Hii i was wondering f you know of any like... realistic fics? I know that sound weird, but i mean basically non-AU fics and maybe easy on the daddy/dirty talk stuff. Not that that stuff isn't great but i sometimes feel like the starker fandom doesn't have many fics where I'm like "oh yeah thst would totally happen". Sorry if this is a lame request. Thankyou!!
Please never feel like your preferences in fanfiction are something to be ashamed of or are 'lame'. Realistic fics can be the best! I'm more than happy to help you find something that fits your tastes. Likewise; please don't ever hesitate to send in requests to any of the amazing authors in the amazing community for more canon-compliant or realism-based works!
Only A Kiss | @starker-oasis
Take Me (Off Speaker) | @starkeristheendgame
There is also this ask where another Anon asked for the same thing, which has 6 other recommendations.
Welcome back! I wanna share my personal head canon also a prompt for you: it took Peter a while to figure out his Peter tingle can sense when somebody wants to fuck him. Even if he sensed that around the most unexpected people all the time, like Flash, his PE teacher, or some villains he's fighting, he didn't think he would ever have the 'sexy' tingle when Tony Stark was in the same room.
I chuckled probably a little too hard at ‘sexy tingle’ but it is absolutely what Peter would call it! This isn’t smut based, I’m so sorry, but I felt like this prompt had major fluff/feels/crack vibes. I really hope this is okay and that you enjoy it! Major props for such a creative and possibility-filled idea!
Getting bitten by a genetically altered, radioactive spider just kept getting weirder. And each time Peter thought that he was getting used to it, or each time he felt like maybe, finally, he’d discovered all of his abilities, something else sprang up and slapped him in the face.
And to say nothing of actually learning how to use and balance the abilities he knew he had. His ‘danger tingle’ apparently took frequent pee breaks, because he could sense a bad guy lurking in an alley, but couldn’t send the very resilient apple that Aunt May lobbed at his head.
And then came The Other Thing.
It wasn’t really a tingle. It was more like a thrum. Bone-deep and reaching every nerve, almost like anticipation or excitement. It seemed to be completely and utterly random, and it infuriated Peter to no end.
The sorta cute girl that stacked the shelves at his local small grocer set it off. The hot substitute tutor they had for PE when Coach Wilson sprained his ankle. Here and there on the streets in brief flashes. Peter tried his best to scope the scene each time, to see if he could spot danger, or if they were mutants or someone with powers, but...
Nothing.
Worst of all, though, was Mr. Stark.
It was constant, around him. Each time he was in the vicinity, that warming sensation flooded him, and it only made it that much more frustrating, because Tony being Tony meant it was next to impossible to try and find a connecting factor between them all.
Anything that Mr. Stark was, the others weren’t. Except for the other Avengers. The thrum was less with them, but still existent. It made correlating the various people almost impossible.
Until they started to correlate themselves.
Peter was trying to figure out the difference between ‘ethnic taco seasoning’ and ‘blended taco seasoning’ when his senses gave a brief ping and a thrum, and someone tapped him on the shoulder. Peter turned to see the girl who stacked the shelves, and she thrust a piece of paper at him before running off.
It was her number.
And a week later, when Flash tried to start an actual fight with him on the grass; they were rolling around as Peter tried desperately to keep his powers to heel, and the thrum was almost a vibration when they came to a halt, Peter nearly punching himself in the face when he realised that Flash was hard against his thigh.
Catching Mr. Barton’s gaze on the flex of his thighs, half-lidded and dangerous.
Peter is in the lab when he makes the connection, head lifting with abject horror, holo-pen and thus the rest of his design clattering to the worktop with such sudden disturbance that two benches over, Mr. Stark jolted with a yell, jerk-reaction throwing his solder iron across the room.
“The Hell, kid?” the older man grumbled, pushing off his stool to retrieve it before it burned another mark on the floor. Peter moved before he could even really permit his legs to do anything, and when Mr. Stark turned to find him mere inches away he jerked with another curse, solder iron brandished like a weapon.
“Jesus Christ, kid!” the older man huffed, lowering the solder iron with an exasperated expression. Peter paid it no heed, eyes narrowed in concentration as he tried to focus on comparing how Mr. Stark acted to the idle thrum deep under his skin.
A thrum. A tingle.
A sexy tingle.
Mr. Stark was eyeing him suspiciously now, one brow lifting high when Peter rounded a pointed, accusatory finger at him.
“You give me a sexy tingle!” he announced, and Mr. Stark looked more than a little mollified.
“I’m... Flattered?”
“What? No,” Peter relaxed, dropping the finger and putting his hands on his hips as he tipped his chin up at his mentor. “A sexy tingle. You give me a sexy tingle, which means you wanna sexy... Me.” He finished lamely, realised he’d kinda mashed that sentence up a little, but hoping that it got through.
Judging by the thing Mr. Stark’s face did, which happened to be the exact same thing it did whenever Pepper found out he’d done something she’d specifically warned him against, Peter wasn’t far off.
Mr. Stark opened his mouth, closed it, frowned and scowled at once, and then moved to walk past Peter. Midway through his third step there was a soft thwip and he stumbled, head slowly looking to the side and down to see where his leg, from thigh to just below the knee, was stuck to the leg of a workbench.
The look he landed Peter over his shoulder was not at all unlike that he had given him the first time they’d met and Peter had web-glued him to the doorknob.
“Sexy tingle,” Peter insisted, erring on the side of desperate, because this was Tony fucking Stark. Peter’s hero since the first moment he’d ever laid eyes on the red and gold suit, and Peter’s crush since the first time he looked at Mr. Stark’s PlayGirl cover and popped his first ever stiffy.
Mr. Stark’s expression pinched.
“You really have to think of a different name for it, kid,” he sighed, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. In his moment of distraction Peter walked closer, rounding the trapped man, who eyed him warily, like he was expecting Peter to whip out a nude and demand blackmail.
“It means you like me. That you wanna... Be with me,” Peter murmured, confidence suddenly failing him. What if he was wrong? What if it was sheer coincidence, the others? But one look into Mr. Stark’s resigned eyes and he knew.
“Of course I like you. You’re practically a younger, less dignified, less rich me,” Tony shot at him, tone jovial as though trying to sway the conversation to a lighter, more platonic track. Peter narrowed his eyes, then slumped.
“So you... Don’t wanna? Me, I mean,” Peter flustered, hands gesturing wildly. The look Tony levelled him with was thoroughly judgemental.
“I’m not used to this,” he excused miserably, and reached for a scalpel to free his mentor. As he stretched, a large hand wrapped around his wrist, pausing.
“If it wouldn’t make me the worlds biggest creep, kid, I would,” Mr. Stark breathed, so quietly that Peter almost doubted he’d heard it at all. Peter couldn’t fight the dazzling smile that bared his teeth and made his cheeks dimple, so blindsided that Mr. Stark had to gesture to remind him of his previous task.
By eight o’clock that night, Operation Sexy Tingle Mr. Stark was in full swing.
middle of it the avengers alarm goes off. The argument spills over during the battle (and of course everyone can hear them and is trying to ignore it) and it ends with one of them saying they should just break up. Then something happens and they make up lmao
So there seems to be a part missing to your ask, but I pretty much got the gist! I hope this is okay, and that you enjoy! Ages are ambiguous so let your imagination run free. Its mostly angst but at the end there’s hopefulness for a brighter future. Tony is kind of portrayed as a bit of an ass in this, but we all know he just struggles with relationships and emotions so I hope you won’t judge him too harshly.
TW: Angst | Fighting | Temporary break up | Very brief note of minor injury.
Tony’s words still ring like Church bells through his head, even hours after they’d been spoken. That harsh spitfire tone, the broken fury in his eyes as he spat the words in the midst of battle, launching that anger against their enemies. Tony’s eyes, normally rich brandy that made him think of warm nights in front of a fire, had been been inferno and rage all day.
“We’re better off without each other”.
He flinched at the echo memory, staring dully off into space as he held the pack of cooling gel against his bruised side, the taste of copper drying on his tongue. His bruised sides were his own fault; his blind rage and anguish at their fighting had transgressed into the battle. His hits had been sloppy, unkempt, and it had fallen to the rest of the team to try and hold together their splintered edges.
Even now, the rest of the team are as sullen and awkwardly tense as the seething, newly un-coupled pair. Even Steve, normally so brazen and uncowed, sits grim in the pilot seat, jaw set and gaze on the miles of clouds before them. Clint, nursing a leg and his checked pride, is a comforting but ever silent presence at his side. No warm jokes, no lopsided smiles.
Tony is the worst. Cold and impassive at the rear of the jet, working on his Gauntlet with silent fury. Peter wondered what would happen when they got back; he’d more or less moved into the penthouse with Tony by this point, their lives entangled. Peter had no idea about post-breakup protocol. Tony had been his first real relationship, the first one to have any true weight and meaning.
The aching tiredness of war had settled in. His body felt leaden and tender, and on any other day he would have curled up against Tony’s side and napped the journey home away. Now, he leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes, focusing on keeping his breathing measured and even. The battle he’d just fought seemed nothing in comparison to the fight that had began this morning and had broken like a storm on the battlefield.
“You’re unseasoned! You’re a child. Our worlds have been nothing alike and neither are we!”
“You’re half a lifetime behind me, Peter. Sometimes, I think that’s how it should be. Apart.”
“If you hadn’t been bitten by that spider, me and you? We wouldn’t ever be in the same circle”.
When he opened his eyes again they were wet and they stung, and they were home.
No. Not home. Not for him, anymore. Peter accepted the hand that Steve offered him, and followed the rest out in stony silence. He wondered if this would be the end of it; the legacy of his time as an Avenger. His entire relationship put on blast over the comms, his friends and childhood heroes unable to look him in the eye.
Medical cleared him with two cracked ribs and his own teeth imprints on his tongue. Two painkillers and a glass of water later, and he itched to be out of the suit, to be clean and to curl up in a soft bed. His only clothes were in the penthouse, however, and he reluctantly shuffled to the elevator, head low and arms wrapped around himself for comfort more than to relieve the pain.
He crept cautiously into the open space, ears perked and eyes alert. He couldn’t see Tony anywhere, though, and by the time he reached the small staircase that led up to the balcony-style second floor, he was relaxed.
A fool’s act. No sooner had he rounded the corner, light-footed on the plush carpet, he stopped. Perched on the edge of the bed, with one smartly dressed Pepper Potts between his splayed thighs, was Tony. He had his head tucked down against her stomach, arms loose around her waist, and though he could see only her back, he could tell she was running her fingers through his hair.
Heart clenching, Peter turned away and fled before they could notice him, taking the elevator down to the foyer. It was easy enough to ask for a car to drive him home, the wide eyed receptionist sympathetic and astounded by his presence. The driver who pulled up was not Happy, but he was soft and cheerful, and roused Peter gently from where he’d fallen asleep against the window on the ride home.
His bed was cold and empty, a sore trade-off from where he would normally be. But the shower was warm and a balm to his aching muscles where the painkillers had stemmed the pain but not cut it off completely. When he was dressed and beneath the sheets he turned his cheek to his pillow, and let his mind wander.
“I’m - Not - Helpless!” He snarled, kicking furiously at the robotic figure that tried to swing for his jaw. He obliterated it, pieces flying in all directions as he waded through the outburst and onto the next, his partner’s bitter tone a soundtrack to the splintering of metal before him. He lashed out again, ducked, used a web to throw the sentient steel away from him.
“You’re untrained! You’re green! You’re a fucking colt amongst stallions and I won't stand by and watch you get hurt!” Tony’s eyes were wildfire like his voice, and any other moment his appetite for war would have made Peter’s thighs squeeze together and his teeth catch his tongue. Then, it terrified him, enraged him, and saddened him. They spat fire at each other and used it to fuel their defence, and they both steadfastly ignored the pleading protests of their colleagues over the comms, tuned in to their every word. The shame had only made Peter angrier.
He awoke with it burning inside him, smothered quickly by the sight of the bare pillow before him. No sleep-warm brown eyes looking back at him, just the residual stiffness from his injuries and the bitter taste of loneliness. Peter shifted and pushed himself to his feet, forcing his morning routine. He dreaded the text that would ask him to pick up his things, or the call that would tell him Happy was on his way with his stuff.
It never came. But neither did any other call. His phone was silent from any Avenger, none of the usual post-mission calls to fill in paperwork or check-ins from the others. No Steve asking if he wanted to jog together on Wednesday, no Tony asking him to come to the lab with sexual emojis.
Only Ned, MJ, Aunt May, even Flash. Though the latter was just another request for Tony's attention. No matter how many times Peter secretly prayed each time he picked up his phone, it was never the name he wanted. By the 6th day, he'd well and truly come to realise that was it.
It was over.
They were over.
He sniffled into his ice cream. The past six days had melted into scrolling through his old messages, bawling, and watching Elle Woods get her happily ever after. He'd taken her example in the first film and had stomped silently to the grocery market to buy several litre tubs of ice cream in varying flavours. He'd put the Spidersuit under his bed and hadn't looked at it since.
Except by the next Saturday he'd run out of emotions to cycle through and messages to cry over and the itch to be out in the nightlife, sailing between the stars took over.
Putting on the suit felt like a punch to the gut and a glass of cold water at the end of a desert.
He stood on the roof of the apartment complex, swept his gaze slowly over the cityscape, then stepped off the ledge. The drop made his heart skip a beat and the adrenaline crash through his veins, and flicking his wrist with a web at the next building felt like salvation. He dropped, swung, pulled and sailed until he was panting behind the mask, arms quivering as he roamed steadily from the lower city level to the skyscrapers and business buildings, towering above the rest like sentinels and watchmen.
He ignored the nagging memories of doing this with Tony. The two of them laughing through the comms, of clinging to each other above the clouds where nobody could see them. He focused on the ache of his muscles as he climbed higher, higher. The Stark Tower was the tallest building in New York, but the Reach Building was a close second, and empty at this hour.
He threw a web and let the momentum take him, swinging a steep arc and letting go so that it tossed him high into the empty darkness, the cool breeze buffering him as he raced in the sky, baring his stomach to the stars above, arms spread and head tipped back on a delighted, breathless sigh.
One moment, he was gazing at stars, twinkling and careless above him. The next he was rolling backwards, over, and what should have been cityscape became two slats of neon blue, surrounded by peony red and rich gold. He startled, jerked, and they fell in graceful tandem. Peter's heart thumped behind the bars of his chest, and he was left breathless as he stared, the fall ignored for the jarring reality that Tony was here.
The cityscape rushed up towards them and solid arms slid around his waist, driving the breath from his lungs. The firm press of metal was something Peter had resigned himself to feel only in his memories and dreams, and he couldn't remember how to breathe in at the feel of plated fingertips digging into his hips.
They free-fell down, plummeting fast. A shift of Tony's leg and they tipped, rolling gracefully until they were upright and then Peter's entire body tingled as he heard the thrusters of the suit engage. Falling became flying upwards, held safely against warm, solid metal, though he didn't dare to lay his cheek against Tony's chest as he might've before.
He did turn his head away and close his eyes though, relishing in the feel of their bodies together last he suddenly wake up and realise, not for the first time, that it had all been a dream. It was only a cluster of seconds, but it felt like an eternity before he was being set down as gently as if he were glass, held tight by an arm around his waist as Tony's reached up, tugging off the mask as his own faceplate flipped up.
"I can't ". Tony's voice broke over the word, breathless and agonised as he clung to Peter, holding him tight. Shock rendered him speechless and he simply stood lax in Tony's grip, on his tip-toes and leaning back into the solid arm around him. Tony's eyes were dark and red, glossy like he'd been crying mere moments before they landed. He looked sleepless, exhausted.
"I can't do it" he repeated, slower, weaker. "I can't be without you. I hate myself for it, because you deserve better. Because being with you automatically means risking losing you. But I can't lose you like that". He slumped at the end of it, defeated, and Peter finally managed to swallow the knife that had lodged itself in his throat, robbing him of his words and leaving tight pain in its wake.
“You don’t get to dictate what I am and aren’t capable of doing anymore. You don’t get to keep comparing me as weak or useless against the rest of you” he breathed, tears stinging at his eyes and turning Tony into a large, red blob. A red blob that hesitated, before nodding. “And you don’t get to break up with me because you’re being a selfish ass” he added after a pause wherein both of them were too afraid to say or do anything else.
“I can’t promise I’ll be perfect. I’m undoubtedly gonna fuck up again at some point. But... Fuck, I want us to be able to fight about it, and stay together. I want you to tell me I’m wrong and I want to fall asleep next to you in the same night, because I haven’t slept since you left. And-”
Peter sucked in a breath on a sound between a laugh and a sob, wiping heavily at his eyes before he reached up and pressed his palm over Tony’s mouth, muffling whatever tangent he was about to spiel off into. The prickle of Tony’s signature stubble against his palm was a sensation he wouldn’t trade for the world in that moment.
Tony stopped, breathed in a puff of warm air, and watched him with docile hope as he leaned forwards, slowly and carefully, ducking his head out of the way of the faceplate. Tony’s eyes shone with broken adoration as he removed his palm and tipped his head, pressing a brief, weak kiss against Tony’s mouth. His legs felt weak for it and he moved his hands to Tony’s shoulders, clinging to the burnished metal.
“Come home” Tony whispered against his mouth, fingers flexing into Peter’s sides, and he nodded immediately, ducked his head down to Tony’s chest as the faceplate snicked shut and they soared towards the stars.
It wouldn’t be perfect. But that was okay, because they’d work through it and keep loving each other anyway.
Could you do a fic where Peter ends up using his safeword?🥺👉🏻👈🏻
Of course! Thank you sm for the prompt you sweet little bean ❤️ I’m gonna set this in a sort of grey-area between Homecoming and Infinity War, as a set-up for the use of the safeword. I hope you like it!
TW: Reference to bodily harm (the building collapse) | PTSD mentions/depictions | Use of a safeword | Brief rough sex description | Panic/Panicking | Mild humiliating/degrading dirty talk.
Stay safe, my lovelies!
“That’s it, sweetheart. Real good for me - Fuck, yes - Take it, baby”. Tony’s words are growled into his ear, backed by the warmth of his panting skimming the hinge of his jaw as fingers twist in his hair, tugging his head back. The sting is just the right side of painful, forcing him to arch his spine, to push his ass back onto Tony’s thick cock.
Post-mission fucking has become kind of A Thing these days, ever since Peter nearly got taken out during a mission and Tony had lost his shit, freaking out before pressing Peter down into their bedsheets, driving his cock so deep Peter could almost taste it.
They haven’t even made it to the bedsheets, this time. They’re not even home. The concrete of the floor scrapes his palms where he scrabbles for purchase, desperate for leverage against the brutal way that Tony fucks into him, like he’s nothing but a tight, hot sleeve for his cock.
“Still so loose and sloppy, baby. My cock really ruins you, huh? Leaves you open and gaping like you’ll never be tight again” and Peter cries out, because its so fucking good. Good enough that the dust and rubble around them almost doesn’t bother him. He’ll feel gross later, and demand a shower, but right now the thick, hard tip of Tony’s cock is abusing his sweetspot, and his mind is a mantra of fuckyespleaseharderohgod.
The hand in his hair stops pulling, and presses his face down into the dirt, hard enough that the floor is like sandpaper on his cheek. There’s a chunk of beam keeping his hips up enough for Tony to shift, forcing his legs together so his thighs are squeezed shut, and he’s trapped.
Peter’s heart ticks up a notch.
“Bet if I held off even for a day you’d come crawling on your knees, begging for it” Tony rumbled against his neck, teeth skimming the vulnerable skin there as he draped himself over Peter, pinning him down with all of his weight. Still wearing the suit - Its a considerable poundage to bear, Peter’s back and thighs instantly tensing with the strain.
It would be hot, any other time. In the safety of their own bed, with soft sheets and luxury pillows. Now, its dirt and dust in his nose and the darkness of the crumbled building around them, Tony’s weight squeezing his ribs down around his lugs, trapping his limbs so there’s nothing he can do except lay there.
Peter sucked in a sharp breath, breaking off into a sobbed gasp as Tony pressed him down harder, trapping his arms underneath his chest as he sank his cock deep into his plaint little body, forcing it to part around him, as deep as it seemed he could go and then even deeper.
“T-Tony” Peter rasped, whimpering and writhing under the larger man, sucking in heaving breaths as the trembled. Tony cooed at him, pressing his cheek down into the dirt, braced on his forearm as he squeezed Peter down.
“Fuck, darling. So tight. Like I’ll never get my fucking cock back” Tony snarled at him, words thick-sweet and breaking through the sudden roaring in his ears. Peter twisted and mewled, trying to get his arms out from underneath him, but Tony clicked his tongue chidingly and ground his hips down, shoving Peter back into the dusty concrete.
“P-Please. I can’t - Its too much, Tony” he rasped, trying to get the right words out between hitching sobs.
“Aw, poor baby. Still not used to taking it big, huh?” Tony cooed, patronising and full of faux-concern as he rolled his hips, grinding Peter into the dust like he was typing to leave an imprint of him there. Peter wailed and shook his head as much as he was able, ignoring the way that the rubble dug into his soft cheeks and rubbed the skin there raw.
“N-No. Tony I can’t...I...Ple- Huntsman” he manages on a broken cry, and in a movement too quick for him to even register, the weight lifted off him, gone in a gut-wrenching moment of relief. He was distantly aware of the slow, dragged slide of Tony’s cock pulling out of him, leaving him open and gaping and exposed.
“Hey, Pete, Peter. Hey, baby. I’m here. Stay with me” Tony breathed, kneeling down in the dirt besides him with his still-hard cock slapping against the pelvis plate of the suit smearing the gold there with cum and lube. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and shifted, squirming in the dust to curl into a ball as he sucked in billowing breaths, trying to calm himself down.
“I’m sorry” he whimpered, tucking his arms around himself for protection. “I didn’t mean - It was...”. He can’t finish the words, can’t admit that even in the middle of getting dicked down by Tony, the Vulture haunted him. The feeling of his own crushed bones was a ghost he couldn’t shake.
“Oh, sweetheart. My precious boy. Its okay, you’re okay. You can breathe, in and out, nice and slow. In...Out. Good” Tony’s gentle, low murmuring was easy to latch onto, a strong contender against the hammering of his heart and the roaring of his rushing blood. He felt sick, dizzy, and before he even realised what he was doing, he was reaching out for Tony.
Warm, flesh fingers curled around his own, holding with careful tenderness. Peter forced his eyes to open a little and noted that the suit had bled away, leaving Tony on his knees in the dirt in the slacks and shirt he’d been wearing before Director Fury had come storming into the Tower.
“Am I okay to come a little closer?” Tony asked softly, and Peter gave a hitching nod, closing his eyes again as he shook on the floor, trying desperately to shake the feeling of being trapped, crushed. It felt like the slabs of concrete were still there, digging into his fragile skin, grinding his bones together.
“I’m here, baby. I’m right here” Tony shushed his increasing sobs, thumb gently rubbing the side of Peter’s hand, giving him plenty of space but sitting close enough that Peter could scent his cologne, his sweat from the mission and their fucking.
There was a scuffle, the sound of a belt, and then Tony was talking again, gently. “Hey, baby. Do you think you can put your head on my leg? The floor is all dusty” Tony soothed, and Peter sniffled but shifted, obligingly lifting his head enough that a thick, strong thigh could take up the space between his scraped cheeks and the dirt.
“There’s my good sweetheart” Tony praised, still gently rubbing circles along the side of his hand. Peter’s breaths were less laboured now, but he still felt hot and humiliated, embarrassment leaking into the space that the panic left behind.
“You did so well, darling. I’m so proud of you. You know that, right? My precious little darling. So good for me” Tony hummed, one hand hesitantly settling on his shoulder, featherlight and giving him plenty of time to express that he didn’t want it. He kept his touch light, thumb sweeping gentle arcs across the muscle.
“I’m okay” he sniffled, opening his eyes. Tony had tucked away his cock and was sat on his ass, body leaned slightly away so he wasn’t looming over Peter, gaze soft and concerned. “I’m sorry. I just - It was the dirt, and I couldn’t move, and it-”
“Hey, baby. You don’t have to tell me, okay? You don’t have to explain it. You did so well, you used your safeword and I’m so proud of you. Take deep breaths, baby. Nice and slow. We can stay here for a while”. Tony’s hand swept a little lower, brushing his hip, and Peter could feel the tickling coolness of nanotech blanketing his bare ass, covering his exposed hole, as light as his touch.
“How about when we get home, we have a nice, hot bath, hm? Bubbles, that smelly shit you keep bullying me into buying...”
“That you secretly like because you use it when I’m not there and think I don’t notice” Peter responded in a wet mumble, shoulders hitching slightly on a soft giggle. Tony had made a big show of fussing and sneezing and sniffing himself the first time Peter insisted on having a ‘proper’ bath, but the younger boy knew his mentor had secretly grown to adore them.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I still say if I wanted to smell like that, I’d go sit in a florists’ shop for a few hours” Tony shot back, but his voice was light and amused as he continued to pet at Peter, feeling the way the boy’s rabbiting heartbeat began to slow as he calmed.
“As opposed to smelling like grease and rust?” Peter asked, voice a little rough from his crying. It felt like they’d only been sat here for a few minutes, but when he caught sight of Tony’s watch, he knew it must have been at least half an hour since his freak out. When he shifted, he felt cold and sore, arousal gone and leaving discomfort in its place.
“You wound me” Tony huffed at him dryly, hand sliding slowly and carefully up into his hair, scrubbing through it gently and using his thumb to sweep aside clumps of dust and rubble. “You feel okay to get up, sweetheart?” He asked after a pause, and Peter nodded, groaning softly as he uncurled, he and Tony using each other to wobble to their feet.
“I’m -”
“If you say you’re sorry again, I will be forced to do something soppy and over emotive” Tony warned him, and Peter closed his mouth, flushing, before opening it again.
“Thank you” he said instead, and Tony gave him the most achingly sweet smile.
“Anything for you, darling” the older man murmured, ducking down to press a sweet, loving, gentle kiss to Peter’s mouth as his fingertips skimmed his hips, dragging the nanotech up and over his body, ready to take them both home.
