sexpollensterek

by Suicide44

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Preface

The Truth Is (An Act of Love)Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/23213890.

Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Iron Man (Movies)

Relationship:

Peter Parker/Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark

Character:

Tony Stark, Peter Parker, James "Rhodey" Rhodes

Additional Tags:

Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Truth Serum, Age Difference

Stats:

Published: 2020-03-19 Words: 15629

The Truth Is (An Act of Love)

by Mireille

Summary

AIM injects Tony with truth serum. Which is utter crap, of course, truth serum only happens in the movies.

Except that he's spilling out a lot of things that he intended to keep secret forever, and to the worst possible person.

Notes

Peter is under 18 in this fic. (I opted for "Choose Not to Warn" because he's 17, which is legal in New York State, and also because I'm contrary, but back out now if that bothers you.)

--

This was one of the fics I wrote for Marvel Trumps Hate 2019. Thanks to soft_princess for all her help, as always.

See the end of the work for more notes

The Truth Is (An Act of Love)

*

"I'm not going to say anything," Tony says, the words ground out between gritted teeth, because he doesn't want to talk, is terrified of what he's going to say if he starts talking, but he can't help himself.

Maybe it's just fear. "It could be," he reassures himself. "I'm tied up in a tiny dark closet, and I'm not a big fan of either the dark or feeling helpless. And I tend to talk a lot under stress."

An infinitesimal pause, and then more words spill out. "And when I'm excited. And when I'm preoccupied. And when I'm awake, and I've had more than one person tell me that I talk in my sleep, too. So that's probably it."

There's a noise outside, far enough away that Tony can't identify it, but there's a flare of hope in his chest. He doesn't want to talk about that, because he still remembers the security feed that the assholes in the yellow beekeeper costumes showed him to get him out of his armor: Spider-Man searching through files on a computer, with a red laser sight centered on the middle of his back.

Peter's sixth sense should have told him he was in danger, Tony knows that, but maybe the general level of danger was enough that he couldn't pick out one specific danger among all the other threats. Or maybe he knew that it wasn't an immediate threat, because Tony would give them his armor if it meant keeping Peter safe.

He can't stop talking, but nobody has told him to talk about anything specific, so he keeps going about how much he doesn't believe that this situation is real.

"I mean, truth serum? Truth serum is movie bullshit, it isn't real, no matter what you think. I don't know what was in that shot you yellow-suited weirdos gave me, but it's not truth serum, it's not working, I'm not going to tell you anything you want to know."

He's sure they're monitoring him, in case he spills anything important, and he's not going to. Nobody's come to ask him any questions, so he can talk about whatever he wants to, and if he runs out of ways to express what complete bullshit this is, he'll start telling them about the sexual tastes of 1990s supermodels and starlets.

He'll make it up if he has to, but he can go a long time without having to. The nineties were an interesting time to be him.

The noise outside is getting louder, and so Tony talks faster, trying not to think about what might be going on out there. "I'm not naming any names," he says, "but this one time, in Miami, this gorgeous woman--you'd know her name if I told you, some of you probably had posters of her on your bedroom walls in high school--"

And then the locked door bursts open; Tony blinks hard against the sudden brightness.

A moment later, his vision has cleared enough that he can see Spider-Man standing in the doorway, and, just behind him, a figure in yellow webbed to the far side of the hall.

"Gun," Tony blurts out, trying to focus, because the sight of Spider-Man, of Peter, standing there has caused all kinds of words to well up in his throat, things he doesn't want to let anyone hear.

Things he won't even say out loud to himself.

"What are you talking about? Mr. Stark, I don't have a gun, I don't--"

"They showed me security footage, you were at a computer and someone had a gun pointed at your back, and you didn't even notice--I thought you were supposed to notice things like that?"

And shit, yeah, he can't resist answering a question, so he can't let anyone ask him any more questions until it wears off. He can keep up a flood of babble until he gets to his armor, and then have Friday shut off the speaker that lets people hear him when he's in there.

Peter shrugs. "I don't know. My--that weird feeling I get has been going off like crazy ever since we got in here anyway."

"I was right about that, then," he says, relieved that he has something else to talk about. "But he could still be out there, you need to--"

"Pretty sure he's the guy stuck to the ceiling of the server room," Peter says. "There's really nobody left loose in here. Between Colonel Rhodes and me, we disarmed them, and then I webbed them up. There are people stuck to the walls, the ceiling, the floor..." He chuckled a little. "I'm not proud of it, but there's somebody webbed to a toilet with his pants down."

Tony breathes a sigh of relief.

Peter's still talking, which makes it easier for Tony to not talk.

"Colonel Rhodes is searching the rest of the building," Peter says. "We're going to get you out of here. Did they hurt you?"

"No," Tony says, because it was just a needle, it didn't actually hurt. "But don't ask me any more questions, just untie me and get me to my armor."

He clenches his jaw tightly, because he wants to keep talking, to keep telling Peter how glad he is that Peter's safe, and then to go on to reveal all the things Tony has been clamping down on for a while, all the inappropriate feelings that he's been keeping at the back of his mind, waiting for them to go away.

It'll be fine if Peter doesn't ask any questions. Tony can talk about other things--he's doing it right now, telling Peter about the truth serum. "Which is bullshit, I told them, that's spy-movie crap, but it kind of seems to be working, and there's something about it that makes it really hard for me to stop talking but it's going to be okay. Just don't ask me any questions, please," he says again.

And of course, of course, Peter's insatiable curiosity leads him to ask, "Why not, Mr. Stark?" which Tony really should have predicted.

He tries to keep his mouth closed, so that even if the serum forces him to speak, it'll be unintelligible, but it feels like his jaw is going to break from the struggle against the compulsion to open his mouth. He gives in before it does.

Which means Peter hears him clearly when he can't stop himself from saying, "Because I don't want to tell you anything I'm thinking, but I can't not tell you--Did you know you have the most amazing mind I've ever met? That's why I love you: you're never, ever, boring, and sometimes even I can't keep up with you. Everyone bores me sometimes. And in a few years, once you get a little more education, I'm not going to be the smartest person in the room any more, and I don't even care."

"Mr. Stark?" Peter's voice is soft and confused, and Tony can't make himself look at Peter at all. He can't, because somehow Peter can convey a lot of emotion even through the mask, and he can't stand the thought of seeing how horrified Peter is.

Hell, Tony's horrified himself, because oh, fuck, no. This is everything he's always told himself he's never going to do. This is the stuff he tells himself is okay, doesn't make him a bad person--any worse than he already knows he is, anyway--because he's never going to breathe a word of it to anyone.

But he's started now, and he can't stop. "That would be bad enough," he says, "but hell, couldn't you be ugly? I'd probably fall for you anyway, with that brain of yours, but no, you have to be this, this gorgeous little twink with an ass that looks perfect in the suit, so I can't even say 'it's just his brilliant mind,' because it's really not. I mean, it's your mind, but it's definitely not just your mind."

He closes his eyes. This is absolutely not okay, there is no way this is okay, and fuck whoever these guys in the beekeeper suits are, because this is their fault. They really should have invented a better truth serum, one that doesn't make him spill out all of his highly inappropriate and unethical fantasies about a teenager.

"A couple of weeks ago," he says, the words spilling forth like a dam bursting, "when I took you with me to that presentation, and then we got hot dogs on our way back to the lab? Yours dripped mustard on your wrist, and you licked it off, and Jesus, I have never wanted to be a condiment more in my life. Or ever before in my life, it's not something I've considered prior to now. And maybe you should go out into the hall," Tony adds quickly.

That seems to get Peter out of his stunned silence, at least for a moment. "I'm going to get you untied," he says instead.

"Don't bother on my account," Tony says, fucking hell, of course he does. He still has his eyes closed, so he doesn't see how Peter cuts through the ropes around his ankles and wrists, doesn't see how Peter reacts when he says, "Seriously, have you ever considered the potential uses of your webbing?"

He doesn't want to know how Peter reacts, because he can envision it all too clearly. "Because believe me, I have," he goes on, "and I'm not saying I'm begging you to push me down, web me in place, and fuck my brains out, but I am saying that I've thought about it more than a couple dozen times. I hate myself so much right now for saying any of this, God, I never wanted to say anything like this, but I can't stop, it's that shit they injected me with, I can't stop talking about this."

"You're good to go," Peter says, and Tony loves him even more for how he's pretending he isn't hearing any of this, leaving Tony a few scraps of dignity.

Which, of course, he can't not tell Peter. It makes a change from what he's been telling Peter, but he only gets a brief reprieve before he's back to his least favorite conversational obsession.

"At least I'm telling you how stupidly charming it is that you do that little skipping thing when you're happy about something--every time you do that in the lab I have this terrible urge to go over to you and kiss you, but don't worry, I'm never going to do it, I swear--and I'm not telling you about all the fantasies I have about your mouth, and your ass--fuck, I just want to devour you, eat you out until you're crying because it feels so damn good, and--"

With his hands free, he can clamp them over his mouth, but it doesn't stop him, just makes it less likely that Peter's going to hear how much Tony wants him.

Or how much Tony adores the way he always carefully pronounces "Planck," in "Planck's constant," with the German pronunciation because he wants to get things right, even though it's perfectly okay to pronounce it like "plank" if you're speaking English.

"Please, for the love of God, find something to gag me with," Tony says, "because I'm about to tell you that it's charming that you can't tell AC/DC from Led Zeppelin from Black Sabbath, and you don't need that kind of ammunition, and also you really don't need to know that I love you so much that it makes up for your terrible taste in music."

Peter doesn't gag him. Instead, he says, "Hold on, Colonel Rhodes is calling me," and Tony tries to just breathe and not talk for a few seconds.

"Good news," Peter says, "he found your armor." And then, into his comm, "Maybe you should help him with that. You know more about the armor than I do. I'm with him now; Karen's sending you my location. I'll keep watch in case we missed anybody."

Tony expects that Peter will leave then, and he'll have a blissful minute or two to try to get his shit together before Rhodey arrives. After that, he's going to track down whatever recording devices he's sure they have attached to this makeshift cell and blast them into atoms, because no one needs to hear this.

Not even the two of them who already have.

But Peter doesn't leave, and that means Tony's reduced to telling him, in between the pornographic images, the really humiliating things. Wanting Peter isn't that kind of humiliating, because wanting to fuck a hot teenager might be wrong, or at least the actual fucking would be, but nobody's going to be surprised about that.

No, the humiliation comes from confessions like, "I keep thinking that once you're eighteen, I could take you everywhere, let everyone know that we're together, that this person who is brilliant and funny and so much better than me is mine. And once you finish college, we could be together all the time, we could wake up together and work together and fight crime together and go to bed together, and it'd be perfect."

He takes a long, shaky breath. "And this is the most humiliated I have ever been in my life, and I once took a piss in the armor at a party."

"He really did," Rhodey says, and Tony opens his eyes to see War Machine looming over him, and a red-and-blue suit heading down the hall at full speed, obviously eager to get away from Tony.

"Truth serum," Tony says, as quickly as he can. "If you don't ask me any questions, maybe I can stop embarrassing myself."

Rhodey just looks at him for a long moment, long enough that Tony wants to ask him how much he'd overheard, and settles for continuing to list off other times that he'd royally embarrassed himself in public. It would have been a longer list, but he doesn't embarrass easily.

"Let's get you and your armor reunited," Rhodey says. "It's not far from here. And then Spider-Man and I will take care of handing everyone over to the authorities. You should probably get home. Or to a hospital to get yourself checked out."

"I feel okay," Tony says. "Okay, not true, I feel like absolute shit, but I think I'm okay physically. If this doesn't wear off, or if I start feeling bad once it does, I'll think about it, but right now I really just want to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment."

Then he thinks of something. "Scan this place for listening devices. We have to make sure none of this gets out." He's less worried about his own reputation than that he's said enough, even without using Peter's name, that someone could figure out who Spider-Man is, and that'll put Peter in danger.

"I'll take care of that," Rhodey says. "The building's clear--Spidey webbed down anyone who moved. Did he tell you about the guy on the toilet?--so just go. Down the hall to your left, take a right, third door on the left. I'll take care of any listening devices and figure out whether or not there's a recording anywhere."

Rhodey's armor doesn't have its own AI, just a basic computer control, because the military doesn't trust Tony's AIs.. But Tony doesn't like leaving his best friend to hang like that, so Rhodey can tap into Friday if he needs to, and the DOD never has to know. Between the two of them, Rhodey and Friday will be able to locate and destroy any potential recordings.

"You're a godsend," he says, "a way better friend than I deserve," which is not only true, but also something he might have even said without the serum.

"That's what I keep telling you," Rhodey says, and then Tony's running down the hall, keeping his mind on how pissed off he is at these fucking yellow-suited dipshits so that all that comes out of his mouth is how much he hates them and their stupid truth serum, laced with profanity in every language Tony knows.

He recognizes the room where his armor is; it's where he took it off in the first place. They hadn't had a chance to do anything with it. Pity, because there'd have been a few nasty surprises waiting when they tried.

He feels himself relax once he's back inside. "Friday, turn off the comms. Turn off the speaker. I don't want to be able to talk to anyone unless I specifically tell you so."

"Okay, boss," Friday says, and at least she doesn't ask any questions. "The armor is undamaged," she volunteers.

"Best news I've had all day. Let's get out of here."

There are police cars arriving when he takes off, but he's happy enough to let Rhodey and Peter deal with it, because all he wants to do is get back to his apartment and lock himself in until the serum wears off, so that he can't make things worse.

He's not sure what "worse" would look like--spilling SI and Avengers secrets to the beekeepers, he guesses, because he's already done enough that's terrible.

"Christ," he says, relieved at the thought that no one is going to hear him; even if they were close to him, they'd hear his muffled voice, but not be able to make out his words clearly. "Jesus fucking Christ, Tony, you just told a teenager about all the fantasies you have about his ass."

He tries not to think about the other things he blurted out, about how much he adores Peter, because those might be even worse.

*

Hey, T, you feeling okay?

Tony rubs the bridge of his nose as he reads the text, willing the ibuprofen he'd swallowed a few minutes ago to kick in. His sinuses are killing him, and his mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton. It's the worst hangover he's had in a very long time, and he didn't even drink last night, wary of how alcohol might interact with whatever the active ingredients in that truth serum were.

That's before he gets into how he's probably traumatized the best lab assistant he's ever had.

Eventually, he types, I've been worse, and doesn't specify that when he has, he's usually either found himself in the hospital, or should have been in one.

The truth serum has worn off, anyway. Around nine o'clock last night, the pressure to talk started fading, and before Tony finally went to bed, he was able to tell several outright lies in a row: "My name is James Rhodes. My lifelong ambition is to be a used-car salesman. I think science is stupid. My only feelings for Peter Parker are those of a mentor for a talented student."

So he's definitely been worse.

On my way over, Rhodey replies. Bringing food.

Gatorade, Tony suggests, even though he knows Rhodey will assume that he hit the bottle the minute he got back here yesterday. He'll clear that up later. Not because he cares if Rhodey thinks he got drunk, but because he figures they should share information about that serum. It might be useful.

See you in 45.

Rhodey must not be that far away, then, if he's going to pick up food and Gatorade and still make it here in under an hour. That gives Tony just enough time to get a shower and see if he can start feeling a little more human.

He's going to feel like scum no matter what, but at least he can feel like scum that doesn't have a headache.

Forty-five minutes later, a long, steamy shower and the painkillers have taken care of most of his headache; nothing hurts now, but there's a distinct sensation that the pain could return at any moment. A couple of glasses of water followed by some vigorous toothbrush work mean that his tongue isn't sticking to the roof of his mouth, either.

He doesn't feel great, even just physically, but at least he feels capable of facing what he's expecting to be a tense conversation with Rhodey.

From the tone of the text messages, Rhodey doesn't hate him, but that doesn't mean this is going to be a fun little chat.

Rhodey's at the door about two minutes later, carrying two big paper bags that smell like chiles and coconut, and a smaller plastic one, transparent enough that Tony can see the bright colors of the bottles of sports drink inside.

"Tell me that's tom yum in there." Tony grabs for the bag, and Rhodey lifts it up out of his reach, the same way they've done every time Rhodey has brought over his favorite hangover remedy, for decades.

"I was going to bring burgers, but once you asked for Gatorade, I changed plans." Rhodey lets Tony take the bag of Gatorade from him and goes through into Tony's kitchen, setting the food down on the table.

Tony doesn't remember the last time he actually ate at that table. The caterers had set out food on it the last time he threw a party, but that's not the same thing.

But Rhodey's unpacking oversized containers of soup, sticking one in the refrigerator and leaving the other on the table. "There, you have no excuse to not eat later," he says, when Tony raises his eyebrow at that.

"Thanks, Mom," Tony says. Rolling his eyes makes that sensation of potential headache stronger, but it's worth it.

He drinks half a bottle of violently-yellow sports drink before he sits down at the table. There's lime to squeeze into the soup and a few extra packets of sriracha, in case it's not hot enough, because Rhodey knows him. Tony's not that big on intensely hot food, but there's nothing better when he's hung over or sick.

Rhodey's already digging into his container of curry; there are a couple of bottles of soda in with the Gatorade, and he takes one and opens it. "So," he says after his first sip. "I take it you drowned your sorrows last night."

"Surprisingly, I did not," Tony says. "This is all the aftereffects of whatever they injected me with."

"The kid found the formula for it," Rhodey says. "What do you want us to do with it?"

"I'll have Friday search the internet for anything that matches it," he says. "We're going to eradicate all traces of the formula. It won't stop anyone else from inventing it, or these guys from re-inventing it--"

"Not these specific guys," Rhodey says, "not for a while. The Advanced Idea Mechanics laboratory is apparently nothing but this kind of research. They've been closed down, and Nick Fury himself came to collect our prisoners."

Tony manages a smile at that. Fury's survival isn't exactly public knowledge, even though he's come out of hiding. He figures seeing that face looming up at them scared the shit out of a few of the scientists.

"Those files you guys collected--"

"They're here," Rhodey says, patting his jacket pocket. "I figured you and Peter would want to go through them yourselves."

Tony winces, but doesn't say anything about Peter. "Yeah, I should get on that later today." Peter's not due for another session with Tony in the lab until Friday afternoon; yesterday's lab time had been given over to taking down the Evil Beekeeper's Association.

But that's not what Tony means, and Rhodey obviously recognizes that. "About the kid," he says, and Tony braces himself.

Rhodey obviously doesn't despise him for whatever he overheard, whatever Peter told him about what Tony said under the influence of the truth serum, but there's a lot of space between "despising him" and "being completely okay with him," and he's not sure where in that space Rhodey falls right now.

"What about him?"

"He didn't tell me anything about what you said to him, but I'm pretty sure I can guess."

"Oh, really?" His voice is sharp; he knows he's trying to pick a fight, and he doesn't really want to fight with Rhodey--hell, Rhodey's one of the few friends he has left, he really doesn't want to lose him--but he's guilty and angry at himself and he's never able to stop himself from being an asshole when he feels like this. "And what makes you think that I care about what you've guessed?"

"Tony." Rhodey's voice is calmer than Tony would have expected. "I'm not here to rip you a new one."

"Aren't you?"

"I know, I'm as surprised about it as you are." He takes another bite, then shrugs. "I've seen this coming for a while, but since you never seemed like you were going to do anything about it, I figured we could all just pretend it wasn't there."

"That was the plan," Tony mutters. He spoons up some broth and sips at it, then adds more sriracha from a packet.

"You've never done anything, right? With Peter, I mean."

Tony lets the spoon drop back into his bowl. "Except for blurting out embarrassing shit under truth serum and having a lot of inappropriate thoughts, no. Of course not. Jesus, what kind of a monster do you think I am?"

It only seems like a few days ago that Peter was a kid, trying to convince Tony that he wasn't Spider-Man, that Tony must have made a mistake. How could Tony have done anything?

"Great," Rhodey says. "I mean that. That's great, because Peter just turned seventeen, what, a month ago?"

"Two," Tony says. It's not that he was paying attention to when Peter turned seventeen, specifically. It's that he remembers things like when Peter's birthday is. He has a perfect memory for things that matter to him, which says a lot about his past relationships that he'd really rather not think about.

"Okay, two. The point is, he's just barely seventeen, so if you'd ever done anything, at least more than two months ago, we'd be having a very different conversation. As it is, you wouldn't be committing a crime, which is a plus. The state of New York thinks Peter's old enough to decide he wants to have sex."

He shakes his head. "I don't know if I think the state of New York has its head in its ass about that one or not, but still, not a crime."

"He's still my intern," Tony says, because he knows all the arguments against his feelings for Peter.

Rhodey snorts. "We both know that internship is basically bullshit. It's cover for Spider-Man, and it lets you give the kid a paycheck so that he doesn't have to dumpster dive for a Macintosh SE30."

"And a scholarship," Tony adds. That was one of the things he'd tacked onto the "Stark Internship" almost immediately, before he even really knew anything about Peter beyond, "Holy shit, he can pick up a bus," and then an even more impressed, "Holy shit, he made that web fluid in a high school chemistry lab."

"And a scholarship," Rhodey echoes. "The point is--"

"Also, it gives me an excuse to get him in my lab, and that's totally selfish, because I have never had so much fun in the lab."

"You going to stop interrupting me any time soon?" Rhodey shakes his head. "Anyway, the point is, that's not even a real internship, and you wouldn't endanger Spider-Man by yanking it even if Peter won't fuck you."

Tony shouldn't feel proud of that, but he does. Rhodey's right--he wouldn't have even considered that. So maybe he does have some standards. Go, him.

"You're right," he says. "I wouldn't. I'm not exactly a great guy, but I wouldn't do that to him."

"I know. But even with that, you do get that I'm not exactly thrilled about this, yeah? We are way too old for either of us to be involved with a kid who is still in high school, Tony, why are you doing this?"

"I'm not doing anything!" He realizes he's yelling and takes a couple of breaths, then drinks some more Gatorade and stirs his soup idly. It's getting cold. He'll heat it up in a while, if he doesn't throw it at Rhodey's head first.

"I'm not doing anything," he says again, more calmly. "And I don't intend to do anything. I never even meant to say anything."

At least not now. He'd made himself a deal. His feelings for Peter were going to fade, but if they didn't, if he still felt like this when Peter graduated from college--and if neither of them had found someone else in the meantime--he could say something then.

But that's a lot of ifs, and five years is a long time, so "never" feels enough like the truth.

"But then some lunatics in yellow shot me up with truth serum," Tony goes on, "and I told him everything. Everything, Rhodey. You know me. You know how much 'everything' covers."

Rhodey grimaces. "That can't have been fun for either of you."

"It wasn't," Tony says. "But I didn't have a choice, no matter how much I wanted to just stay quiet, so here we are. But that doesn't mean I intend to do anything, so you can stop worrying. Not even I'm enough of a sleaze to seduce a teenager."

"No one's calling you a sleaze," Rhodey says. "And I agree, seducing a high school boy isn't the most awesome and responsible thing you can do. But on the other hand, spending time with Peter is just about the only thing that makes you happy lately."

Tony gets up and sticks his soup in the microwave, then collects the empty Gatorade bottle and drops it in the recycling. He opens a second bottle, this one bright pink, and drinks some so that he doesn't have to say anything.

"We haven't been having a great time lately," Rhodey says.

"We?" Tony shakes his head. "Nothing in my life even starts to compare with what you've had to deal with."

He makes himself look down at the braces on Rhodey's legs. He usually can't bring himself to look at them unless he's working on them. They're too strong a reminder of the price Rhodey's paid for being Tony's friend.

"You and Pepper split up. The Avengers split up, and that's not even counting that we still don't know what happened to Bruce. That's bound to take its toll. Don't argue with me; I've been worried about you."

"Again, Rhodey, if I decide I need a new mom, I'll take your application, but--"

"Shut up, Tony," Rhodey says. He sounds tired. "For more than a year, the only time you've seemed like yourself--not some bullshit front to convince everyone you're fine, but actually yourself--is when Peter's around."

He pushes his food away from him and leans back in his chair, sighing. "God knows the kid lights up every time he sets eyes on you. I was calling it hero worship, but he knows you way too well for that."

"You're saying he wouldn't like me once he got to know me?"

"I'm saying that hero worship doesn't last long once you get to know the actual person who drinks too much coffee and makes stupid jokes and occasionally skips showering for way too many days in a row because that would mean leaving the lab," Rhodey says. "So that's not what it is. He really likes you, at the very least. So, you know, I still don't think this is great, I'm still not thrilled, but it's just barely possible that this isn't a total fucking trainwreck waiting to happen."

Tony drinks some more of the hot-pink sports drink. It's starting to taste a little salty to him, so he might be rehydrated. He'll finish this one and then switch to coffee. "So, what? You're giving me permission to fuck a teenager?"

"You don't need my permission. You need his."

Tony shrugs. He's not going to talk to Peter about this again, even if Peter is willing to talk to him, period.

"But you'd better be sure about this," Rhodey says. "I've seen the way you've treated a lot of the people you've been with over the years. I know you really tried with Pepper, but she was an exception. If you treat Peter like he's disposable, we're going to have words."

Tony tries to conceal the revulsion he feels at the thought of anyone treating Peter that way, not just himself. He must not do a very good job, because Rhodey studies his face for a moment and then gives him a tight smile.

"Okay, yeah, the look on your face right now? That's why we're having this conversation, and not the 'stay the fuck away from the kid' talk."

"I'm planning to stay the fuck away from the kid, though," Tony says. "He couldn't get away from me fast enough, and I can't blame him. I'm pretty sure I've scarred him for life just by talking. Imagine what he'd do if I tried to seduce him."

"For the sake of an argument," Rhodey says, "let's say you haven't scarred him, and you don't stay away from him, and he's happy to be seduced."

"Fine." It's a ridiculous argument, but okay, Tony can go along with it, at least to get this conversation over with. "Let's say you're right. What's your point?"

"When people find out, there's going to be a lot of shit in your lives."

Well, that's so blindingly obvious that Tony doesn't think anybody needed to point it out. "You think? A middle-aged man dating a teenager? A teenage boy?" A lot of people would be outraged if it was a girl, but it being a boy means that even the "marry 'em off young" crowd would be disgusted.

"Yeah," he continues, "There's going to be shit. I'm going to be ripped apart on Twitter. A lot of Iron Man action figures are going to hit the bargain bin. But I can deal with shit. You know I can."

"I'm not worried about you," Rhodey says. "You ought to know how to handle a shitstorm by now; you've stirred up enough of them. And you know I have your back."

It's easy to smile at him for that. Yeah, despite everything, despite all the reasons that a sane person would have run screaming from Tony at least twenty years ago, Rhodey has his back. He always does. "I know."

"But Peter? How are you going to protect him from all the shit?"

"I can't. Not totally." Thirty years ago, he probably could have sheltered Peter, but these days, thanks to the internet, it just isn't going to be possible.

"Fair enough," Rhodey admits. "But how are you going to help him get through this? He's had a normal life--don't laugh, I know he's Spider-Man, but his home life has been pretty normal. He didn't grow up like you did, where you saw how your dad handled reporters. Even as Spider-Man, all he has to do to not deal with it is take off the suit and go back to being Peter Parker."

Tony thinks about it. If he and Peter were together, they'd need to be very careful for the next several months, until Peter finishes high school and turns eighteen. The optics of "Tony Stark dating college student" are very different from "Tony Stark dating high school boy," even if the difference is only a couple of months.

And then he'd go to his publicist. Let them know what's going on, develop a strategy for how to get this information out. Emphasize that protecting Peter, not Tony, is the important thing, even if Tony's the one paying them.

He and Peter would brazen it out. They'd refuse to apologize for anything, because there wouldn't be any part of this that Tony would be sorry about, and he'd make damn sure that Peter wouldn't regret it, either.

Hell, Tony was far more worried about how Peter's aunt would react than the rest of the world.

"I'd do everything I could," Tony said. "I mean, this isn't going to happen, but if it did, we'd control the story. I'd protect him as much as I could. I'd get in front of things and take all the heat, and then when I refused to apologize, everyone would eventually get bored and move on to a juicier story. I couldn't protect him from everything, but I could do a lot."

Rhodey nods. "So you've thought about it."

Tony laughs at that. "I've thought about everything that even remotely relates to Peter," he reminds Rhodey. "But this is all hypothetical, and I still feel like shit. I want to eat my soup and drink some coffee and try to get a little more sleep. So if there's anything else you want to talk about, can it wait until tomorrow?"

Rhodey nods. He picks up his soda and finishes the bottle, then gets up to put it in the bin. "Yeah, there's no point in talking to you when you're being stubborn and grumpy anyway."

He shrugs. "Whatever you decide to do, I don't think the kid hates you," he says. "So that's a bright side, yeah?"

"Yeah," Tony says, though he's not sure that he can believe it.

Rhodey takes a flash drive out of his pocket and sets it down on the table. "Before I forget, here's that data." Tony can barely look at it; it's too much of a reminder of what the formula on that drive did to him.

He follows Rhodey to the door; he even lets Rhodey give him a one-armed bro-hug on the way out, even though he's more than a little annoyed with him right now.

This morning, everything was shit, but at least he'd been clear that he was never acting on any of his impulses, that the only thing he'd do to acknowledge what he'd said to Peter before was to apologize for it.

Now--he still isn't going to act on those impulses. Peter still wouldn't want him to act on those impulses.

But thanks to Rhodey, all he can think is, but if I did. If he did. If we did.

And somehow, that makes things even worse.

*

Happy's not here and it's 3:15.

Peter spends most Fridays in the lab with Tony, since he doesn't have to squeeze homework in around Spider-Man patrol. But Tony hasn't heard from Peter since Tuesday, the day of the raid on the Advanced Idea Mechanics lab, which isn't like Peter.

It doesn't surprise Tony, though; why would Peter want to come spend unnecessary time with Tony after everything Tony blurted out under the effects of that truth serum?

He's been assuming that Peter doesn't want to come to the lab this week. Maybe he'll be back next week, maybe next month, maybe never, but right now, at least, he wants to avoid Tony.

Except before Tony figures out what to say, there's another text coming in: Do I wait, or take the subway, or what?

Whenever Peter's scheduled to be in the lab, Tony sends a car for him. It's faster than public transit, or Peter web-swinging all the way from Queens, and Tony hates wasting any of the time he gets with Peter.

Fridays are regular, so that's on Happy's calendar every week, even though Happy points out every week that he's not actually Tony's driver any more.

But today, he's sure that Peter doesn't want to see him right now, so he'd texted Happy this morning to cancel.

Except here's Peter, asking how he's supposed to get to the lab.

Sorry, Tony texts back. Slipped my mind. I lost track of time. He's never told Peter that he has "Pick Peter up @ school" on Happy's official calendar, so maybe Peter will believe that.

He texts Happy quickly, ignores everything in Happy's reply after On the way, and then returns to the conversation with Peter. Hang on, Happy's coming.

@ bodega across from school. Hungry.

Tony passes that information on to Happy and tries not to wonder why Peter would want to work with him. He can think of a lot of reasons Peter wouldn't quit entirely--the thrill of the research itself, the way it looks on his college applications--but he can't imagine not taking a week off, at least, to let the dust settle.

But not that much later, Peter's there, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his smile just as friendly as it ever has been.

"What are we going to work on today?" he asks. There's an orange swipe of cheese dust on his jeans, a clue to what snack he grabbed after school. There's going to be a string of annoyed texts when Happy sees the Doritos dust in the back of the car, and Tony ought to be on Happy's side.

But Peter's here and doesn't seem to hate Tony for what he said, so Tony doesn't care.

"Nanotech," Tony says. His new armor is almost ready, and they're going to start on a nano-suit for Peter after that, although he's saving that news for a surprise. Today, though, he's had an idea about surgical nanites that he wants to play with.

He pulls up screens of schematics and equations--he's been saving this project to work on with Peter, so it's all just theoretical at the moment--and starts explaining what he wants to try to do.

Amazingly, it's just the same as it's always been, Peter catching on quickly to what Tony wants to do, bouncing ideas back and forth with him like Tony has never been able to do with anyone else. Working with Bruce came close, but Tony and Peter are in sync to an unbelievable degree.

Tony's heart swells in his chest with how much he loves this, how much he loves Peter, even if that's something he should always have kept to himself.

There's nothing wrong with loving Peter, he tells himself. He'd never intended to say it. He'd never intended to do anything about it, so there's nothing wrong with it. And Peter must understand that, too, because they're working together like Tuesday never happened.

Almost like Tuesday never happened. Every now and then, Tony catches a glimpse of Peter's expression, when he doesn't think Tony's looking, and it's thoughtful. Worried. Not quite a frown, but definitely not a smile, or even Peter's normal look of concentration.

As soon as he notices Tony's looking his way, though, that expression fades; he goes back to chattering about the work they're doing.

"But what if you look at it this way," Peter says, pointing at an equation on one of the displays and making a few changes. "Yes, the energy demands are greater, but this isn't like your new armor. This is surgical tech. It doesn't have to be sustained for very long, right? As soon as it's done repairing the injury, the nanites are supposed to self-destruct, so energy efficiency isn't as necessary, and they should be able to transform faster--"

"--which is a bonus with surgery, when time can be a factor," Tony finishes. He almost reaches out and squeezes Peter's shoulder, the way he does when they've figured something out, especially when Peter's the one who's seen something Tony hasn't. Like now; he's so used to trying to minimize energy consumption that he hadn't realized he doesn't need to, here.

But Tony's not going to do that, because he's seen the way that Peter looks at him. He's lucky that they still have their working relationship. The thing that Tony's reluctant to call a friendship only because Peter's so young, and at Peter's age, Tony would never have considered a man of almost fifty his friend.

So he lets his hand drop back to his side and turns back to the display.

"Mr. Stark," Peter says, quietly, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Tony says immediately. "Why wouldn't I be fine?"

Peter makes a face at him. "Because the last time I saw you, you definitely weren't fine? I mean, I don't know if that truth serum did any physical damage--"

"I had a hangover," Tony says. "It wasn't the first time. Spicy food, painkillers, and Gatorade--I was okay the next day."

Peter gives him a little smile, but he isn't distracted. "But when I left you with Colonel Rhodes, you were definitely not doing okay."

That's one hell of an understatement. "I admit I wasn't exactly at my best," Tony says, trying to brush it off. "But the serum wore off that night. I'm fine now. Nothing to worry about. I won't be blurting out any of my deepest secrets to you again."

"Okay," Peter says, and for a moment Tony thinks that it's all over and they can just get back to work.

Just for a moment, though. Peter turns to look at some of the diagrams on another display, but Tony can hear him take a deep breath, can see his shoulders rise and fall with it. His voice is quiet, but steady, when he says, "I know it was awful for you. I understand that, and I'm sorry, but I kind of liked some of it."

Tony thinks about being helpless to keep from blurting out every thought that crossed his mind, about spilling his secrets, about how he'd have been unable to keep himself from betraying everyone and everything he cares about, if those scientists had come in to ask him questions.

"What." He blinks at Peter for a moment before he can find the rest of the words. "What did you like about that?"

Peter turns back to face him. "Not the part where it was making you miserable, obviously. Not the truth serum. But..." He takes another deep breath, chewing on his bottom lip. "The thing where you actually told me how you felt? I didn't think that was ever going to happen, so I can't be sorry that it did."

No, it wasn't ever going to happen. It shouldn't ever have happened, because Peter is seventeen years old, and Tony doesn't want to be that kind of man.

"Yeah," he says finally. "But here's the thing, Pete. Some things might be true, but that doesn't make them anything you ever needed to know about. They were things I never intended you to know."

It's still not quite the truth, because there were those half-plans in the back of his mind, but it's true enough. Besides, it feels reassuring to be able to shade the truth a little.

"And I get that," Peter says.

Tony wonders how he ever thought, earlier, that Peter was afraid to be around him, because Peter's looking him in the eye, and he sees nothing but challenge in Peter's expression.

"But what if they were things I wanted to know?" Peter says. "I'd have just asked you, but I knew you'd never tell me. So I hate that they injected you with that stuff, I hate that you were forced to say all of that, but I'm glad you did, anyway."

"You wanted to know that," Tony repeats. "You wanted to know all of the things I've been thinking about you? About what I want to do to you. About what I want you to do to me." He shook his head. He wasn't sure why Peter was saying this, whether it's an attempt to make him feel better or what, but it can't be right.

"No," Peter says, confirming what Tony has just been thinking. Then he shakes his head. "Not exactly, anyway."

He pulls out a chair and sits down on it backward, looking ridiculously young, which does nothing for Tony's self-loathing. Then he waves at another chair, just like this isn't Tony's lab and Tony's chair in the first place.

Tony sits anyway, and once he does, Peter starts talking again.

"I wouldn't have been mad," he says. "Or grossed out. If all you'd been thinking was the sex stuff, and how much you like looking at me. It would have been okay." He ducks his head, a pink flush staining his cheeks. "I think that kind of thing about you all the time, Mr. Stark."

Given that Peter's seen Tony's secrets laid bare, Tony thinks he should probably say, "Call me Tony." He's about to say it, but then an image flashes through his mind: him sprawled on his back, Peter buried deep inside him, calling him "Mr. Stark" as he fucks him. He clears his throat instead.

He can't think of anything to say, not to a revelation like that. Not anything appropriate, anyway.

Peter doesn't seem to need a response, though. "If that was all it was, it would be okay, but I wouldn't want to do anything about it. It'd be kind of hot, thinking about you while I knew you might be thinking about me, too, but... there are a lot of reasons why it'd be a bad idea, you know, for us to do anything. And if it was just a sex thing, that doesn't really outweigh all those reasons."

Tony finds words now. "That makes sense." It's the kind of thing that Tony has been telling himself for a long time.

Peter nods. "Yeah, it would," he says. "But that's not what you said. The first thing you told me was that you--it was about how you think I'm smart, and I'm not boring. And even when you were telling me that you like the way my ass looks in my suit--which you made for me, and you did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"I did not," Tony says emphatically. "At least not the first few times." This last time, definitely. The time before... not intentionally, but that was when he'd noticed.

"Uh-huh," Peter says, smiling. "But like I was saying, even when you were telling me all that kind of stuff, you kept mixing in things about... me. Not about how I look, or about sex. You kept telling me you like spending time with me, that you think I'm smart, and funny, and you're proud of me."

Tony sighs, because it might have been less awkward if Peter's reaction to all of this had just been "My mentor wants to have sex with me, ugh." But then he says, "Yeah, I did say that."

"And that's why we're talking about this," Peter says. "Because it wasn't just sex stuff. You don't just want me, do you? You--you like me."

"You could say that." Tony isn't sure whether Peter's self-censorship is to save Tony's dignity, or because Peter's uncertain. Either way, he's not going to let it stand. If Peter's not just willing to sweep this under the rug, then Tony's going to keep telling the truth.

He can't leave things hanging like this forever. However this works out, and Tony still doubts it's going to be good, he doesn't want to drag it out.

"But that's not what I said, was it?"

"No," Peter admits after a second. "You said you love me. Is that--I mean, is it true? Really?"

"They don't call it truth serum because it lets you make up bullshit," he says.

Peter's answering smile is as bright and beautiful as the light from an arc reactor, and despite everything, Tony finds himself smiling back.

"Cool," Peter says.

"Cool," Tony repeats, shaking his head.

"Awesome?" He grins at Tony again. "And, Mr. Stark, you know that I--"

Tony pretends he doesn't hear that last part. "What would be awesome," he says, "is if we got back to work."

He knows what Peter was about to say, obviously; he's not that oblivious. And it's not that he doesn't want to hear it, because no matter what he keeps telling himself, he does.

But he doesn't want Peter to say it without having thought it through completely. Tony will be fine if Peter doesn't feel the same way about him, obviously; that's always been a strong possibility. But if Peter changes his mind--that's going to hurt like hell, and Tony'd like to avoid it if possible.

So he's going to give Peter plenty of time to be sure before Tony lets him say it.

It seems obvious right now that they're doing this. That Peter isn't upset or disgusted or frightened by what Tony feels for him--by any of what Tony feels.

So tomorrow Tony's going to have to call his publicist, remind her of all the NDAs she's signed, and tell her to start coming up for a strategy to manage this. Two strategies: one if they can make their relationship public on their own terms, and one if they get found out before they're ready.

But today, they're going back to Peter's idea for increasing the speed at which the surgical nanites form themselves into the right shapes.

They do that for a while, and it's almost like any other day in the lab except that when Tony points out something in the simulation running on the display, Peter doesn't just lean over him to get a better look; he rests his hand on Tony's shoulder, his fingers grazing the back of Tony's neck.

Their conversation is just like usual, too, a mixture of what they're doing right now, and the things that happened on Peter's patrol yesterday, and the Spanish test that Peter has on Monday. But they're making eye contact more than they usually do, instead of remaining focused on their work, and at least once, when Peter says, "Mr. Stark," there's something in the way that he looks at Tony that makes Tony wonder whether Peter was able to read his mind, before.

After a while, they both agree that they've hit a wall for the day; Tony will come back to this, in the morning if not before, but right now they need to let the problems they've run into percolate in the back of their minds for a while, concentrating on something else to let their subconscious minds toy with finding a solution.

They switch to building the new version of Peter's web shooters, and when Peter seems to be having trouble getting one of the nozzles calibrated properly, Tony could just tell him what he should be doing. That would be easy enough; it's what he would have done on any other day.

But today, he puts his hand over Peter's, guiding him into the correct movements.

There's still plausible deniability, he tells himself. Then he listens to the way Peter's breath hitches, just for a second, and it doesn't matter how plausible it is, he knows neither of them is going to deny this.

He should feel guilty about this. He should feel terrible. Peter is seventeen.

But Rhodey's right; the only time that he's felt happy lately--not just okay, not amused or entertained or content, but really happy--has been around Peter.

Right now, he's happier than he's been in a long time, and the way Peter's smiling lets him hope that Peter is too.

They work until Peter's phone alarm goes off. After a few missed curfews and a few more missed chances to patrol before curfew, he'd started setting an alarm for seven when they're in the lab, so he has a chance to spend some time on the street as Spider-Man before May expects him home.

"Want me to shut things down?" Peter asks. Sometimes Tony goes home when Peter leaves. More often, he doesn't.

He thinks there's another question under the one Peter actually asks. He thinks that if he makes the suggestion, Peter will skip patrol tonight, and come home with him.

It's not that he doesn't want it. It's that he wants, for once in his life, to do this the right way.

"No," he says. "I'm going to work for a while longer."

He turns toward Peter, reaching out with one finger to tip Peter's chin upwards. Peter's still shorter than he is, but not much, these days; in a year or two, it might be Peter doing this to him.

Peter closes his eyes even before Tony leans down to kiss him. It's clearly in anticipation, though, not from anxiety; when Tony's lips touch his, he opens his mouth a little, sighing happily into Tony's kiss.

Tony keeps the kiss soft and gentle, but he can't resist the temptation of slipping his tongue past Peter's parted lips. He's rewarded by another soft little sigh.

It makes it difficult for him to break the kiss and step back, but he does it anyway.

Peter's tongue darts out to run over his upper lip. He's not trying to be seductive at all, Tony knows that, but at that moment, he wants Peter so much that he almost forgets his desire to do this right, to let Peter take his time.

Almost. He forces himself to say, "Happy's waiting downstairs," instead.

Peter nods. Impulsively, he leans in and kisses Tony again, just a small, quick peck. But it's something he chose to do with no urging from Tony, and that's reassuring.

"I'll text you after patrol," Peter says, because he's been doing that ever since Tony stopped letting all Peter's texts and calls go to Happy, except for the last couple of days.

"I'll be looking forward to it," Tony says, because he always does. He likes knowing that Peter's home and safe. Now, he can admit that he likes the contact, too, knowing that Peter's thinking about him.

He's been calling it cheesy and juvenile and ridiculous, among other, less flattering, things, but Peter would probably call it romantic.

Maybe it is.

*

Peter's late-night texts are usually something like "Back safe!" and the highlights from his patrol. Some nights, those highlights are just "nothing happened," and sometimes it's a detailed description of the crimes he stopped. One night, it was a five-message-long tribute to the excellence of the burrito Peter ate after patrol.

Tonight, the text comes in at about eleven, just when Tony's thinking that it might be time to wrap things up and head home.

It's only one message, not the usual string of texts, and it's not even words.

It's just a single, fairly simple equation:

x2 (y - cbrt(x2))2 = 1

It's nothing Tony recognizes. It's not complicated, but it's also not something with any significance that he's aware of.

He starts trying to visualize it, so that he can figure out why Peter would be sending it to him. He thinks, maybe, that he's getting the shape of it, but just to be sure--

"Friday? This last text I got. Can you show me the graph of that equation?"

"Here you go, boss," she says immediately, and a display blinks into life, showing a standard coordinate plane with the equation graphed on it.

It's a heart.

Peter texted him an equation whose graph is a heart.

Peter is possibly the most ridiculous geek that Tony has ever met in his life, and not only does Tony work in tech, he went to both MIT and summer D camp.

It's... charming. It's sweet. Tony's not used to thinking of anything, or anyone, in his life as "sweet," but Peter Parker is, demonstrably, sweet.

He's still trying to feel guilty and ashamed for this, but he can't stop smiling, so he thinks it's a lost cause.

The only thing he texts back is, x2, Mr. Parker.

*

The next day, Tony is scheduled to speak to a bunch of engineering grad students at Georgia Tech, and Peter already has plans to spend the day with Ned and MJ, so their only communication is via text. None of them are equations. Tony's only a little disappointed.

But Sunday, Iron Man follows Spider-Man out on patrol. They have a routine: Tony stays high in the sky, or on rooftops, watching Peter in action and occasionally giving him intel. Peter doesn't really need his help, so Tony hangs back and lets him do his thing.

Today, the only deviation from that routine is that along with the suggestions of situations Spider-Man might want to check out are also comments like, "Looking good, Spider-Babe," because he can, and because they make Peter laugh, and because he suspects that Peter is blushing under the mask.

Spider-Man finishes webbing a purse-snatcher to the side of an apartment building and swings up to the fire escape, shouting down to the woman whose purse has just been returned to her. "Call the police!" he says. "Tell them Spider-Man says hi!"

Tony chuckles. "Tell them Spider-Man says hi?" he echoes over the comm, and hears Peter laugh.

"Sometimes I leave a note," he says. "Break time?"

"Okay," Tony says. "Where?"

Peter points out a building, but when Tony starts in that direction, he says, "Not yet. I want ice cream."

Tony would give him anything he wanted: cars, houses, his own island. But Peter wants ice cream, so that's what he gets.

He doesn't even ask for a double scoop.

It's not long before they're on the rooftop Peter chose for their break; Tony's faceplate is open, and Peter has his mask pulled up to just below his nose so that he can eat.

He's sitting just close enough that he's leaning against Tony's armored side, but not close enough that it'd be obvious to people on the street that Spider-Man and Iron Man are essentially cuddling.

Peter has just finished a long and involved story about calculus class and Flash Thompson--who Tony would dearly love to find out was some kind of criminal, so that Iron Man would have an excuse to punch the little shit in the nose--and Tony feels incredibly old, because it's the kind of thing that means a lot to someone who's still in high school and very little to someone who can barely remember it.

But Peter's laughing at the end of it, and Tony can't help but laugh, too, because he can see what's funny about it even if it's not as side-splittingly hilarious as it is to Peter.

Peter's been a lot bolder about flirting with him today. Tony would say it was with mixed success, because Peter's attempts at intentional flirting have involved things like batting his eyelashes at Tony, which is frankly absurd. And then pulling his mask on quickly to hide behind it, which was even more absurd.

Then again, the end result is that Tony is completely charmed, so maybe the flirting is a success after all.

And Peter must have noticed that Tony's been watching him lap at his ice cream cone--yeah, Tony's the cliché of a dirty old man, he's decided to lean into it--because Tony's pretty sure that the next time he takes a lick of cherry-chocolate-chip, he tries to make it look dirty.

He gets ice cream on his mask instead.

"Crap," Peter says, wiping the mask off. "That wasn't how that was supposed to go."

"How was it supposed to go?" Tony asks, laughing.

"You were supposed to think I was really hot and sexy, and have a lot of suggestions for other things that I could do with my mouth."

Tony grins at him. "It worked fine, then." He looks around for a moment, for traffic choppers and drones and anyone else who might be able to see them. It's as clear as a New York Sunday afternoon is going to get, so he leans over and kisses Peter, whose mouth is cold from ice cream and tastes a little like cherries, even if Tony feels that's uncomfortably on the nose under the circumstances.

"Come home with me," he suggests abruptly. "You've done good work out here today, and you have a few hours before May expects you back, right?"

He doesn't like thinking about May. Peter's going to have to talk to her one of these days soon. They can't be sure they'll be allowed to keep this quiet until they're ready, and while Tony doesn't think she'll be happy no matter what, she'll be a lot less happy if she finds out from someone other than Peter.

But right now, he's not going to think about May as anything but the reason Peter has to be home on time.

"Yeah," Peter says, beaming at him. "I should go find somewhere to change out of my suit, then, I guess?"

Tony shakes his head. "Spider-Man coming to my apartment is probably going to excite a lot less suspicion than my cute young intern showing up at my door," he points out.

"So are we going to have Happy pick us up, or what?"

Tony thinks about that for a moment. They could, but Tony isn't ready for Happy to know any more than he probably thinks he does already.

Peter's webs can get him across neighborhoods quickly, but not as quickly as Tony's suit can fly. "I'll give you a ride," he says, and then laughs when the visible part of Peter's face goes red.

"Maybe later," he promises, just to see the blush deepen. "I meant--" He stands up, lowering his faceplate, and reaches a hand out to Peter. "Hold on tight."

"I'm not done with my ice cream," Peter protests.

"Then hold on with one hand," he says, wrapping his arm around Peter's waist.

Peter's ice cream cone is lost after the first block, but that just means that Peter is clinging to him with both hands as Tony flies them back to his apartment.

Peter goes quiet once they're inside. "Are we--what do you want to do?"

"Whatever you want," he promises, pushing back all the images of Peter in his bed. "Go ahead and change if you want," he adds. "I'm going to get out of this."

Peter takes his bag and disappears down the hall; Tony calls, "Third door on the right," without thinking, and then smiles because he's directed Peter to the master suite. There's a guest bathroom, and a spare bedroom, and Tony's office, but Peter belongs here. Tony's room is his, at least while he's here.

Tony gets out of his armor and opens the door to the balcony before having Friday send it back to the armory. Then he goes into the kitchen and pours two glasses of soda. He keeps it on hand as a mixer, mostly, but it's the most age-appropriate thing he has, besides water.

He wouldn't draw the line at letting Peter have a drink if he wanted one, but he's sure Peter doesn't want one. He thinks about adding something to his own, but decides against it.

Not this time. One drink isn't enough to affect his judgment, but Tony wants to go into this with his head as clear as he can get it.

When he comes back into the living room, Peter's sitting on the couch. He's perched on the very edge, his hands on his knees, looking like he's afraid to touch anything.

"Relax," Tony says. "It's fine. I told you, we're not doing anything you don't want. We can sit here and watch movies, if that's what works for you today."

Peter shakes his head. "No, it's not... I just don't want to break anything."

Tony frowns. He sits the glasses down on the coffee table and then sits next to Peter on the couch. He puts an arm around Peter's shoulders, and Peter leans into the touch immediately.

"I'm totally in favor of you not breaking anything," Tony says, "but I don't know why you're worried about it."

Peter waves his hands in the air as an answer. "This place!" he says. "I'm pretty sure the couch costs more than everything in my aunt's apartment put together, and what if I mess something up?"

Tony shrugs. "Then I get it fixed. Or I replace it. You're not afraid of breaking things at home, are you?"

"Of course not."

Tony thinks about the apartment Peter and his aunt live in. "And if you did break your aunt's couch somehow, what would she do?"

"Replace it, I guess," Peter says, then adds, "Eventually. She'd probably have to save up."

"So, don't break my couch on purpose, but you're allowed to sit on the furniture, and drink out of the glasses, and anything else that you'd do in anyone else's apartment." This might be a bigger issue than their age, but right now, Tony isn't going to think about it. They'll work it out somehow.

Peter relaxes more, and Tony takes the opportunity to kiss him. He only has a vague plan of how he wants this to go; he's going to take direction from Peter's responses.

He doesn't think they should take things too far, though, not today, and he wants to go slowly. Peter should have as many chances as possible to call a halt to things if he decides this isn't what he wants, or even just not what he wants today.

Tony cups Peter's face in his hands, then kisses him again. Peter's a little more confident today than he was on Friday; he kisses Tony back with enthusiasm.

A few kisses later, Peter puts his hand on Tony's chest, over his shirt, and then hesitates.

"Touch as much as you want," Tony says. Peter clearly takes him at his word, because his hands are everywhere. He doesn't try to get Tony's shirt off, just keeps touching him through his clothes. He keeps his hands above Tony's waist for the moment, but there's not an inch of Tony's chest, back, and arms that Peter hasn't caressed.

"That's good," Tony tells him, in between kisses. "That's great, do whatever you want, believe me, you can't get this wrong."

Another thing that might not be the full truth, but it was close enough. There was nothing that Tony could imagine Peter wanting to do with him today that would be a mistake.

Tony lets his hands roam too: slow, careful motions against Peter's back and arms. Peter looks so slim in his baggy sweatshirts and jeans that even though Tony has seen him in action, he's a little surprised at the muscle he feels there.

It's a good surprise, though. He's always found Peter's strength kind of hot, way before he should have, and he likes the tangible reminder.

He doesn't touch anywhere on Peter's body that Peter hasn't already touched on him, except once, and that's to brush his thumb over the nape of Peter's neck. Then, when it makes Peter shiver, to do it again.

"Mr. Stark," Peter whines against Tony's mouth, and Tony considers again telling Peter to call him Tony.

He rejects it again. They're going to have to talk about that later, but not right now. When they're calm and collected and not actually making out on Tony's couch, and Tony thinks he can explain coherently that while really, you should probably call the man you're dating by his first name, Peter is very much encouraged to keep up with the "Mr. Stark" thing in private.

"You're doing just fine, sweetheart," Tony says. "You're doing great, Peter, you're perfect."

"I'm not," Peter argues. "I'm not fine, this is too slow." He drags Tony in for another kiss, hard and sloppy, full of desperation.

Tony very intentionally pulls back a little from the kiss, gentling it as he strokes slow patterns down Peter's back. Peter's response is to give Tony a pout that Tony probably shouldn't think is cute, and then to climb onto Tony's lap, straddling his thighs to face Tony and go back to kissing him again.

In this position, Tony can feel Peter's erection pressing against his stomach, and he smiles. Okay, he knows where this is going today. Not too far, but if Peter wants him to, he'll give Peter a hand job. He doubts Peter will be ready to reciprocate; if he is, great, but if not, Tony can wait until Peter goes home and then take care of himself.

He doesn't make a move to touch Peter's cock right now, but that doesn't matter; Peter keeps kissing him fervently, and he's rocking against Tony a little. Tony doesn't think he's getting quite enough friction, but that's fine, because then this will last longer.

"God," Tony breathes against Peter's ear, "you're hot like this." He's never been that attracted by inexperience, but Peter's eagerness to learn has a very definite appeal.

It always has, but Tony's never really let himself think about what that would mean in bed.

Peter blushes. "I'm just me," he says.

"Yeah, you are. And you are wonderful. Brilliant. Sexy. And you're doing so well," he adds. "You're being so patient, and you're making me feel so good--"

"Mr. Stark," Peter wails again, and Tony feels Peter's hips stutter, feels Peter arching against him as Peter kisses him clumsily, too overwhelmed for technique.

"That's right," Tony says, revising his plans for the evening yet again. "That's right, come on, Peter, you're doing just fine, you're so fucking gorgeous like this."

Peter's cries are wordless now, and Tony falls silent, watching Peter's face as he comes.

Peter's still trembling a little from his orgasm when he winces and looks away from Tony. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to do that. God, that's embarrassing, you didn't even touch me, I promise next time, I'll do better."

Tony interrupts him with another kiss. "No apologies needed."

"Yeah, but that was--you're probably thinking I'm going to be terrible at sex forever, and maybe I am, I don't know."

"You're delightful," Tony says, and that's not shading the truth even slightly. "And I love you." Another unvarnished truth.

"I know," Peter says, smiling a little, "and I--"

"Probably want to get cleaned up," Tony says.

It's still too early. The heart equation was enough. That can be walked back. Words--those, Tony's going to find too easy to believe, to hard to let go if Peter realizes he was wrong. "If you're okay with going commando, you can leave your underwear in the hamper and get it back next time you're over."

Peter's face falls, but he nods. "Yeah, thanks."

"You feel like pizza?" Tony goes on, because he doesn't want to talk about this. "We'll eat, we'll watch a movie, and then I'll get Spider-Man a car so you don't have to swing back to Queens."

"There can be more kissing, right?"

"There can definitely be more kissing," he agrees, smiling.

"Then, yeah, that sounds like a plan."

Peter sounds a little disappointed, but Tony promises himself that he'll make it up to him, later.

Tony just doesn't want Peter to rush into something that he'll regret, that's all. They just need a little time. It'll be fine.

They'll be fine.

*

Tony had never realized that there are so many equations that create hearts when you graph them, even when you don't count the ones that are simple translations or rotations of one that Peter has already sent him.

That's not the only thing Peter texts him--Tony still gets the patrol reports, and there's usually a bit of flirting back and forth--but it's becoming a habit.

Tony has enjoyed the hell out of the past few weeks. There's been a ridiculous amount of kissing when they're in the lab together; a meeting with Tony's publicists that hadn't gone as badly as Tony had feared; and Peter's hand shoved down Tony's pants for a surprising hand job in the compound's armory.

The surgical nanites are at a stage that Tony can hand them over to a team at SI; Peter's name is attached to the project, just after Tony's, and Tony's considering writing up some of their work for publication, also with Peter's name attached. It'll do a lot for Peter's college applications, and it's a way that Tony can help without getting in the way of Peter's pride or his aunt's wariness.

Peter wants Tony to come to dinner with his aunt, so they can tell her about them. Tony thinks he'd rather eat directly out of a dumpster--he's more likely to survive that experience, for one thing--but he's told Peter to set it up. It's something they need to get over with.

The Tuesday before last, Iron Man watched Spider-Man take down six armed bank robbers, and an hour later, Tony pushed Peter against the door of his apartment the instant they were inside so Peter could receive his first blow job.

A couple of days later, Iron Man showed up on a fire escape with pizza, and they ate a large pepperoni-and-mushroom while Peter talked about his English term paper.

The day before yesterday, Peter had given his first blow job, and once he learned how to keep his lips covering his teeth, it had been good. Tony made sure to tell him so, because the way Peter responds to praise from Tony is priceless.

Last night, a heavy rainstorm had led Peter to call off patrol early, and since May was out somewhere and wouldn't wonder why he hadn't come home when the rain started, he'd come to Tony's place, carrying a box of microwave popcorn and a bottle of soda.

They'd watched a movie and kissed on the couch and, basically, had a date that, Tony's age aside, was the kind of thing Peter ought to be doing on a Saturday night.

It's not the kind of thing Tony usually does on a date, even leaving out the part where there wasn't any sex. But it makes Peter happy, and... it makes Tony happy, too.

It's the kind of thing--apart from the kissing--he'd have done with a friend. He and Rhodey have probably spent weeks of their lives, all told, throwing popcorn at one another and arguing about movies.

Tony hasn't dated a lot of people he also thinks of as friends, but Peter certainly qualifies.

Once they've gone public with their relationship, if they ever get that far, Tony's definitely going to take Peter out, at least every now and then, to the kinds of places that he usually takes dates. There's an element of showing off there--Tony's not fooling himself, he definitely wants the world to see him with Peter on his arm--but also... that's part of who Tony is, too.

He wants to share all of himself with Peter, and even though the "playboy" aspect has gradually fallen by the wayside since Afghanistan, Peter's seen a lot more of the "genius" and "Iron Man" parts than the "billionaire philanthropist" aspect.

Maybe that'll be a deal-breaker, but Tony hopes not.

Especially since he's also planning to have a lot more nights like last nights with Peter, at home, just enjoying one another's company.

And he'd really like to have a lot more afternoons like this one, too.

It's Sunday. Neither of them has anywhere to be for at least eight hours, which is a welcome change. Tony had brunch delivered, since he didn't trust himself to behave with Peter in an actual restaurant; things are still too new, and he's still finding it too hard not to touch Peter at every opportunity.

When Peter got here this morning, he'd kissed Tony, then grinned up at him and asked, "So, today, can I decide what we do?"

"Of course," Tony had said, because he'd have given Peter anything; this isn't much at all.

Which is how Tony has found himself here, on his bed--Peter picked him up and carried him there, which is equal parts hilarious, embarrassing, and hot--naked, with Peter kneeling astride him.

"Just lie there, Mr. Stark," Peter says, grinning down at him. They've had that talk, and Peter calls him "Tony" most of the time, but Tony's glad Peter got the message about when not to.

Peter trails a finger down Tony's chest, toward his stomach. "Let me do all the work."

Tony intends to, sort of. He told Peter they can do anything Peter wants, after all, and Peter wants this.

But Peter's kissing him, running his hands over Tony's skin--everywhere but Tony's cock, damn it--and it's hard for Tony to stay still.

He reaches up to pull Peter down for a kiss. Peter allows it, but then pushes Tony's hands back down to the bed.

"I thought I was going to do all the work," Peter says. "This is the first time I've been in a bed with a totally naked person who's into me. I want to make the most of it."

"Sorry," Tony lies, grinning at him.

"You're not."

"I'm really not, but I promise, I'll try."

The thing is, Tony's not a "lie there and let someone else do all the work" kind of guy, even when he's having sex with someone he's not really all that interested in as anything but a body.

When it's Peter? When Tony wants this--wants everything--to be good for Peter?

He's terrible at it.

He keeps his hands flat on the bed for a while, but then without realizing it, he reaches up to run his hands along Peter's sides.

Peter shivers, but then looks up from where he'd been kissing his way down Tony's stomach. "Mr. Stark, I warned you," he says, sounding stern although Tony can hear the repressed laughter. "Am I going to have to web you down?"

Tony wonders briefly whether Peter remembers what he said under the influence of the truth serum. He doesn't have to wonder long, though, because then Peter says, "Oh, I forgot." He grins down at Tony. "You'd like that."

Then he tries for a serious expression. "I guess maybe if you don't keep your hands to yourself, I'm going to have to do that. Consider yourself warned." His voice drops to a near-whisper. "This is okay, right?"

Tony grins up at him. "This is perfect."

And as soon as Peter goes back to kissing Tony's stomach, Tony puts his hand on the back of Peter's head, nudging him further down.

"Oh, that's it," Peter says, his breath tickling Tony. "I warned you."

He sits up again, grabbing Tony's hands and putting them back at Tony's sides. "Stay," he orders, like he's talking to a not-very-bright puppy.

It's not a tone of voice that Tony finds hot, but there's plenty of time for Peter to work on his technique.

The knowledge that Peter is climbing down from the bed to get his web shooters, on the other hand, is very hot indeed.

Actually, "naked except for web shooters"--there are some built directly into Peter's suit, but they've also kept improving the independent ones, for situations where Peter doesn't have time to get his full suit on, or as backups... or, as it turns out, for this--is also a weirdly good look.

It's a matter of seconds before Tony's hands are secured to the bed. He's not actually restrained; if he wanted to get up, all he'd have to do would be to take the bottom sheet with him. But he's not going to be able to use his hands until either the webbing dissolves, or Peter cuts him free.

That's okay. Tony doesn't want to go anywhere, because Peter's face is red, and he says, "So, um. I know you talked about it, back when, the truth serum? But that doesn't mean you want to do it, so tell me no if you don't."

"I can't tell you anything until you ask me," Tony says, because he's not going to make an assumption, not about something like this.

"Canifuckyou?" It comes out like it's all one word, and if Tony hadn't been expecting it, it would have taken him a few seconds to figure out what Peter's saying.

"Yeah," Tony says. "You can. You should. I really, really want you to."

Peter's blush doesn't fade. "You're going to have to help me a little," he says. "I mean, I've watched porn, obviously, but I've never done this."

Tony knows that, but it's fine. He's more than capable of talking Peter through this. "Get the lube," he says. "My side of the bed--" Not that they've slept together, but one nightstand is empty except for a small lamp and a charging station, while the other has an assortment of clutter on it: a half-empty water bottle, Tony's phone, a box of tissues. It's obvious which side Tony means.

Peter digs in the drawer, and then hesitates. "Condoms?"

They've talked about that, too. Tony's had recent tests. Peter's a virgin. Tony would rather not use them, but he's left it up to Peter.

"If you want."

Peter comes back to him carrying a bottle of lube and nothing else. "You said you've been tested and they were all negative," he says, "and I don't think I can get sick, anyway, so..." He shrugs. "One less thing to think about."

"They make cleanup easier," Tony says. They'll definitely use them when they get around to trying toys. Which they probably will--Peter has been enthusiastic about anything Tony has suggested, and has had suggestions of his own--but not today.

Another shrug. "I know how to work the shower," he points out. He pours some lube into his hands, and then looks down at Tony. "What do I need to do for you?"

Tony grins. "Just get me slick enough for you," he says. "I'm fine, I've done this before." In spite of, or maybe because of, being webbed to his sheets, he's feeling pretty relaxed right now, and he's been making regular use of the dildo Peter either didn't notice in the drawer, or is intentionally not asking about. Besides, he wants this. As long as there's enough lube, he'll be fine. He'll be great.

Tony draws his knees up, spreading his legs so that he's exposed for Peter. Peter rubs a slippery finger around Tony's hole briefly, then pushes his finger in. "Like this, Mr. Stark?"

"That's right, just like that," he agrees. "I knew you'd know what to do. You're such a fast learner. Brilliant." He grins. "Though I'm not thinking about your mind right now. I'm thinking about your cock, and how good it's going to feel inside me."

Peter halts for a moment, shivering a little. Then he pulls his finger out and grabs the lube again. When he pushes in again, it's with two fingers, dripping with the slippery gel, and he works them deep into Tony.

"That's great," Tony reassures him after a little while. "That feels fantastic, really, but it's also enough. If you want to keep going like this, we can, but you can also go ahead and fuck me."

Peter nods enthusiastically. He withdraws his fingers, and soon it's the head of Peter's cock that Tony feels pressing against him. "That's it," Tony says. "Come on, let me feel you."

Peter pushes inside, slowly, urged on by Tony's words. "I love seeing your face like this. You look just like you do when you're concentrating on something in the lab, and you're so damn hot when I can see your brain working," he says, and Peter slides in deeper.

Tony rises up to meet Peter's thrusts, guiding him into a rhythm, and the whole time, he keeps talking to Peter, a spill of words that might sound, a little, like the words torn out of him by the truth serum. "God, you're gorgeous, you're perfect, you're making me feel so good, Peter, I love this, I love having you like this, I love you..."

It's not like the truth serum at all, because every single word is something that Tony wants to say.

But after Peter's hips stutter a few times and he comes, crying out Tony's name as he does, he puts one hand over Tony's mouth while he wraps the other around Tony's cock.

"My turn to talk," he says, beginning to stroke Tony, "because there's something I keep wanting to say, and you keep not letting me. You probably think you have a very good reason," he adds when Tony tries to protest, "but I don't care. I get to say it if I want to."

"I love you. I love that you listen to what I have to say in the lab even though I haven't even finished high school yet. I love that you stay out of the way on patrol and trust me to know when I need backup. I love that you have a stupid sense of humor, and you make ridiculous threats when you're annoyed--you're probably thinking of one right now, aren't you?--and I love being here with you like this and I just love you, okay?"

He paused for breath for a moment, then finished with, "And if you try to tell me I'm not old enough to know better, I swear I'm going to sic MJ on you and let her tell you what a disgusting capitalist pig you are."

He leans down then, takes his hand away, and kisses Tony.

Tony kisses back, then smiles up at him. "Now who's making ridiculous threats?"

"I would totally carry that one out," Peter says.

"I'll teach Friday not to like you."

"Friday loves me," Peter says. "No matter what you do, Friday's going to adore me." His hand starts moving faster on Tony's cock.

"Of course she does, I programmed her," Tony says, and then he's too busy coming to talk, at least for a few seconds.

When he catches his breath, Peter's already getting him free of the webbing. "That was okay, right?" Peter asks, catching his lip between his teeth and worrying it a bit.

"That was great," Tony assures him. "And I love you, too."

"I heard that somewhere." Peter finishes getting him free--the sheets are probably a write-off, but it was definitely worth it--and lies down next to him. "So you're going to let me say it now?"

Tony smiles, just a little. "I'm going to let you say it whenever you want."

He's so far gone that it really doesn't matter. If--when--no, if, he's sticking with if--Peter changes his mind, it's not going to hurt any less if Peter's never said it.

"Good," Peter says, "because I want to say it a lot."

And if--when--if Peter changes his mind, at least Tony will have had this, which is worth it.

*

About a week later, Peter stumbles across something that looks a lot like that lab setup where AIM were making truth serum. They're engineering labs, not chemistry, but it's still suspicious enough that he calls both Iron Man and War Machine in on it.

Tony's talked to Rhodey since the day he came over with soup and advice, and they even met up for dinner one evening, but this is the first time Rhodey has been around him and Peter since the truth serum.

He thinks Rhodey's going to be okay with it, but being okay in theory, in conversation, isn't the same thing as being okay with having their relationship right in front of him.

Rhodey's the one who came up with their strategy--which Tony will completely ignore if it suits him, of course--and as they settle on the roof of the building, he says, "Everyone good to go?"

Peter nods, and Tony says, "Yeah, we're ready." Peter's supposed to enter through one of the upper windows, trying to retrieve as much data as possible and get as many pictures as he can of what they're working on, while Tony and Rhodey go in from below with a lot of noise and firepower, as a distraction.

"Go on, Spider-Man," Tony goes on, "time to get your cute little ass in gear."

It's technically impossible for him to know what the expression on Rhodey's face looks like, but Tony's pretty sure he can visualize it anyway. He's about to apologize--or anyway, "sorry not sorry"--for the comment, when Peter speaks up.

"It's okay, Colonel Rhodes," he says. "Tony loves me for my mind. And because I text him math equations that make heart-shaped graphs."

"You what?"

"Dozens of them!" Peter says, swinging off to get started on a little breaking and entering.

Tony activates his comm so he can be sure Peter hears him when he says, "He does. Although simple transformations of the same basic equations don't count as dozens, kid."

"They do so!"

To Rhodey, Tony says, "It's true, anyway. He does. And I do."

"Okay then," Rhodey says, and Tony can hear the smile in his voice. "I still have some doubts--"

"I was never going to say anything," Tony reminds him, "and you're the one who told me that maybe I should."

"But unlike most of the people you've dated, he's only slightly more mature than you are, so who knows? You guys might stand a chance."

Over the comms, Peter laughs, and Tony shakes his head. "I'm going to have Friday take over your armor and make you do the macarena," he says. "In the middle of the street, during rush hour."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Rhodey says. "Come on, let's get moving."

As he takes off from the roof, with both Peter and Rhodey's laughter echoing over the comms, Tony finds himself thinking in clichés: the truth might have hurt like hell at the time, but in the end, it's setting him free.

*

Afterword

End Notes

The title comes from "The Pure and the Damned," by Oneohtrix Point Never Iggy Pop.

--

As I mentioned on my last Peter/Tony fic, this isn't actually cowritten--this is Saperli_Popette moving all of my Peter/Tony fic over to my main pseudonym rather than my sock. (Doing it this way means that any bookmarks or links to the fic will still work, and all your comments/kudos will be preserved.)

I have one more fic, to be posted in April, that will be posted this way, to give anyone who subscribed to Saperli_Popette a chance to subscribe to Mireille instead if they want. After that, I'm removing Saperli_Popette as an author on all my Peter/Tony fic, and will only be posting them as Mireille.

Hope that's not too confusing!

--

You can find me on Dreamwidth.

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