“Tony,” Happy sighs through the phone and Tony grins around his cheeseburger as he walks down the street. It’s a hot, sunny day and the city is bustling with morning life.
“How’s he doing?” Tony asks gleefully, taking another bite, “is he sweatin’ yet?”
“No, he is not ‘sweating yet’.” Happy sighs again, he sure does sigh a lot, Tony thinks. “Because he isn’t here yet.”
“He isn’t- what?” He stops short, shaking his head. “What do you mean he isn’t there?”
“I mean he hasn’t showed up for the interview.”
“Really? Really? You’re not here yet.”
“Yeah, because I wanted him to squirm and- it’s my company! I can be late if I want to be late!” He can’t believe the audacity of some people. To be privileged enough to be offered a position as Tony Stark’s personal assistant and then not to bother showing up? Oh what sure- has he found some better offer? He scoffs. As if.
He hangs up on Happy, grumbling to himself and finishing his burger angrily when he gets to his street. The Stark Building is a gleaming beacon of glass in the middle of the high risers, and he tosses his wrapper into a trash can as he heads towards the doors.
“Hey, hey there, c’mon, it’s okay…” a voice croons lovingly, out of place for the bustling New York working day. Tony frowns, turning around to see a very lovely ass hugged by flattering, if cheap, pants. God, it’s a good ass. Two nice handfuls. They must do cycling or something. On closer inspection, it’s a young man, bent over and peering under a car parked on the street, his hand reaching as if he’s trying to get something out.
Tony’s bemused, but it’s a very, very nice ass and the dipshit that was supposed to come for an interview isn’t here so, why not? He saunters over, clearing his throat, just as the young man sits up- with a white, furry bundle in his arms. But that’s not what has Tony’s attention- it’s the face. He knows that face.
It’s the face from the picture attached to the application. It’s the guy who’s supposed to be here for an interview and-
“Oh my god,” Tony groans, as the boy (because really, how does anyone look that young? The kitten probably isn’t helping) “how long have you been here?”
The boy looks star-struck by the sight of him (which yes, good, that’s the reaction Tony typically expects and wants, especially from pretty boys with cream skin and nice asses) and still a little pleased by having freed the kitten, but he obediently glances at his wrist before his jaw drops and panic wells up in his eyes. “Oh my god- oh my god- I’m late! I’m late for-“ he cuts himself off, and dread and dismay take over and jesus this kid has a seriously expressive face. Tony kinda likes it. “I’m late for an interview with you.” He chokes out. “Mr Stark, I’m so- I’m so sorry, I- oh my god- I-“ his face goes a deep pink and he looks like he wants the ground to bury him whole.
Yeah. Tony likes him. “I just got here.” He says, lifting his eyebrows in offering and the boy stares up at him in awe.
Before he pauses. “But what about Trotsky?” He asks wonderingly.
“What about- have you already named that goddamn cat?”
“Mr Stark, look at him,” he pouts, lifting the kitten and really, the kitten has nothing on how adorable the boy holding him is. He has the biggest, brownest eyes.
Nice eyes, nice ass. Check. Check.
Tony’s impressed. “You’ve got the job.”
He gasps, jumping into the air with glee. It’s like he radiates sunshine. “Mr Stark, thank you, thank you so much, I promise I will not let you down! I’m gonna be the best PA ever, and- it’s such an honour working for you, Sir, really-“
“Yeah, save the flattery for Monday.” Tony teases. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Peter!” He chirps eagerly, stumbling his haste, “Peter Stark- I mean- shit not that- no I-“ he flushes again, and Tony really wants to see how far down that blush goes, and he grins watching the boy stutter. “I just- Parker. My name is…it’s Parker.” He swallows thickly and looks up through this long, girly lashes.
Tony drapes an arm over him, and likes the way he feels tucked into his side. He walks them into the building and another check, Peter just follows him all docile, like a little lamb. “Easy mistake to make.” He consoles, and Peter nods: humiliation and excitement obviously at war with each other. “C’mon, I’ll show you around.”
Mmm, wouldn’t he look nice bent over your desk? A part of Tony chimes, and he hums thoughtfully. Yeah, yeah he would.
“I have this huge Iron Man poster above my bed,” Peter is gushing, and Tony growls approvingly at that. “And I’ve seen- I’ve seen all your interviews ever, Mr Stark…”
Hero worship. It’s good. It’s great. Tony can work with that. “You attached, kid?” He asks, pushing the button for the elevator and catching Peter by the scruff of the neck so he doesn’t keep walking.
The boy falls into line naturally (not questioning the firm hand at his nape at all, another check) and looks surprised. “A-attached?”
“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” Tony glances downwards, “cat?”
“Oh! Oh, no- no, I’m not-“
“Good,” Tony growls, pushing him into the elevator.
The blush goes all the way down, and to add to the checklist- he makes the prettiest, prettiest noises.
Except that now, Tony has to buy a fucking litterbox.
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