"I'm not sure how I feel about this, for the record," Tony cut in, nose scrunching. "My boyfriend - who's been hero worshipping me since he was six - asked me to meet another man for his birthday."
"Five," Peter corrected absently, gaze raking over the other sharply attired billionaire with the kind of look a cat got right before it caught the mouse.
"You know what, nope. I've realised you definitely have a type and I don't like it," Tony announced decisively, jutting out his chin.
"We're having birthday sex later, you'll get over it," Peter dismissed, waving a hand at him before extending it forwards. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Wayne, Sir."
"Uh, excuse me, I'm the charming billionaire you call Mister," Tony interjected on a mutter, scuffing his shoe against the polished tiles.
"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Parker," Bruce answered, eye sparkling.
Okay but have you heard the song Vices and Virtues by Reinaeiry? Because I have thoughts. Like can you imagine Peter and SIM! Tony? SIM seeing this perfect boy and trying to court him and be sweet to this one person and Peter trying so hard not to let it show that he’s falling in love with his enemy but eventually just giving in and letting himself fall knowing he’ll be caught and spoiled?
Peter's mask comes off in the middle of a fight and Tony flips a 180 from wanting to pulverise this little pest into wanting nothing more than to have him in his arms, in his bed, by his side.
Force doesn't work. Peter reacts like a feral cat, all hissing and spitting and claws. It's admirable, it's arousing... But it's not what Tony wants.
He doesn't want to make Peter want him. No. This will taste all the more sweet if the boy came to him of his own accord.
He brings him flowers. Has expensive, fancy meals delivered to the school at lunch time. Sends him gifts near daily, beautifully wrapped and always eith a hand written note.
And Peter isn't impressed by any of these things, even if he wears the outfits, eats the food and always says thank you next time they see each other.
No. Peter only softens when Tony tells him about hearing JARVIS speak for the first time. When Tony once lets slip that, when he was just a boy, he used to dream of being an astronaut.
Peter only starts looking at him differently the day he saves a stray dog in the street, clutching the filthy thing to his $8,000 suit, chiding it gently for not watching the road.
Peter stops calling him Your Highness, all teeth and claws, and starts calling him Mr. Stark, soft and sweet. Starts to blush when Tony tells him reverently how beautiful he is, how strong.
It's the greatest victory of all The Superior's rule, watching Peter slowly accept the fall, watching him let go of the fight. When Peter kisses him it tastes like success, like power.
The Superior was formidable, alone. But with Peter to cherish, he is unstoppable.
Inspired by 9-1-1 (on Fox), which is my current obsession. I highly recommend checking it out and it’s spin-off series 9-1-1: Lonestar. If you already like 9-1-1 and Buddie (Buck and Eddie) then you should check out my new main account @therogueheart. Liberty has been taken with protocols and practices here, but the land of fiction knows no rules.
Firefighter!Tony x Civilian!Peter.
TW: Age difference | Under-negotiated sexual content | Unrealistic practises
“NYFD! We’re evacuating the block!”
“NYFD, are any residents present?”
Peter jerked awake to loud yelling and incessant pounding on his door, flailing blearily in bed for a moment before he fell off the side of in a heap of limbs and bedding, scrambling to get upright.
He shrugged on a hoodie and tripped into a pair of combat boots, stumbling his way sleepily to the door. He was operating on barely five hours of sleep and felt every hour he was sorely missing - though his midterms were a good enough reason to burn the midnight oil.
He wrenched the door open just as a firefighter on the other side went to swing the breach ram into it, letting out a squeak of panic as it stopped mere inches from his belly. The man wielding it was huge; with short blond hair and shoulders that could fit a person comfortably on either side.
“That was close, I could’ve ruptured your entire torsal cavity and killed you!” the firefighter boomed cheerfully, straightening up with a broad, dazzling smile. Peter let out a faint noise and did his best not to pass out, sagging against the doorframe and gripping it.
He was wide fucking awake now, that was for sure.
“My name is Thor, I’m with the NYPD, Manhattan division. We’re evacuating the block, there’s been a gas leak on the lower and mid levels and there’s risk of combustion,” the man ordered, slinging the ram over his shoulder and gesturing to the hallway. Peter could hear other voices, all similar conversations amidst the yells of NYPD, open up!
“Uh,” was all Peter got out before he was being ushered out of his doorway. Firefighter Thor nudged him several steps forwards before Peter’s brain finally came online and he jerked to a stop.
“Wait! I need my Adderall and my phone! If I don’t call Aunt May she’s gonna kill me and if I don’t take my meds I’m gonna be screwed!”
“It’s okay, Thor. Move onto the North quadrant; I’ll stay with this one,” came a voice from behind them and Peter turned, shrinking in on himself a little.
Illuminated in the crappy hallway lighting was a man who looked like he’d stepped straight off a movie billboard. He wasn’t as tall or the same brand of clean-cut Hollywood handsome that Thor was, but he was just as attractive. More so, if Peter was going to acknowledge his tendency to lust after men twice or even thrice his age.
The man had black hair swept into a neat side-leaning quiff, a hint of salt and pepper at his temples. His facial hair had been styled in a way that ought to look ridiculous but only served to give him a unique, sharp look, accentuating the shape of his jaw.
The man winked at him and Peter realised he’d been staring. When he glanced to the side Thor had already moved off out of sight and the firefighter left behind gestured to Peter’s door, which was thankfully still open ajar from where he’d been rushed out.
“Uh, thanks. Thank you...Sir? Officer?” he cringed at his own awkwardness, shuffling past. The man looked amused, quirking a brow and pursing his lips a little, even as something indescribable flashed in his eyes.
“Sir works just fine, if that’s your thing. But for the record - I’m Captain Stark. Pretty boys get to call me Tony, though,” the man winked again, teasing seeping into his voice as Peter flushed and beelined for his bed, grabbing his phone from it’s charger and scooping up his bill box and keys.
He lamented not being able to grab anything else, but he knew better than to put himself (and someone else) at risk by lingering. Tony ushered him out of the door with a hand on the small of his back, guiding him towards the stairwell. Peter could hear noises and voices on the lower levels but realised with surprise that they were the only two left on the topmost floor.
“You were dead to the world, kid. Thor was banging on your door like crazy. We almost gave you up for not in,” Tony voiced, seemingly understanding his realisation. Peter flushed again and mumbled something about studying, hurrying down the stairs as quickly as he could, Tony a close and solid presence at his back.
It wasn’t until the cool, outside air hit his legs that he realised he was still only wearing a thin hoodie and the shorts he’d gone to sleep in. He shivered in dismay, wrapping his arms around himself. He wasn’t the only one who’d clearly been dragged out of bed - there were people milling around in robes and pyjama sets.
One poor man was even shivering in a ratty blanket, suds dripping from his hair and into his eyes.
“What happened?” he asked, doing his best to stop his teeth from chattering.
“Residents on the lower levels reported strong smells of sulphur and gas. We think it’s a line rupture or faulty heater somewhere. Full evac is protocol until we know for sure and can get started on a fix,” the fire Captain answered, steering him a little away from the main crowd and to one of the trucks.
“Take a seat, kid,” Tony offered, gesturing to the step-up of the truck. Peter did, flinching as his bare skin met the icy metal. The man left him there, turning away to resume his role as he barked orders and disappeared off into the fray. Peter busied himself with his phone, only looking up when Tony’s voice boomed out over the crowd sometime later.
“Alright, everybody listen up!” the man yelled, clapping his hands. “We’ve located the source of the gas and the good news is that it’s a relatively easy fix. The bad news is that it’ll take a minimum of four hours. In the name of safety, none of you can return to the building until it’s deemed safe to do so. Your landlord and building technicians will get in contact as soon as they’ve been given the okay for you to return home. In the meantime, I suggest you go visit friends, family, or find a nice coffee shop while you wait!”
An immediate chorus of groans, complaints and angry remarks bubbled up, the firefighters all doing their best to marshal the situation and contain the displeasure. Peter shuffled where he sat, chewing his lower lip in frustration.
Aunt May was half a city away and on shift; Ned was visiting his Grandma and MJ’s girlfriend had stayed the night, meaning if Peter valued his eyes he couldn’t show up at her door.
Which meant he was probably going to spend the next four hours shivering at a Starbucks and studying on his phone.
Great.
“You good, kid?” the voice was joined by a pair of turnout clad legs and Peter looked up, tossing his phone between his hands. Out in the natural light Captain Stark was even more handsome, a strange mix between rugged and polished.
“Um, yeah. Just...Trying to decide which coffee shop I’m gonna move into,” he sighed, offering a weak smile. The Captain looked thoughtful.
“Little thing like you, Mom and Dad weren’t just out getting milk?” his tone was teasing but curious. Peter shook his head.
“Uh, no. I don’t...I did live with my Aunt. But I graduated highschool early and got a scholarship for the Manhattan Institute of Advanced Sciences. That shitty little studio is all mine,” he rattled the keys in his pocket and shifted. His butt had warmed the step some, but it still wasn’t exactly comfortable.
As if sensing his discomfort the man shifted, peeling himself out of the huge, heavy turnout jacket. “Here, sit up a little,” the man coaxed, crouching down. Peter found himself enveloped in the jacket as Captain Stark wrapped it around him and tucked it under his ass and thighs, pulling it shut so it cocooned him in the heat.
It smelt of soap and aftershave and maybe a little bit of sweat, and Peter found himself relaxing immediately, giving a hum of pleased satisfaction.
Tony was smiling at him when he opened his eyes again and he flushed, saved from embarrassment by a tall, lithe man approaching.
“Cap, we got ‘em all squared. Company is on the way for the fix. The one-five-nine offered to stay and play babysitter. We’re clear to move out.” The man had a purple band-aid on his right brow and did a double-take when he looked down at Peter. “We get a new recruit, Cap?”
Captain Stark looked thoughtfully between Peter and the man, fingers curling around his waistband.
“Alright. Barton, round up the others, call to move out. Have the one-five-nine use radio line six if they need us. We’re bringing back a station puppy.”
‘Barton’ glanced at Peter again, eyes raking over him before he did something between a smile and a smirk. “Copy that,” he confirmed, spinning on his heel and jogging off.
“Huh?” was all Peter could think to say.
“You’ve got nowhere better to go and you’ll freeze without getting changed. I’ve got some spare clothes at the station and you can hole up on the couch until we get the go-ahead to send you home. Rogers can cook, so let’s see if we can’t put a good breakfast in that belly,” Tony responded, nudging him up and out of the way so he could open the truck door.
And that was how Peter found himself wedged into the truck with Clint Barton, Thor Odinson and Steve Rogers. They crammed a spare headset on him and grilled him on student life as they drove, Captain Stark chiming in from the front of the truck.
The station they pulled into was huge, newly renovated and vast. Firefighter Thor set two hands on his hips, lifting him out of the truck easily and setting him down on the floor, ruffling his hair before dogpiling onto Steve, both of them stumbling and grappling away, arguing in snippets about door breaches.
A little dazed, he startled when a hand fell to his back again and turned, flushing when Captain Stark smirked at him and nudged him towards the locker room. The others were already there, stripping out of their turnouts and talking animatedly.
Peter was divested of the jacket but was given a thicker, warmer hoodie emblazoned with ‘NYPD’ and ‘Stark’, the older man rooting around in a locker for a moment before producing a pair of sweats.
They were baggy but he double-tied them and rolled up the ankles and found them more than comfortable, shyly thanking the man. Tony was watching him, eyes dark again with that hidden thought, before he seemingly shook himself out of it and herded Peter towards a set of steps.
Upstairs was a kitchen space and a small common area with two couches and a TV. Barton immediately handed him a steaming mug of herbal tea and Captain Stark ushered him to the table and after several minutes of sitting in their midst and listening to firefighting stories, Steve placed a plate of toast, beans, bacon and eggs under his nose.
“Eat it before Barton mauls you for it,” Steve advised with a grin, sinking into the seat opposite him and stretching out, one arm slung around the back of Thor’s chair. Peter took the warning and dug in, shamelessly moaning at the taste. The eggs had been seasoned and there was something in the butter on the toast that made it rich and almost a little salty.
“Better than sex, huh kid?” Tony teased from his side and Clint gasped, throwing his hands over Peter’s ears.
“He doesn’t know what that is yet!”
After breakfast he was bundled onto the couch, handed a mug of tea to keep his hands warm and the remote to the TV as the others stomped down the staircase, citing organising their gear.
The alarm blared out as he was watching a nature documentary and he leaned over the balcony rail just in time to watch them leaping into the truck, flushing as the Captain shot him a wink before shutting the truck door, it’s sirens wailing and lights flashing as it pulled out of the bay.
They weren’t gone that long, but when the truck pulled back into the bay it was covered in dust and dirt.
He padded down the staircase, pulling on the sleeves of his hoodie as he watched them all descend from the vehicle. They looked a little dusty and grimy, but otherwise unharmed.
“Winch rescue up on the hiking trails,” Clint informed him as he jogged past, beelining for a room just past the lockers. “I’ve got dust in places it doesn't belong!”
The worst of them all was Steve, who’d apparently tripped over the winch line and gone tumbling down the hillside. He was largely unhurt, but he was also the last one out of the showers thanks to needing some extra scrubbing.
“C’mon, kid. Time to earn your keep,” Tony teased once they were clean and dressed in LAFD shorts and shirts. They were filling buckets and bringing out plastic boxes full of soaps and polish, and he almost whimpered when he realised they were going to clean the truck.
He was practically living a piece of fanfiction.
Or torture. Either one was applicable.
It took exactly ten minutes for someone to lose their shirt. Peter didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate that it was Steve, who flexed his pecs with a wink when he caught Peter staring. As if not to be outdone, Thor immediately tugged his shirt over his head, baring an even bigger, beefier torso that fed the red flames burning up Peter’s cheeks.
“Alright, show offs. Stop preening and get cleaning,” Tony barked at them good-naturedly, rolling his eyes as he handed Peter a sponge and flicked suds at the two taller blonds, who pulled faces but dove into the work with vigor.
In an attempt to cool down his embarrassment he turned his attention to the truck, scrubbing gently in broad circles to match what the others were doing. He’d never realised just how big firetrucks were and he wondered idly how often they had to do this.
“Hey, shortstack, you wanna be on top?”
“Excuse me?” Peter squeaked, rounding on Captain Stark, who smirked at him and gestured to the roof of the truck and the little side ladder.
“On the roof. Tends to get gritty up there,” the man drawled, eyeing him in thinly veiled amusement. It had to be on purpose, Peter realised. Especially when he moved to the side ladder and a set of rough hands wrapped around his hips, boosting him up several rungs.
He settled down to scrub, listening to the soundtrack of the station and the men below, peering over the edge now and then to watch them or to join in the conversation. It was dizzying - having them all grinning up at him, sunny and sparkling and half-naked.
Mercifully, there wasn’t too much more teasing as they scrubbed and buffed and wiped. He wasn’t sure his cheeks could take getting any hotter - but then, where safer to combust but in the middle of a firehouse?
Captain Stark helped him down from the roof again with the same hold around his hips, thumbs rubbing brief circles along the ridges of the bones before the man stepped aside with a quirked smile.
“Hungry, kid?”
“If I don’t get fed soon I might start chewing off my own foot,” he harrumphed with a grin, ducking his head when Clint barked a laugh and ruffled his hair.
“Kid after my own stomach,” the man drawled, taking the steps three at a time in a way that Peter and his short legs watched enviously.
Lunch was buffet bits like potato chips and little sponge-cake fingers and fruit, which Peter didn’t mind at all. He threw grapes into Clint’s mouth and arm-wrestled Steve and deliberately paid no attention at all to where Captain Stark’s leg pressed against his own under the table.
In the grand five hour total that he was there they got called out twice more, once for a tree rescue (a man who’d tried to save money by cutting his own yard tree, not a cat, much to Peter’s disappointment) and a small kitchen fire that left them bitching for a full hour afterwards about how people needed to stop trying to be Gordon Ramsey when they could barely cook packet ramen.
And then, just when the others were beginning to get shift about nearing their time to come off rotation, Peter’s phone rang.
It was his landlord, sounding gruff and disinterested as he informed Peter the apartment had been deemed safe to re-enter, although all aparts were going to be required to keep their gas appliances off for the night and their windows open.
The others had stopped milling around in the locker room and listened in with thinly concealed interest, offering nods and smiles when it was revealed Peter was safe to hit home.
“Just on time, huh?” Steve beamed at him, ruffling his hair.
“Aw, man. Do we have to give him back?” Clint whined in protest, swooping down to wrap himself around Peter like a clingy mink shrug. Peter giggled, tucking himself into the hold and putting on a pretend pout.
Truthfully; he didn’t want to leave. At first he’d been apprehensive about being stuck in a building with a bunch of strange men, but over the course of the day he’d come to cherish their family dynamic and the easy, comfortable companionship.
“You knew he was on loan, you layabouts,” Tony chastised them fondly, rolling his eyes. When his crew had been bullied into resuming their prep to leave, Captain Stark sank onto the bench next to Peter.
“You want a ride back, kid? I live past that area anyway and it’s my fault you’re so far out from home,” he noted with a warm smile, tugging on a boot and stooping to lace it.
Peter bit at his lower lip. Technically; he should say no. He didn’t actually know this man, and being a firefighter meant nothing for how trustworthy he was.
But…
“You don’t mind?” he asked lightly.
“It would be Captain’s honor,” Thor assured him with a wink. And that was that, the others finished dressed and they moved out to the parking lot as a herd, Peter trailing awkwardly along behind Tony towards a sleek, red and gold Audi.
He was hugged and ruffled and treated to a sizable farewell from the others, each of them pointedly telling him not to be a stranger as they piled into their vehicles and drove off in a cloud of muted music and squealing tyres.
When he turned around Tony had slipped over to the car and stood with the passenger door open, stooped into a half bow.
The interior was crisp and clean and smelt like fresh linen when he sank into the seat, tucking his legs in carefully. Tony slid into the driver’s side like he lived to be behind the wheel of a flashy car, slipping on a dark pair of shades and letting his window slide down.
Tony switched radio on to a smooth rock station and Peter let himself relax in the seat, phone still clutched carefully in hand just in case, but thoroughly enjoying the rumble of the car and the way Tony looked behind the wheel.
They didn’t speak much on the way but Peter snuck several glances at the other man, shivering through a bolt of unsteady heat each time Tony caught the motion and tipped his head, smirking at him from behind those shaded lenses.
The apartment building loomed up on them far too soon, signalling the end of a day Peter was confident he’d keep in his memories right up until his last breath.
(And if it tempted him to maybe one day set fire to his kitchen a little bit, well.)
Tony pulled the car to a stop in the parking lot, leaning casually back in his seat.
“Maybe you should, um, check my apartment?”
It took Peter a moment to realise he was the one who’d spoken, mortified as Tony pushed down his shades to peer at him over the rims with an arched brow.
“To, uh, um…” Peter squirmed on his seat, doing his best not to think about how it was the other man’s clothes he was wearing. “Make sure it’s safe. I mean, I’ve built up a little trust. With you. Who knows if the other guys missed something?”
And what he wouldn’t give for a sinkhole to just swallow him up right then.
But to his surprise Captain Stark just peered at him for another moment, then smiled. “Sure thing, kid. The other’s’d never forgive me anyway if I let you die off in the night.”
With cheeks hot enough to sear a steak, Peter slipped out of the car and practically ran for the building, hyper aware of Tony’s presence beside him as they ascended the steps. God, he was so fucking stupid. Tony was probably going to poke around the apartment a little, open the window then skip on back home and tell his wife all about the strange kid he’d had to babysit all day.
His hands were shaking as he unlocked his door but if the man noticed he said nothing, stepping in behind him and pushing the door gently shut. Peter toed off his boots by the door and turned, watching the man roam the apartment, sniffing here and there and opening the window in the kitchenette.
“Hey, come here,” Tony’s voice called when he was plugging his phone in. Jamming the cord into the device, he bounced out of the room and slid to a halt next to Tony, who held a hand out to steady him. “Do you feel that?”
“What?” Peter asked in confusion, head tilting.
“Sexual tension,” Tony grinned at him, winking terribly.
“Wha-- Oh,” Peter rocked back on his heels, cheeks blazing.
“You’re not subtle, kid. I got ribbed the whole day out over it,” Tony teased him, reaching out to ever so gently tuck one of Peter’s mahogany curls behind his ear.
“Sorry?” Peter tried, fingers curling around the cuffs of his - Tony’s - hoodie.
“I know a way you can make it up to me,” the only man purred, leaning in a little closer. And then all at once he softened, head tilting a little. “Only, of course, if you want to.”
“Aren’t you… Married?” Peter asked hesitantly, even as his heart kicked up a notch and heat gave a lazy spark between his lips. Tony’s brows shot towards his hairline.
“Not since I last checked, no,” Tony answered, sounding terribly amused. “Where did you get that thought?”
And oh, no. The last thing Peter was going to do was tell Tony he thought the man was so attractive it was feasibly impossible for him to not be taken. His ego would get so big he’d float off to space and then where would Peter be?
Instead of answering he shifted, bracing his hands on Tony’s chest and rising onto his tiptoes so he could press a chaste kiss to Tony’s mouth, the man’s stubble tickling the corner of his mouth before he pulled away, shrinking in on himself and rubbing at his lower lip.
Tony blinked down at him for a moment. Then he shifted, leaning down to wrap his hands around Peter’s thigh and hip, lifting him up with a flex of work-honed muscles. Peter clutched at his shoulders, legs automatically wrapping around Tony’s waist.
It was a new kind of novelty; to feel thick, corded muscle beneath his palms, to feel the cut of it between his thighs, to feel the scrape of stubble over his jaw and his mouth. All of Peter’s other partners had been close to his own age and relatively close in terms of build and body.
A few strides had Peter’s back pressed against the wall where he let his head fall back with a thump, mouth falling open on a whine.
“Look at you having your five minutes of bravery,” Tony teased him, shifting one leg so his thigh helped to hold Peter’s weight, fingers flexing against his skin. “What happened to the quiet little kid who burnt up anytime he looked my way?”
Peter had nothing to say, shivering through a hiccupped sound when something thick and hard rode the crease of his thigh and hip, hot between the layers of fabric that separated them. Instead of answering he pawed at the man’s shirt, desperately wanting to see the carved flesh beneath it.
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll give you what you want,” Tony soothed him, adjusting them both before he helped to tug on the fabric, muscles shifting and bunching as he worked it over his head and threw it off somewhere to the side.
“Oh,” Peter choked, setting his palms down on the plane of Tony’s stomach. He was beautiful; tanned skin marred with a smattering of scars that stood out pink and pale. He knew better than to focus on them but he couldn’t help running his thumb over a half-moon scar at the bottom of Tony’s pectoral.
“Emergency field incision,” Tony murmured, nipple peaking at the close touch. “Had to mesh-wall my heart.”
Peter had no words for that, either. In all the fun of the firehouse he’d almost forgotten the reality of such a dangerous job. He ran his thumb gently over it again, as if to kiss it, and tightened his legs to bring Tony into him again.
It made them press together in a delicious, warm friction, Tony’s pupils dilating further when Peter tried to stifle the noise the touch prompted. He was squeezed back into the wall as Tony leaned down, catching his mouth in a slick, gentle kiss.
“Hey, kid,” Tony murmured against his mouth, leaning back just enough to speak, teeth scraping over his swollen lower lip.
“Hm?” Peter whimpered, trying to tilt his head to reach him again.
“You wanna see why they call me Captain Firehose?”
Peter’s lashes fluttered as he looked up, mouth dropping open for a moment of pure, unadulterated suspense.
“That was awful,” he groaned with a giggle, tickled by the cheesy line and rendered pink-cheeked by the soft, fond look at Tony fixed him with.
“Made you smile, though,” Tony purred, adjusting his hold as he ducked down to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek, lips trailing over the warm skin before he pulled back and away, muscles flexing as he held Peter up without the support of the wall.
Blushing harder, Peter wound his arms around the man’s neck. “Okay, Captain. Show me how to handle your hose,” he whispered, yelping and laughing when Tony spun them around towards the bedroom with a grin.
When summoning Satan, one had some general and perhaps not all that unreasonable expectations.
Fire. Smoke. Perhaps some flickering lights, a tremble in the bowels of the Earth.
At the least.
As for The Big Man himself, one could wildly vary their envisioning based on any number of factors such as culture and age, but Tony would've settled for iterations that stirred a deep and primal fear in one's belly.
Seriously. Anything. Perhaps a set of hooves. Red eyes. If one was even feeling generous; a burnt and grotesque visage that made him re-taste his lunch.
As it was, he got;
Nothing.
Not even the smallest puff of smoke. Zilch. Nada. Zip.
He frowned, hands on his hips. Waited a hopeful moment longer--but still nothing. Not a glimpse of red hide in sight.
"I usually get at least a drink before being asked to show my hide."
"Shut up, Rhodey. I'm thinking."
Except.
Except Rhodey couldn't hear thoughts. Not least because he was currently 418 miles away on training exercise.
He spun, braced for any number of monstrous and unholy creatures, and found himself slack-jawed for a completely different reason.
He'd had no small amount of beauty in his bed before. So much so he might be generously called a collector, (or ungenerously called a whore,) but not even the finest flesh could compare to the vision that lay belly-down on his sheets.
For @silkystark
who is definitely gonna shout at me when she reads it
Peter wholeheartedly expected Tony to be a catfish. Even the introduction of Snapchat hadn’t entirely convinced him - Most of Tony’s snaps were various parts of a workshop, and the selfies he was sent seemed too good to be true. Nobody could look that good covered in grease, though Peter hadn’t plucked up the courage to request any videos yet.
Which, he figured, was pretty stupid, having already agreed to meet Tony.
He had, however, bullied Ned into coming with him to the agreed meeting place - A quaint little coffee shop on the outskirts of Queens, secluded enough to be comfortable but public enough to be safe. Tony had suggested it for both factors, and had told Peter if he didn’t like it, they could easily go somewhere better suited.
Peter thumbed his screen again, watching the little loading bubble circle.
No new messages.
Tony was two minutes late. Ned’s obnoxious slurping of his slushie was starting to grate on his already agitated nerves. He’d thumbed the screen another four times, completely oblivious to the approaching set of legs when Ned piped up around his straw.
“Dude, I thought you said he was a catfish?”
Peter’s gaze shot up just in time to catch the quirk of a brow above dark, red shades, a sinful and amused smirk tilting a wide, plush mouth surrounded by the exact same stubble that Peter had seen in each photograph, and...Oh.
He was real.
“You can go now” Peter blurted, slapping at Ned’s shoulder as the older man before them reached up, slowly sliding off his glasses. Dark eyes framed by long lashes fixed on Peter, and he slapped a little harder at Ned, practically shoving him off the bench they’d taken residence upon. Ned muttered a soft ow, rubbing at his arm as he stood.
“I think I’m supposed to like, threaten you, or something? So, um...If I don’t get a text in...An hour. Yeah, an hour. I’ll call the...Police” Ned attempted, shooting Tony a semi-puzzled scowl. Whatever expression he’d been aiming for, he hadn’t hit, and Peter made a soft noise of embarrassment as Tony flashed Ned a dazzling smile.
“I can give you my number and address, if that puts you at ease” Tony remarked back, and whatever breath Peter had in his lungs disappeared, because holy voice. Smooth but with a rumbling backtone, a lilted accent that Peter instantly wanted to hear say his name.
Ned’s nose scrunched. “No thanks. I like girls”. And then he was walking away, casting Peter a cheerful wave as he went. Peter watched him go for a moment, before he looked back up at Tony, cheeks tainted a faint pink. He opened his mouth to apologise, but Tony shifted, one hand tucking his glasses into the front of his shirt and the other extended towards Peter.
“If he’s your scariest friend, you may want to consider hiring someone, next time”. Peter pulled a face, reaching out and taking Tony’s hand. His palm was large, a little rough, and his fingers were long and slender as he gripped and pulled, carefully and gently helping Peter to his feet. Tony was a head or two taller than him, though not by much. He was certainly broader, though.
He’s my best friend” Peter defended, and Tony cast him a softer, gentler smile.
“Cute”.
Tony walked with a sort of swagger in his step, a comfortable, almost lazy saunter. It would’ve looked cocky on anyone else, but on Tony it looked natural, in place with the rest of him. There was an oil smudge on the hinge of his jaw and a few grease stains on his arms. He must’ve worn gloves when working, because his hands were scrubbed clean and his nails had been scraped.
He even pulled the chair out, when Peter went to sit. His heart was thumping as he sat, and he felt both excited and a little sick. He hadn’t actually prepared for the scenario that Tony was real. and oh, god. Tony had seen his ass. They’d talked about sex.
Mortified, he could only nod when Tony offered to get him a sweet tea, sinking lower into his seat as he recalled the various conversations they’d had over the past three weeks. By the time Tony returned with a small tray of two drinks and a cookie, he was scarlet. If Tony noticed, he didn’t say anything, settling across from Peter in a spread out pose. He’d ordered himself a coffee, as dark as motor oil.
It was actually surprisingly easy to talk to Tony - Peter was interested in robotics and Tony had a hearty knowledge of chemistry. Two drinks in, they were talking animatedly. Or, Tony was, and Peter had been staring at his mouth for the past five minutes. The plump lips, the peek of a wet tongue and pearly teeth, the framework of stubble that he suddenly wanted to feel blazing his thighs raw.
“If you keep looking at my mouth like that, I’m gonna break the rules” Tony announced suddenly, startling Peter out of his vivid daydream of Tony licking his way between his thighs.
“Rules?” He asked after a moment, brow furrowing. What rules?
“I agreed with myself to keep this a PG-rated date. A kiss on the cheek at the end, maximum” Tony informed him, though his own gaze had dropped, the next sweep of his lashes slow, almost demure. Peter flushed then, licking subconsciously at his lower lip.
“We’ve kind of already passed PG” he pointed out bravely, and was rewarded with another rich smirk and a head tilt, like Tony was amused by his sudden boldness. Peter sank an inch into his seat and covered what he could of his face with his tea mug. Tony cast him another softly amused smirk, and the conversation was tactfully steered towards Peter’s career goals for the future.
At the end of the date, Tony waited until Peter had text Ned to meet back up, and then leaned down, kindly ignoring the pathetic squeak Peter gave to press the gentlest of kisses to his cheek. “I never made any rules for the second date” Tony murmured against his ear, before turning and striding towards his vintage muscle car like he hadn’t said anything at all, leaving Peter blinking and blushing in his wake.
Ned was resolutely impressed with a successful date, appreciative of Tony’s attractiveness from a straight-male perspective, and noted immediately that he would deny all knowledge if Aunt May somehow found out. Peter grimaced at the reminder that he’d been pretty bold in his age settings, and scampered back to his apartment before he could think too deeply on it. Being a lab tech for Oscorp paid well enough, and it didn’t hurt that he and Harry were actually pretty close friends, and occasionally fucked.
No sooner had he settled down on his bed and bitten into a banana, his phone chimed. It was a message from Tony, a sweet remark about enjoying the date, and within the hour they had another one set up at the same coffee place. Peter stared at the messages, heart fluttering slightly. It was real; it was all real. Tony and his face and his snark and his grease stained jaw.
He said as much, one week and two more dates later, straddling Tony’s thighs and licking shyly into his mouth, tasting the mixture of coffee and mint gum. “I still can’t believe you’re not like, fat or bald. Or a serial killer” he mumbled, aching with the need to grind down over where Tony was hard against the inside of his thigh.
“I could still be a serial killer” Tony replied, voice rough with the effort of holding himself back. They’d been taking it relatively slow, for making out and grinding on the third date, and it was taking its toll on both of them. Tony was rock solid to the touch and Peter had a damp patch on the front of his jeans.
“At least put me out of my misery before you put me out of my misery” Peter whined, grasping Tony’s wrist as he let himself rock just slightly, barely riding the thick rise of his cock. It had briefly crossed his mind that maybe Tony’s fault lay in having a cheeto for a cock, but that had quickly been wiped clean.
“I’m trying to be good” Tony mumbled back, flexing his arm in Peter’s grip but obligingly not moving anywhere, kissing at his lower lip gently, almost sweetly. “I’m behaving”. Peter cursed softly under his breath, drawing a grin from the older man as the younger boy shifted, sat down on top of his clothed cock with no regard for the pressure.
Peter reached up with both hands, cupping Tony’s cheeks in a way that was tender, before he squeezed gently, looking the mechanic straight in the eye.
“Mr. Stark, if you’d don’t put your cock in me so deep I lose my voice, I’m gonna tie you to the bed and leave you like that”.
I had this idea and- Tony and Peter in the lab working together when suddenly Peter gets a call and it’s Ned just talking about LEGO stuff so Peter puts him on speaker. Thing is, Ned has no idea he is with Tony because Peter didn’t address it so he suddenly says “So how’s it going with your Iron Daddy crush?” Or something like that and Peter and Tony look at eachother absolutely SHOCKED
I spent a solid ten minutes wholly entertained by this idea and cycling through all the reactions Peter could have. I hope I did you proud on this one, Non! Thank you so much for considering me ❤️
No triggers/warnings. SFW
Working with Tony was fast becoming one of Peter's favourite things to do. It was even better than building LEGO sets or patrolling the streets, and that was saying something. He lived for the long hours spent in the lab, working alongside or merely coexisting with Tony as they worked, playlists cycling through in the background. It was calming, it felt right.
If he were to hazard a guess, he would say Tony enjoyed it too. He obviously didn’t have much evidence to compare to how Tony had been in the lab prior to his arrival, but these days Tony sang along to the music and talked to Peter about their projects and ordered too much takeout even for the two of them and sometimes, even fell asleep against the workbench after too many long hours.
It was one such night when they were working together; each on their individual projects but bouncing information and ideas between them. Peter was working on adding a small-scale explosive to his web mechanism for things like blowing up concrete or doors and Tony was working on what looked like part of the suit, but could frankly be anything at this point. Peter had once asked him how working on the Gauntlet was going only to be informed it was a vase. A mechanical vase, no less.
“Diamond laser, diamond laser…” Tony muttered, petting about the bench. Peter picked up the tool laying on his own bench.
“Here,” he called, tossing it over. Tony caught it, offered him a brief, warm smile, and dove back into his work. Time passed quietly, until he heard a soft mutter of oh, that’s not good and then-
“Duck!”
Wordlessly Peter dropped down, tucking himself under the safety of his bench as there was a hiss, a clang, and a piece of metal flew over where he’d just been standing, ricocheting off the wall before it clattered to the floor. He righted himself, peered at it curiously, then went back to his own work. Mishaps in the lab were far too common to make a fuss of.
It fell back into a lull, working in tandem and comfortable silence until Peter’s phone rang on the table besides him. He paused, nose crinkling. Aunt May wasn’t expecting him to be home tonight, so that left…
“Hey, Ned,” he greeted as he swiped the call, lifting it to his ear. There was a scuffle and a huff on the other end of the line and he waited patiently as Ned got himself set.
“Dude! Have you seen the new LEGO Avengers set? You gotta get one. It’s got everyone! Well, except you, but technically you’re not an official Avenger yet-”
“Gee, thanks for reminding me,” he drawled, rolling his eyes as he fiddled with a coil one-handed. Ned continued to speak, rattling off the pieces, the details and resolutely demanding they went the moment the store opened tomorrow to get the set. Peter hummed along in agreement, interjecting here and there to demand details.
“Oh, I thought about what we could do for our science project, too!” Ned began, and Peter huffed in irritation as he tried and failed to connect a wire with just one hand. Tony more or less comfortably forgotten in the background, he shuffled his phone down onto the desk and tapped the speaker icon, picking up his tools once Ned’s voice filled the room.
“So I was thinking, right? And I was thinking; hey! Peter has access to all this stuff now! And I know we can’t do anything too dramatic because we’re still losers, but what if we use…” Peter listened intently, tongue sticking out as he focused on screwing on the pressure plate. Ned’s idea actually wasn’t all that bad - Taking inspiration from the web shooters to make a spray-able temporary hole/crack fix.
It was nothing Peter hadn’t already made, so it ought to be easy enough. It was easy to listen along and work; both motions equally soothing. Tony said nothing in the background, engrossed in his own tinkering and content to let their conversation be background noise.
"Oh, and hey! How's the whole thing with Mr. Stark going?" Ned asked on the tail-end of a ramble about how Peter could use the web formula to start his own business and make billions. Peter opened his mouth to explain their current projects, temporarily forgetting that he hadn't actually told Ned he was at the Tower right now.
"Or should I say Iron Daddy now? Was that just a one time thing? Its so weird saying that, though. Just get his Iron Rod already so we don't have to keep-"
Peter froze, staring at the phone in movie-comical horror. Across the lab there was a deafening clang and a curse as Tony jerked upright and knocked his head on Butterfinger's mainframe, dropping the diamond laser to the table.
"-Like just go right up to him and say 'I want you to be my Iron Daddy,' like how hard can it be? You could tell him about your old fan account, I bet he'd be flattered. I bet he'd even-"
Peter made a high distressed sound, flailing on the spot. His mind screamed SHUT UP NED SHUTUP HE'SHERERIGHTHERE SHUT UP but his throat wouldn't work to get the words out. On the other bench Tony looked vaguely like the arc reactor had glitched, eyes more white than iris as he gripped at the edge of the table.
Panic rose like a tidal wave and Peter gave a strangled sound, operating on pure fear and horror as he raised his palm and pressed the trigger on the web shooters. The StarkPhone went up in a spectacular display of sparks and flying metal, Ned's voice cutting off abruptly.
Dully, Peter thought huh, it works. As the last pathetic sparks fizzled to the ground Peter turned his head, staring meekly somewhere near Tony's shoulder.
"Sorry. That was... Your phone," he excused lamely, belatedly noting he no longer had his chappy old IPhone but Stark Industries' latest, sleekest model courtesy of Tony.
“Technically it was yours,” Tony replied back rather dazedly, leaning heavily against the bench. An awkward silence fell over them for several seconds, before Tony’s expression twisted.
“Iron Daddy?”
Peter made a sound between a groan and a whine and collapsed against his own bench next to the smoking remains of his phone. “Oh my god. I was a meme. I sent him a meme one time.”
“And my Iron Rod is…?”
“Mr. Stark, I am begging you to stop talking.”
There was a terse pause where Peter awaited morosely to be told to leave; to be dropped outside his apartment again with a bye, c’ya, don’t call. And then -
“Do you?” Tony’s voice sounded... Small. Peter looked up quizzically, brows furrowing as he watched Tony rub at his arm. It was a tic - an emotional tell. “Want me to be your Iron Daddy?”
Peter almost groaned. Might’ve, if the meaning behind the words hadn’t rendered him incapable of anything other than surprise.
“I’d... Always thought it would be more a boyfriend thing,” he admitted. His crush had never been a secret but had always been swept under the rug as idolism and hero worship, never taken seriously. It had only been in his dreams and fantasies that Tony had ever reciprocated the feelings or taken his compliments to heart.
“Hm.” It was a flat response, thoughtful and veiling any true emotion as Tony moved to rub at his jaw, then turned away. “I’ll get you a new phone. FRI has all your data on back-up, so you won’t have lost anything.”
Peter’s heart sank a little and he took the unspoken rejection graciously, lowered his head with a short nod. He willed himself to be mature about it, sweeping away the remains of his old phone into the waste disposal and thanking the older man in a small, fragile voice when he was handed a sleek new device.
Tony had turned it on whilst he brought it over and it cycled through an installation before vibrating in his hand.
Nobody had ever thought about how Tony Stark could burn down the world.
Some had come close. Steve Rogers, always expecting the worst from people. Director Fury with his keen eye on people with too much power. Dr. Banner, watching Ultron and wondering where this train of thought stationed.
But back when he was Tony Stark; Merchant of Death, nobody had bat a lash at the thought. He was a too-smart toddler playing in daddy’s sandbox, building bigger and better toys that were easy enough to keep an eye on and control.
And back when he was Tony Stark; Iron Man, the tides had turned fairly quickly in his favor when aliens began to drop out of the sky and enhanced people started cropping up like a game of whack-a-mole. Everyone was just happy to have a shield between themselves and every big bad out there.
Nobody had ever stopped to think; what if he snapped? What if someone set him up on puppet strings and made him dance?
What if he decided he was done playing the good guy?
What if he decided that the world needed a different kind of protection?
All those little fingers in all those digital pies. All those protective sentinels that could change purpose at the touch of a button. All that smart-cookie attitude set towards a different goal.
Nobody had ever thought about how Tony Stark could burn down the world.
