Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Thank you to my beta, WithinHerHeart :)

Chapter Two

Peter had never been in love.

He'd had crushes of course, and for a long time he thought he was in love with Gwen Stacey, the chief of police's daughter – and maybe he was, but it seemed insignificant compared to what he was feeling now. He was talking about real love, honest to god, pure and unadulterated love – the kind that he had grown up surrounded by, and had always wanted to find for himself.

And now, maybe he had found it, and he was at a loss of what to do.

He couldn't even be sure when it really happened, but he remembered the exact moment when he realised it.

It was a Thursday, and once again, he had met up with Wade in the empty corridor. It had been happening for a few weeks, a little over a month by that point. While his dads (and sometimes, the rest of the Avengers) trained he could wander away until he found the mystery man, which was always a different location every time. Sometimes he'd be leaning against the walls, waiting for him, and other times he would swing down from the rafters as he had done the first time – usually that was because he had done something that warranted hiding. Wade had never questioned why Peter searched him out, almost as if he expected it, although he had arched an eyebrow questioningly, his lips pulled into an amused smile, when Peter had rounded the corner and run straight into him.

It was almost as if he appreciated the company; at least, that's what the teenager had told himself when he began to question why the older man would actually want to have a sixteen year old hanging around him.

Wade was telling him about his last mission with such a childlike excitement that Peter was completely drawn in, wide eyes following the over exaggerated movements of his arms as he used them to make his point. He was an excellent storyteller, not as good as his father but definitely up there – he even made the sound effects and everything. Peter hugged his knees to his chest, his back rested against the wall behind him, and listened with avid interest, He remembered hanging onto every word, a small smile playing on his lips. In that one moment, he could honestly say he didn't want to be anywhere else.

And then suddenly, he had to leave. His Uncle Bruce had come looking for him while his dads and Uncle Clint were showering off – after all, vigorous work outs weren't exactly advisable – and he eyed Wade in a way that forced a blush to Peter's cheeks, like he had been caught making out with his boyfriend rather than just having a conversation with a new friend.

Wade stood up and brushed imaginary lint off his trousers, and gave him a wide smile. "Ah, I've got to go anyway, as fun as this was. I have paperwork to do – well, what I mean is I'm going to hide from Coulson so he doesn't make me do the paperwork I need to do." He poked Peter in the centre of the forehead, a goodbye that had become normal for them, and winked playfully, "Later Petey. See ya, Green Man." He saluted Bruce, who waved awkwardly back, before continuing on his way.

Bruce shot his nephew a knowing look, his arm moving to rest around his shoulder. "So this is where you go every day, we were beginning to wonder…" he muttered.

"Nothing happens," Peter quickly assured, "I mean we talk that's it. Well, mostly he talks, about his missions, but still, that's all that happens."

"Don't worry Peter, I'm not going to tell your dads, it's not my place," Bruce shrugged indifferently, "But I think you should."

"Why? Nothing's happened."

"Maybe, but I think we both know that you want something to."

And he did. In passing thoughts, he would wonder what it would feel like to have Wade's lips pressed against his own, or have his hands holding onto his hips, dragging him closer so their bodies were flushed together. And on late nights, when he would touch himself beneath the duvet, he would wonder what kind of lover Wade would be; whether he'd be rough, pin his arms above his neck and rock into him with jagged movements that made him want to cry out, or would he be gentle, pressing kisses along the arch of his neck and keeping him on edge, his pleasure strung out, until he was begging for more, for it to end, for anything. Even now, as he walked away further and further away from the other man, his heart felt heavy and he had to swallow the uncomfortable feeling that rose in his throat.

It was that realisation that brought him here, now, standing outside his father's study and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. He took a heavy breath, trying to work up the courage to actually enter the room. Uncle Bruce had been right, of course, he needed to tell his parents about it – more importantly, he needed their advice, now probably more than any other time. He knocked hesitantly on the door and gently pushed the door open, poking his head through the gap.

Tony glanced upward from the plans that were spread out across the wooden desktop, his glasses resting low on his nose, and a large smile crossed his face when he saw his son. He brushed the frames up onto the bridge of his nose and gestured the boy into the room.

"Peter, hey, what's the matter?" he questioned.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" Peter replied warily.

"Because the only times you've ever come into the office is when you've done something to annoy your Papa – something you haven't done since you were eight, I might add – or if you need someone to talk to," Tony told him knowingly, "Was your Pa busy?"

Cheeks flushing at how apparently obvious he was, the teenager muttered, "He has a meeting with Fury…"

"So you do need someone to talk to,"

"I need advice," Peter corrected with a heavy sigh, dropping into one of the large chairs that Tony had positioned in front of his desk. He kept his eyes low, focusing on fiddling with the fraying upholstery, but he could see the way his father leant forward slightly in his chair, arms resting on the papers across his desk, hands clasped.

"What about?" his dad pressed after a long pause.

He took in a deep breath and forced the words out on an exhale, "…how did you know that you loved Papa?"

"Love," Tony repeated slowly, "You came to me…for relationship advice?"

Peter flushed pink but didn't say anything, biting his lip and waiting patiently for the answer to his question.

Stark sat back in his chair, blinking thoughtfully. "Uh, um, that's difficult to say. I'd always had a crush on Captain America, even from when I was a child, and when we first met, well, your Papa and I didn't exactly get along. I suppose I always did love him, in my own way, but it took me years to actually see that. Um…"

"I want to know…what it felt like…" Peter said, trying to be more specific.

"What brought this on Peter? D-do you…do you think you love somebody?"

"…Maybe…"

Tony eyed his son closely, taking in the way he wouldn't meet his gaze; the way he chewed at his bottom lip; the embarrassment that was clear along his face. He wasn't sure how he felt about the fact his son – his little boy – was telling him he might love somebody – he was such an adult concept to him, to feel that strongly about someone, and it worried how fast Peter was growing up – but the boy need help, it was clear in his mannerisms how much this was truly affecting him and he couldn't ignore it.

"…It's difficult to explain, Peter, I suppose it's different for everybody," he finally spoke, his voice low and thoughtful in a way that encouraged the teenager to glance up at him through a curtain of hair. "For me…I suppose I realised how hard it was to be without Steve. He was always there for me, something I took for granted until he had been injured on the job and the stupid serum was having difficulty repairing the wounds and all I could think about, was finding a way to fix him, to bring him back to me, and how once I did, I wouldn't let him go again…"

"…How does that feel? The, uh, needing Papa to be there?"

"When he wasn't, it…hurt, I guess. Like a dull ache in my chest that had nothing to do with the arc reactor. I could live with it, sure, but my moods were all out of whack and no one else could deal with me. And when he was, it was like…" he struggled to find the right words.

"…like you're lighter…like everything that's holding you down normally, that worries you in day to day life – it just disappears and all that's left his you…and them," Peter finished quietly.

"Yeah…yeah, that's it," Tony nodded. He shuffled the papers on his desk distractedly, giving the boy a few moments to think about what he had just realised, before the temptation became too much to bear. "So, um, who is the lucky girl?"

"Uh, not a girl…" Peter admitted, glancing at his father nervously.

To his credit, Stark didn't react. "So, it's not Miss. Stacey then?" he teased.

"Ah, god no, I mean, sure, yeah, I like her, a lot, but um, not like this…"

"So who is he?"

"Older, much older – I think anyway. I haven't actually asked his age to be honest," he scratched the back of his neck, almost sheepish that he didn't know such a simple thing about the guy his supposedly loves; "…He's an S.H.I.E.L.D agent. When you and Papa are in the gym, I meet up with him and we…talk."

"Just talk?" Tony arched an eyebrow.

Peter blushed red at the implications. "Yes we only talk. God, I don't even think he swings my way…"

"Peter, we're Starks. It's like a whole, new sexuality all in itself," he joked easily, making the boy smile just a little. He tilted his head. "So…are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know…"

"You should," Tony stated firmly, "If I hadn't told your father how I felt about him, we would have spent the rest of our lives skirting around each other – and then we wouldn't have you, or our family, and any other little ones that come our way."

"So you've decided to adopt again?" Peter questioned, sitting up straighter.

"Hmm, we're still debating over whether we should take up your Aunt Pepper's offer as surrogate but," he shrugged, "we'll see."

That night, Peter couldn't help thinking about the future; about what would happen if he took that plunge and told Wade how he felt, and he felt the same way. He thought about dates and kisses and the sex – okay, yes, he thought about the sex a lot, but he was a teenage boy and masturbation was like an Olympic game to him. He thought about if he had what his dads' had; about tying the knot and maybe, somewhere far in the future, having children of his own.

He didn't think about being rejected. He didn't think about the dangerous missions that Wade took on, or his apparent inability to die, or how one day he might want something more and leave him.

He found Wade again in the hallway, already sitting cross-legged on the floor, gulping down his Styrofoam cup of coffee – black, eight sugars, no milk – like it was the elixir of life. Maybe it was, the secret to his anomy, Peter mused as he approached the man, an awkward distraction from the way his heart of pounding so heavily in his chest.

The agent looked up at him and grinned widely. "Petey!" he greeted, "I was beginning to think you weren't going to visit today!"

"Sorry, was held up with my parents," he lied easily, sitting down carefully across from him. Yeah, if that's code for, spent fifteen minutes pacing along the last corridor to build up the courage to come see you again…

"So, um, are you going to tell me the rest of the story?" he continued with what he hoped was an eager smile, rather than one that mirrored the uneasy churning of his stomach.

If it was, it didn't seem like Wade had noticed. "Oh, you mean the Dubai mission? So, I was fighting the bad guy along the landing strip of his private plane…"

To be honest, Peter tuned out the words, and listened intently on the sound of his voice. Just the flow of his speech, the habits that broke through the clear speech that he was unable to get rid of. The way he put firm emphasis on words that didn't really need it, or the way the words sped up, jumbling together, whenever he got really, truly excited about something. He watched the way Wade's lips moved; the way that pushed together and rolled; the flick of his pink tongue that brush across his bottom lip every so often.

Peter imagined what kissing him would be like. From a distance, his cupid's bow looked soft, almost vulnerable, especially when compared to rest of his body and the harsh outline of muscle and strength. He wondered whether Wade would use that power to his advantage, holding him in place, pining his arms above his head, leaving him unable to move and completely at his mercy. Or would he want to be gentle, to counteract the brawn he uses every day, and press encouraging kisses along the arch of his neck, his jaw and his lips, wanting Peter to make the first move.

Would Peter want to make the first move? He certainly didn't want to here. The last thing he needed was to make a fool out of himself with someone he saw as a friend, not just held romantic feelings for. Tony's words from the day before circled in his mind.

Maybe he should take a chance. He never knew what would happen. Maybe Wade would rebuff him, but at least he would know for sure.

He wasn't sure what would be worse: never knowing whether you'd have a chance, or definitely knowing you wouldn't.

Words escaped him before he could stop himself. It was almost as if one part of his brain – the hopeful part, apparently – took control while the rational side was arguing with itself and made the decision for him. When silence fell around them, Peter was pretty certain that his heart was going to beat out of his chest. His eyes were wide, firmly trained on the man across from him, and he pressed his back up as far against the wall as he could, almost as if he were trying to distance himself.

Wade had paused mid-sentence at the unexpected question, his hand still hovering in place from where he was demonstrating the size of an explosion. His eyes, usually wide and filled with happy emotions, conveyed nothing and that only seemed to make Peter move nervous.

Why had he said that? God, he was such an idiot! Wade was going to hate him now, he knew that for sure, and he'd never want to speak to him again and he didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't share these moments, these wonderful times that had made him care so deeply for the S.H.I.E.L.D agent, something that he would miss more than anything. Why didn't he just keep his mouth shut? The hurls and hurls of abuse that welled up in his mind were silenced by one sentence.

"What did you say?" Wade wondered, his voice riddled with disbelief.

Peter swallowed heavily and, against his better judgement, stuttered out the question once more. "W-would y-you…go on a…go on a d-date…with…me?"

When Wade didn't answer straight away, he continued, "I'm sorry, I've made you uncomfortable haven't I? Just, god, this was stupid of me. I shouldn't have…but we can still be friends right? If we forget that this ever happened?"

"You mean…you want to forget that you asked me out?" Wade responded, the serious and maybe a little disappointed (well, there was Peter's hopeful side again) a massive contrast to the happy and eager way he had spoken before. His arms were lowered now, resting in his lap, and he stared at the younger boy across from him critically, almost as if he were trying to figure him out.

"If that's what you want, and it means we can keep doing this," he gestured between him, "without it being awkward, then yes, yes I'd be happy to forget."

"…But only if I want to?"

"Uh, yes…"

"And what if I don't want to?" Wade wondered, leaning forward on his arms to close the distance that Peter had put between them.

"Uh, um, w-wha…" he stuttered nervously.

"What if I don't want to forget?" the agent repeated slowly, "What if I want to say yes?"

His heart stuttered at the sudden question and his eyes widened in a mixture of confusion, disbelief and anticipation. "Say yes…?"

Wade hummed, nodding slightly. "You better think of something magical for our first date Petey," he ordered good-naturedly.

"Huh…s-something m-magical-l?"

"Uh, yah, you are the one who asked me out. That's your responsibility," he winked playfully, and stood up suddenly, "How about next Saturday, six o'clock? You can pick me up from here."

Unable to do anything else, Peter nodded dumbly.

"Good," Wade looked satisfied. His gloved hand slipped under Peter's chin and tilted his head upward so he could press their lips together in a firm kiss that forced the teenager's mind to go blank. He flicked his tongue along his bottom lip, tasting him just briefly, and smiled widely at him. "Until then Petey," he muttered his goodbyes.

Peter watched him go with wide eyes.

"D-did that…just happen?" he murmured to himself, one hand absentmindedly coming up to brush his fingertips across his lips, that were still tingling pleasantly, almost teasing him with the knowledge that yes, that did just happen.

His lips twitched slightly, letting out a breathy laugh. Yup, his lips are as soft as they look…