Peter’s eyes that would’ve been enough to tell Tony he liked it, but the spike in his scent definitely is appreciated and welcomed, until he realizes there’s a high chance Peter’s already slicking and fuck, Tony’s definitely not the only alpha in the—
“Well well, ain’t you a sweet thing today, Peter.” Some hick says, approaching the counter.
“Back the fuck off, he’s not into white trash.” Tony keeps his tone casual, a hand firm on Peter’s wrist as he finishes his drink and sets it down.
The garbage opens its putrid mouth. “Yeah? What’s that make you, Stark?”
“Better than you. Richer than you. Hmm…I’d say biologically superior to you too, willing to bet my trust fund on your incestuous gene pool. Walk the fuck away or…you throw that punch and your parole officer and I will have a very nice discussion.”
Yeah, he pulled that out on an assumption but…it’s a bar filled with, uh, lesser forms. Most of them look like they either have a parole officer or some type of record, so.
The trash scoffs. “You’re not worth it…”
Tony smirks and watches him walk away, but his eyes quickly land back on Peter and he squeezes his hand. “Honey, how ‘bout you and me take a trip to the back room, what do you say? It’s getting rowdy in here.”
“Nuh-uh,” says the other bartender—Tony doesn’t recognize her. Seems on the younger side. Probably Peter’s age. Early twenties, or she’s just got really good moisturizer. “You two aren’t fucking in the back room, I don’t need some bar fight between a bunch of alphas going crazy. Just go. Elsewhere. Anywhere.”
“But MJ—”
She shrugs at Peter. “It’s fine, I’ll cover for you. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“See? Nothing she can’t handle. Come on.” Tony gets up and grabs his jacket, pulling Peter along with him until the counter isn’t separating them anymore. “My car’s right outside.”
The very same car he was supposed to drive Arno back with but… fuck him. Where is he, anyway?
Eh, doesn’t matter.
“I, um…” Peter pauses, blush coloring his cheeks. “I just wanted to say I don’t, um, usually do this? Yeah… I don’t want you to think I’m some… used-up omega, or something…”
Tony cups Peter’s chin. “Oh honey, I know that…you don’t smell ‘used up’. I don’t usually do this either, I don’t want you to think I just go into bars, throw a few lines and walk away with someone on my arm.”
Actually, he hasn’t done this since…well before Morgan was born. Not that he’s done that with an omega before, anyway.
“In all seriousness,” Tony continues, “I’m enjoying this, a lot…but do you actually want to come with me?”
Peter nods. “I do, I’m…” he pauses, inhaling deeply. “You smell really good and my heat’s not supposed to start for another month but I think you kinda triggered it? MJ’s never kicked me out before,” he adds with a nervous chuckle. “Is that okay? I’m on suppressants, so there’d be no risk of pregnancy…”
Damn. Tony had completely forgotten that was a thing. Whoops?
“More than okay, sweetheart.” Tony gently cups the back of Peter’s neck and pulls him close, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “No one’s home right now, we can go back to my place…unless you’d feel safer at yours.”
Anywhere is fine. Literally even his car would be fine. A sort of rabid need is building inside of him that he knows he’s not going to be able to ignore any further and they need to be away from the general public before that happens.
“Your place is better,” Peter tells him, inhaling shakily. “Kiss me again…”
Tony doesn’t have to be told twice. He connects their lips into a deeper kiss, wrapping his free arm around Peter’s waist and pulling him close. The heat between them is addictive.
God, his flight for tomorrow is definitely getting canceled.
“Tony…” Peter moans against his lips. Yeah, Tony was right: his name does sound great coming when Peter moans it. “We should… we should go before…”
“Before I fuck you senseless on the counter? Good idea,” Tony chuckles, pecking Peter on the lips before he grabs his hand and leads him back to his car that was left parked haphazardly.
His father practically owns the town, who’s going to say anything?
Anyway, the drive back is…chaotic to say the least. His hand remains possessively on Peter’s thigh and at some point, behind a stop sign, his hand also, perhaps, slips into Peter’s pants, where he’s joyous to find how wet he is. Drenched, is a better word, actually.
What? He can multitask. Though driving with your fingers buried inside someone also isn’t an easy task, but… whatever.
The second they arrive (he nearly crashes through the garage doors, but, shhh), he drags Peter in and up the stairs to his old bedroom.
Slamming the door shut, he hurriedly yanks Peter’s shirt over his head and pushes him onto the bed before getting on top of him and connecting their lips into a deep, messy kiss. His scent is driving him insane. God, his insides are on fucking fire and it feels like he can’t get close enough.
“Tony…” Peter whines, doing a motion which has got to mean ‘get me out of these clothes and fuck me!’ —or maybe Tony can just read minds, now.
Tony complies happily, yanking the rest of Peter’s clothes off—and doing the same with his own. The second they’re skin to skin, that insufferable heat feels significantly better but there’s still, under the surface, an itch that he has a feeling won’t go away until he’s buried deep inside Peter, so:
“I really need to fuck you, like now…” Tony whispers against Peter’s lips. “I’ve never smelled anyone who smells as good as you do…”
And never someone he wanted to fucking bite after like two seconds, jesus.
“Fuck me,” Peter murmurs, biting down Tony’s lip. “Please,” he begs, “need you to fuck me so bad…”
Fuck.
Tony nearly cums from just that.
“How are you so fucking hot…” Tony kisses Peter again and it’s so hard that he’s sure he tastes blood. Honestly though, it doesn’t take much to slide into Peter, with how wet he is and fuck, finally, everything is okay in the world.
That searing burn he’d been feeling ever since their lips touched is finally subsiding a little, replaced by an addictive fluttering that spreads throughout his whole body. And as he begins to move, Tony slips into a level of drugged he wouldn’t even be able to recreate with all the drugs he took throughout college.
“Mmh, feel so good…” Peter lets out a breathy moan, nails digging at Tony back. “Harder, please… Tony.”
Tony listens, because of course he does. He can’t get enough of that heat, the slick, and he definitely can’t get enough of the lewd sounds that are coming from both of them.
He’s careful when he bites along Peter’s neck, sucking marks as he goes. Peter’s scent is much stronger there and god, Tony can’t form a single, rational thought. At this point he doesn’t even think he’d care if he knocked Peter up.
Actually, that pleases something very feral inside of him. But he pushes it aside, focused on Peter, fucking Peter, Peter’s sounds, everything Peter.
“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” Tony whispers, licking Peter’s neck.
Peter nods, eyes screwed shut. “Please… I need to cum… want to cum for you…” Peter babbles, fingers moving up to Tony’s hair before he pulls. “Cum inside me? Please.”
Dangerous.
“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Tony breathes out and he knows he’s close, which is…embarrassingly faster than how long he’d typically last but he’s blaming all of this on Peter.
He can smell Peter getting closer and closer to his release and as he starts to tighten around Tony, that along with those wonderful fingers buried in his hair, easily pushes him closer and closer to having what he knows will be the best orgasm he’s had in his entire life.
Plus, oh, Peter cries when he cums, apparently, which easily sends Tony over the edge—he’s almost certain he stops breathing. Peter also doesn’t cum just once, but over and over in the span of only a few minutes, crying louder every time.
Not once does Tony stop—he continues to thrust, kissing Peter over and over because unless his mouth is kept busy, he’s going to do something reckless.
Like bite that gorgeous, gorgeous neck—
“You’re so good for me,” Tony whispers, sucking on Peter’s lower lip, “and so fucking hot…”
“For you… just for you…” Peter babbles, “I want to be yours…”
Fuck.
“You are mine,” Tony grins, peppering kisses all over Peter’s face and slowing his movements for the sake of catching his breath. “Need a break honey? I don’t mind.”
“Okay,” Peter nods, “just a little…” he adds, before he loosely wraps his arms around Tony’s neck. “I want more kisses…”
“Anything for you…” Tony can’t believe the words he’s saying to someone he just met, but who fucking cares. He kisses Peter sweetly, stroking his hip absently. “You’re something else…will you let me stay with you during your heat?”
Tony’s ego is saying yes but…he’d also like to hear it, so.
Peter nods again, leaning up to steal another kiss. “Yes…” He whispers against Tony’s lips. “Need you…”
Ugh, Tony loves hearing that. Both because it sounds so sweet but also…fucking hot. He’s sure he’s hard again just because of that.
“I need you,” Tony whispers, kissing Peter again and again, “no idea how I’ve survived without you.”
Peter grins, eyes glazed. “Don’t have to be without me anymore,” he points out, teasingly darting his tongue out to lick Tony’s lips. “You said I’m yours…”
Fuck.
“You’re driving me insane,” Tony breathes out, voice strained. His fingers dig into Peter’s hip and he kisses him again. “I’m going to make you mine, sweetheart. Over and over until we pass out.”
“Promise?” Peter watches him with practically sparkles in his eyes, and hints of…that delicious spice from earlier when he asked Tony to fuck him harder.
“I swear it,” Tony whispers, kissing him again, pressing his tongue past Peter’s lips with a low moan.
“Maybe I can ride you next…”
“Fuck yes,” Tony grins, happily switching their positions (as carefully as he can, anyway) until he’s satisfied.
With Peter on top of him, Tony quickly learns he’s going to have a very hard time letting him go.
Even after his heat is over.
(Fuck?)