Peter was falling. He was falling from a high place, very high up. He shouldn't have been there, no one should. More than once he had been told so. Harley, Tony, May, Pepper, Ned, MJ. Every single person who cared (excluding Morgan, who was too young) had warned him not to go there. Yet he did. He, the stupid and reckless Spider-Man, had gone after an enemy who could not only fly (which Spider-Man could not), he had gone after an enemy who seemed to knew more about him than he knew about himself.
It had been unsettling at first, the dude calling him out on points that could have been guessed, but were spot-on. When he started about Harley, his boyfriend, it started getting weirder and weirded. Even though anyone could have found out that Peter was dating Harley, the tabloids were takling about little else, the level of accuracy that the flying dude was on was terrifying. Peter was distracted and his opponent had taken the opportunity by sweeping though the air to pick up Spider-Man and fly higher and higher. Peter knew Tony had his Iron Man suits on stand-by, ready to fly out at any given time, but somehow he doubted they would make it here in time.
When he felt iron arms under him, he was surprised, needless to say. Peter looked around to the suit that had caught him and he was only slightly startled, he would later say. The person inside the not-Iron Man suit would deny that story and say that his boyfriend had screamed.