Iridescent
inspired by original art by an unknown artist (if anyone CAN identify this artwork PLEASE message me!)
amazing moodboard by @mrstarksbaby
Iridescence surrounded him. Muted purples and blues melted and merged and swaddled them both. Hues flickered and floated and flashed about him in random patterns, but trying to follow them made him dizzy, which is why he focused on Peter’s face instead.
The coruscation was comforting, which is why Tony didn’t trust it. There was something uncomforting about this place, something off. His eyes told him he was laying on his back in a pool of warm water, but when he closed his eyes his body told him something else. The air above them was warm, but the stone floor he was lying on was hard and dry, but cold. Then he opened his eyes again and found that he wasn’t lying but floating, surrounded by water-color shades of violet and lavender and heliotrope and periwinkle. And there in his arms, sometimes above him, sometimes below him, was Peter.
“Where are we kid?” he asked, or thought he asked. His mouth felt too heavy to move, too heavy to open.
But he must have spoken, because Peter answered.
“I think...”
His beautiful, soft face was so close to Tony’s own, and as he looked around them Tony marveled at that beauty so close to his mouth, so close to his lips. It seemed so natural to just close the distance between them, to move his lips to brush over Peter’s cheek, over his neck.
“I think...”
He craned his neck to look above and behind him, and Tony found himself absurdly longing to nuzzle up against the boy’s Adams’ apple. He was wearing an oversized sweatshirt that seemed to be the same water-color periwinkle-iridescence that surrounded them, and Tony thought that, if he touched it, he would understand this place better.
But... he was touching it. He was touching Peter. He had Peter wrapped up in his arms, and when Peter finally looked back into his face they both found themselves blinking at each other in surprise.
Then Peter smiled angelically, and Tony bathed in the glow of that smile.
“I think we’re dreaming,” Peter said softly, whispering against Tony’s mouth, just before he kissed him.
Tony’s eyes went wide... was Peter having this kind of dream?.. but then closed his eyes again and luxuriated in the soft, warm mouth on his. Besides, when he opened his eyes he only saw things that confused him... he thought it had been daylight before, and they lay in a shallow pool of sparkling water. But now it seemed to be evenintide, and they were safely hidden away, laying on the bank of a river in a deep purple wood...
...and then Peter’s tongue was making tentative, shy strokes against his mouth and he was distracted by other, more pressing matters.
If this was what Peter dreamed about, well, who was Tony to argue? He opened his mouth with a moan and pulled the boy closer. He was cold... or at least he had been... so he buried his hands underneath Peter’s soft shirt in hopes that the warmth of the boy’s skin might ground him. Peter’s body was firm and strong and when they tangled their legs together... dammit Tony still couldn’t tell if they were laying down or standing up... or were they floating?... he could feel the boy’s urgency pressing against his thigh.
Well, it was Peter’s dream after all, so why not? Tony took the boy’s hand and led it down to his own erection. The coruscation and iridescence were confusing, but the look on Peter’s face? That Tony understood. That Tony understood completely.
“Oh... oh Tony...” Peter whispered with a shy smile. He hid his face in the crook of Tony’s neck. With one arm, Tony pulled the boy closer, holding their bodies firmly together. With his other hand he guided Peter’s hand into his trousers. He took a moment to look around him again... they seemed to be surrounded by purple smoke that billowed and rose around them with alarming speed... he wondered vaguely if he should be worried about that... and the Peter’s hesitant fingers wrapped around his length and he couldn’t think of anything else.
“Yours Peter,” he whispered, although he wasn’t sure if that made any sense. His voice was far rougher than he had intended... dammit he was trying to be gentle...
“Help me, Tony,” Peter was whimpering, lifting his mouth and nuzzling against Tony’s beard even as he spoke. “Help me...”
“I’m here baby,” Tony said, trying to reassure the frightened boy (although the boy’s hand didn’t feel frightened, the boy’s hand didn’t feel frightened at all. The long fingers were warm and nimble and they were stroking him with sure and confident strokes.) Forcing his eyes open, he tried to get his bearings. Their empyreal lavender journey seemed to be over and they were back on the shores of the purple forest... that was good. Wasn’t it? That meant they weren’t floating, at any rate. Tony’s back was against the warm (cold) earth, and that meant...
...and then Peter’s fingers made him catch his breath and he wasn’t sure what anything meant anymore.
“Help me Tony,” Peter moaned again, propping himself up on one elbow and kissing Tony hard on the mouth. “I don’t want to wake up, I don’t want to wake up lonely and alone in my bed miserable and stupid and thinking about you...”
“No baby, no.” Tony said firmly. He wrapped his hand around Peter’s wrist and pulled it away... any more of that and this dream was going to be over too quickly... and moved Peter’s arm to drape around his neck. “No more of that. No more waking up defeated and dejected... I’m not going to spend another night alone in my bed wishing I was with you. We’re going to stay together, and when we wake up...”
Once again he tried, fruitlessly, to understand. He rolled them onto their sides, holding Peter tight in his arms, keeping their legs tangled together. The back of his hand scrapped against the rough bark of a tree... except it felt more like a stone wall than a tree... they had plenty of room to move in this moonlit forest, even though it felt like they were confined to a tight space...
...dammit this wasn’t right. He looked up in vain for that purple moon, trying to get a sense of direction. Maybe if he knew which was North was he could...
...he could what? He had no idea how they got here, He had no idea where ‘here’ was. He only knew that Peter’s fingers were combing through his hair and the boy was pulling him into a deep kiss and maybe that was all that mattered.
He did know that the ground they were laying on was cold, and when Peter took his hand and boldly placed it over his own erection, Tony’s brain finally began making connections.
“Your suit has heaters,” he murmured against Peter’s mouth. Pulling away enough to get his mouth up against Peter’s ear, he whispered his plan. Peter grinned and giggled, but nodded in agreement. Moving Tony’s hand up he guided to the device on the center of his chest, disengaging the suit and letting it fall loosely around him. Soon they had it between them and the bank of the purple river (the stone floor??) and enjoyed it’s heat. Tony congratulated himself on killing two birds with one stone, getting away from the cold floor and enjoying touching Peter’s skin without the suit (but wait, wasn’t there a soft sweatshirt? It seemed Peter had been wearing a sweatshirt...)
“Your turn,” Peter said with a grin even as Tony opened his mouth to ask.
Tony gaped, then looked down at himself. His Westwood tux had been rumpled by their lovemaking (and by their dip in that iridescent pool, and by their journey through the clouds no doubt) and as Peter’s fingers confidently undid his buttons Tony blinked at the memory. He reached up for his glasses, but his glasses weren’t there. Of course, because he had been talking to Peter. He never needed his armor when he was talking to Peter. They were in his vest pocket, he could feel them there. And his Westwood... he remembered. He remembered changing. He had been wearing his worn-out Black Sabbath t-shirt and ragged sweats when the call came to convene at the SI to to finally meet, to confront Quentin Beck. He had gotten as far as finding matching socks when he found out that the Avengers... no... when he found out Peter was going to be there. And now here he was, shaved and shorn and being undressed by the same young man he had dressed up for. How had he gotten here? He couldn’t remember, and Peter’s curious hands were making it impossible to think. All he knew was this was not a dream... he could tell because in his dreams he never had to reveal this scarred, older body to this beautiful god-like boy. But here he was, letting Peter undress him while steadfastly holding onto his lover for fear he would float away... if they wound up floating through the purple billowing clouds again how would they find each other? The only thing he could understand was the small of Peter’s back underneath his fingertips, the firm, toned muscles of Peter’s thighs in his grip. There was no longer any ‘up’ or ‘down,’ but there was Peter’s caught breath and soft moan as Tony’s hands caressed along Peter’s stomach. Peter’s bare chest pressed against his own no longer left him feeling exposed, it only made him feel real.
“I won’t let go of you,” he found himself saying, as best he could (he felt breathless and winded and a little helpless, but Peter’s shy smile gave him courage.) “We won’t let go of each other... Peter? Listen to me... we have to wake up together... and if we don’t... Peter if I wake up alone I swear I’m going to call you immediately and tell you I was wrong. I was wrong to push you away. I was wrong to tell you ‘no.’ I was wrong, and I’m sorry, and I’ll do anything if you give me another chance. Because I lied to you baby, I lied so badly...” It was too much. He pulled Peter close and whispered his confession against his willing mouth. “Because I want it too. I’ve wanted it for so long.”
Peter kissed him and held him tightly in strong arms. “We just won’t wake up,” he said finally when he pulled away. Keeping their foreheads together his eager hands moved between their bodies, touching and exploring. If this had been a dream Tony would have had darkness to hide the scars and wreckage that Peter was now caressing, but the darkness wasn’t there. Perhaps because it was Peter’s dream?
“We’ll just stay asleep, they don’t need us anyway,” Peter was saying, tucking his head into the crook of Tony’s neck and reaching lower again. “Cap and Barnes and Clint have it under control... Mysterio’s schemes tend to be shortsighted and underdeveloped anyway. Trust me, I should know. We’ll stay here. We’ll stay asleep.”
“I love you baby,” he moaned into Peter’s mouth. “We don’t have to stay asleep to stay together. We’ll still have each other when we wake up. I’ll tell you the truth, I promise. I lied to you and I’m sorry. I do love you, and when we wake up I swear to you that I’ll tell you...”
“Tell me now,” Peter demanded, and the billowing purple clouds parted for them as Peter moved Tony onto his back, boldly pulling Tony’s leg up to hook around his waist, urgently pressing his aching erection against Tony’s body. “Tell me now. Say it again.”
“Yes,” was the only word Tony could remember, and he repeated it over and over again. “Yes Peter,” he coaxed and moaned and keened, sometimes shouted, as the lovers rose through the cloudy climbs and starry skies, arms wrapped around each other, promises and vows and declarations weaving in and out of iridescence, blending with the water-color hues.
* * *
In the skies above the SI building Mysterio swore and shouted and cursed loudly enough to be heard by those on the rooftops below. What he saw on the monitor in his helmet distracted him so badly that an arrow from that ridiculous archer very nearly clipped him in the shoulder, and the explosion that went off behind him had set him careening off course. There was no way out... he would have to flee. Shit, this wasn’t fair. The Avengers were supposed to be weaker without Ironman and Spider-Man, and maybe they were, but what Ironman and Spider-Man were doing in the panic room where he had trapped them was making him weaker too. Dammit they were supposed to be killing each other, but every glimpse Mysterio risked at the monitors he had left in that room told him otherwise. Damnation and hellfire, the neurotoxin he had specifically designed for the two of them seemed to have no effect, and instead of fighting each other they were... dear gods they were...
...was Peter Parker actually fucking Tony Stark!?!
He still had plenty of ammunition, but now he had no motivation. In the spectacular fireworks-and-smoke display that he usually saved for emergencies he beat a silent retreat. His evil plan couldn’t have gone any further south if it tried.
He didn’t even loudly promise to be back.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to be back.
He had tried to get Tony Stark killed and, if seeing was believing, he had just gotten Tony Stark laid. It was over. He had screwed up spectacularly and now he was retiring from evil villainy. Probably forever.
Spider-Man had defeated Mysterio after all.