can u continue that domestic starker ask you did a few months ago
Some angst but not too much because Iām baby. Also if thereās typos you take that up with god
The scratch of pen on paper and the creek of his office chair was beginning to piss Tony off.
He had no clue how long heād been sitting in his office but when heād started it was four oāclock on the dot. The sun certainly wasnāt up yet he had to be, his deadline wasnāt waiting for him to get a good nightās rest. The stack of manilla envelopes, stapled documents, and emails piled up in his inbox werenāt going to work themselves into shape even though he wished they would. Tony slapped another thick stack of papers down on one of the numerous cardboard boxes with an exhausted sigh.
His eyes were sore from being fixated on the small print of his work and ached at the bright white light of his laptop with a twinge of pain in his temple. Tonyās stomach was pained with emptiness yet he paid it no mind. The stained white mug he always drank coffee out of was emptied quite enough over two pots of pitch black coffee. There was a jitter in his leg and his fingers wouldnāt stop working at something which thankfully paid off as he scribbled on the white pages.
Tony wasnāt bothered when the birds outside got louder and louder with their chirping. The burning cigarette between his lips kept him calm enough to not rip the curtains over until they blocked out the growing sunlight. And fuck, he had to light up another one when pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose made him want to snap the damn things in half. He didnāt notice the rustle in the other part of the house, the creak of a mattress, and stir in the kitchen. His feral writing and typing on his keyboard steadied just the same.
His back was beginning to ache despite his numerous half hearted attempts to fix his posture and fuck, his hand was cramping-
He didnāt even twitch when the alarm clock tucked away back in the bedroom began to blare. His sore eyes darted up to the white face sitting high up his officeās wall and at the black hand right in the crisp number eight.
He hadnāt checked to see what time it was. He figured it couldnāt have been later than six or seven, but the silence coming from his normally talkative lover was not good. At all.
The savory smell of bacon wafted through the kitchen and perked Tonyās appetite despite his urge for another cigarette. A few piles of boxes with words scribbled on the side were torn open, one labeled ākitchenā kicked to the side and empty. Peter was gliding through the kitchen with practiced ease either unaware or uncaring of his gaze watching his every move. His face looked worried with thought as he poured more batter in the pan in front of him. His mouth would sometimes open then close again as if he wanted to say something but decided against it and Tony could already hear what he was going to say. It was ironic that the stress parried between them was likely the only reason Peter was somehow competent in the kitchen.
His eyes were far too tired and his back fucking hurt, he didnāt want to deal with the guilt that always comes along with Peterās speeches about how he worries, how heās overworking himself, how heās not healthy. He just wanted a hot meal and some fucking sleep.
āYou know what Iām going to say, Tones.ā The silence broke as Peterās disappointed voice started.
The lawyer sighed into his hands and let his head rest there. The darkness was welcoming. He didnāt want to hear this shit.
āI worry about you.ā The sound of the skillet clanking off the hot burner was the only thing that peaked Tonyās interest. āI donāt wanna nag you-ā
āThen donāt.ā His voice came out soft yet firm.
Peter scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, āWhy shouldnāt I, Tony? Tell me exactly why I shouldnāt worry about you waking up in the middle of the night and all hours of the morning to overwork yourself?ā
The hunger in Tonyās stomach was as quickly gone as it came.
āYou live off cigarettes and coffee, you come home hardly ever early enough for us to spend time together, youād rather be on call with one of your clients or some fuck you work with than talk to me-ā His brown eyes burned into his own until Tony couldnāt stand it, āI-I donāt understand you sometimes, youāre asking me to just let you run yourself into the ground. I canāt do that to you.ā
The tremble in Peterās voice hurt worse than any knife or bullet. Tony didnāt know the words to say to him. Theyād had this argument a dozen times which was a dozen more than Tony cared to have.
āIf you donāt fucking understand me then what the hell are we doing here, huh?ā Tony didnāt mean the grit in his teeth or the bite in his voice, but the pang still his temples didnāt leave him much room for thought and his mouth seemed quicker than himself.
There was silence on Peterās end and guilt started to bubble in his chest. Fuck, why was he such an asshole?
He looked up from his hands and cringed at the sudden light that flooded his vision. His teeth sunk into his lip as he tried the words in his head to tell Peter whose form sullenly moved to open the fridge.
āIām sorry, baby, I didnāt mean that.ā As his eyesight cleared from its blur he could see the quiver of his lower lip.
The other tried to shield his growing tears by turning his gaze, but Tony overpowered the cowardly feeling in his chest to run. His legs clambered to him like a man under a spell. He wrapped his arms around the quivering shoulders of his husband and buried his face in his chocolate curls.
āYouāre such a fucking dick.ā Peterās watery voice bit out and he half heartedly slammed the fridge door shut.
Tony fucking knew it. God, why did he say that shit? āI donāt know why I said that. Iām-ā He tried to disguise his loss for words by kissing his cheek, āYouāre right, youāre always right.ā
āYou canāt burn the candle at both ends.ā
He interjected before Peter could continue. āI know-ā
But Peter pulled his arms from around him and turned to stare Tony down with those beautiful but pained brown eyes. His lips were pressed into a thin line.
āDo you? Iām not going to sit back and watch you work yourself into the ground. We donāt even sleep together anymore because youāre either stuck at the firm or up all hours of the night. We havenāt had sex in almost three months-ā Peterās voice broke, āCanāt you just listen? Listen to me.ā
Tony swallowed around what felt like a mouth full of cotton. For the past few months all heād been doing was anything but. He was fine or at least he thought so until everything came to a head like it did now. Shame, he felt it wash over him like a train along with regret and enough guilt to sour his stomach.
The way Peterās fight seemed to leave him was as far as the man could take it.
āI miss you so much, Tones.ā
Peter fell into the open stretch of his husbandās arms and with a final breath allowed himself to cry. āIām so sorry-ā He repeated yet his voice was so muffled from how tightly he held the younger man.
āIām here, Iām not going anyway. Not anymore. I promise.ā
