Chapter Text
Tony has always had ways to differentiate his dreams from reality.
As a kid, his metric was Howard. In his dreams, Howard would touch his shoulder, nod in approval, flash the smallest of smiles in Tony’s direction. If Howard was anything other than annoyed or disappointed, Tony knew he was dreaming.
In college, his dreams were filled with unsolvable problems - equations that wouldn’t balance, variables that wouldn’t cancel. So if he spent more than fifteen minutes on a homework assignment, Tony knew he was dreaming.
After Afghanistan, Tony didn’t really sleep. But when he did, when he had to, he knew that the grit of sand between his teeth was a product of his imagination. Stark Tower was spotless. If there was sand in his mouth or dirt on his clothes, Tony knew he was dreaming.
After Thanos, Peter was in his dreams. And Peter was not there when he was awake.
It took six months for them to fix things, six months to make everyone re-materialize from dust and nothingness. And Tony hoped that the fix would change his dreams, make im stop waking up in cold sweats with guilt riding high in his chest, but they didn’t change. He still dreamed about Peter.
Only now, in his dreams, Peter called him “Tony."
He could be breathless with pleasure (Tony’s favorites, and also the ones that made him hate himself the most), so angry his words were like knives, or casual and carefree like a kid his age was supposed to be, but no matter what he was, how he was, it’s always “Tony” in his dreams.
Sometimes, hearing “Mr. Stark” is so disappointing Tony can taste it. And then he feels so guilty he chokes on it.
It doesn’t help that the kid doesn’t blame him at all. His hero-worship complex stops him from seeing all of Tony’s very obvious faults, including the fact that it’s Tony’s fault the kid was dead for six months. But Peter doesn’t see any of that, and Tony doesn’t know whether to be grateful or heartbroken.
Right now, the kid is passed out on the couch in Tony’s workshop with a book on particle physics laying open on his chest. He’s drooling on the suede, and Tony should be upset because the couch costs more than Peter’s entire college education will, but he’s not. Peter’s happy and safe, and lately, that’s all Tony’s been concerned about.
The kid shifts, and the book falls to the floor. He doesn’t wake up, but his eyebrows draw together a little, and as Tony watches, Peter curls in on himself, making little distressed noises. It’s not the first nightmare the kid has had while sleeping in the workshop, so Tony doesn’t think twice about going over to the couch and putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder, shaking him gently.
“Wake up, kid.”
Peter whines, and the sound tugs at Tony’s heart. He nudges him again, and that’s when Peter’s eyes fly open, his hand going to wrap around Tony’s wrist. The kid’s grip is strong, almost desperate, and his voice, when he speaks, is wrecked.
“Mr. Stark?”
Not a dream, then. Tony nods, but Peter is still holding on to him, so he can’t pull away. “Yeah,” he says. “You were having a bad dream.”
Peter nods, slowly relaxes his death-grip on Tony’s wrist. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was reading…” He looks around for the book. Tony picks it up off the floor.
“It’s fine.” Tony hands the book over. “You’re a teenager. Your main objectives in life are supposed to be eating, sleeping, and getting laid.”
He winces, but Peter laughs, shaking his head. “I’m more focused on the SAT and saving the world,” he says, and he’s casual about it, like it’s not the big fucking deal it is. Tony wants to kiss him. He doesn’t, though. Not dreaming.
Instead he scoffs, waing a hand. “You shouldn’t be worrying about standardized tests. Where do you want to go? Berkeley? Princeton? MIT? Say the word. I’ll have an acceptance letter in your lap by Wednesday.”
Tony’s not sure what day it is, but still. He’ll make it happen.
Peter bites his lip. “You don’t have to pull strings for me, Mr. Stark. I already got accepted into a community college. That’ll be fine for the…”
“Uh, no.”
Tony folds his arms, shaking his head. Thoughts about dreams and kissing Peter vanish - now, he’s only thinking about the kid’s future. “You are not going to a community college. You’re my protege. It’ll reflect badly on me. At the very least, you’re going to a four-year, preferably one that’s actually nationally ranked.”
Peter frowns. “I can’t afford - ” he starts, but Tony reaches over to over his mouth.
“If I can afford it, you can afford it. That’s how this works. Got it?”
Peter says something, but it comes out as a mumble. His lips tickle Tony’s palm; Tony pointedly doesn’t think about it. He drops his hand.
“I want to stay in New York,” is the first thing out of Peter’s mouth.
“We can move your aunt wherever you end up going,” Tony answers. The kid’s got almost no family left. Tony understands why he wants to stay close.
But the kid just shakes his head. “No - I mean, that would be awesome, and I’d definitely appreciate it, sir - “
Tony breathes, blinks, and doesn’t focus on the word.
“ - but she’s not the only reason I want to stay.”
Tony refocuses, frowning down at Peter. “If it’s a girl, I’m going to banish you from my workshop,” he says. And then, “Same goes if it’s a guy. Or otherwise identified. Stupidity is equal-opportunity.”
Peter laughs, the sound bright and warm. Tony wants to bottle that sound so he can have it after Peter leaves. “It’s not a girl,” he says, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck. Nervous. Like Tony could possibly have a leg to stand on, even if he wanted to give the kid shit.
“Listen,” he says, moving to sit on the couch’s armrest. “No one is worth wasting your brain on a second-rate education. I don’t care how in love you are or how great they are. In a few years, you’ll thank me. Trust me.”
Peter shrugs. “I guess,” he says. ‘It’s not like we’d even happen. I gave up on even hoping for that. I just… want to be close to him. You know, Mr. Stark?”
Tony knows. Tony has looked into buying buildings close to every college Peter might want to attend. Every college that’s worthy of him, at least.
“I forget how hard it is to be a teenager,” Tony says. “Look, if this guy isn’t giving you the time of day, he’s not worth it. Not woth it," he repeats, before Peter can object. “If he doesn’t see how much of a good decision you are, that’s his loss, and you’re not responsible.”
Peter looks down at the book in his hands, absently flipping through the pages. He stops at one, and Tony recognizes his own handwriting in the margins. Under it, in a different ink, are newer notes. Peter’s notes. He aches.
“The thing is,” Peter says, and his voice is quiet. “He knows all that. I mean…” The kid takes a breath and looks up at him. “He knows me. All of me. The Spiderman thing, the family thing, the…” He gestures at the room around them. “This thing. I’m just not on his radar like that.”
Tony is not jealous of the longing in Peter’s voice. He is jealous of the fact that someone else knows everything about Peter. And he’s just plain upset that, whoever the idiot is, he’s not using every means possible to make the kid happy.
“So put yourself on his radar like that,” Tony says. He regrets it. Why is he encouraging the kid to find someone? It’s not like that will be the final straw, the last boundary that will make him stop wanting. “I keep telling you, you have to go after what you want. No one is going to - “
His next word is a mumble, because Peter’s mouth is pressed up against his own. It’s an awful kiss - just lips, too much pressure, no heat - but it still pulls a wounded noise from Tony’s chest. That little sound is all he can manage before Peter pulls away.
“Oh my god, Mr. Stark. I’m so sorry. Fuck. Fuck! I shouldn’t have done that. I…”
All Tony hears is “Mr. Stark.” Not dreaming, then. This is real. And that means he can’t just lean in and kiss Peter and push him back onto the couch and…
“... I’ll just go, I’m sorry.”
Peter stands, so Tony does as well, reaching out to grab the kid’s wrist before he can take off. “Whoa, there,” he says, and Peter spins to face him. And, fuck, the kid looks miserable. His cheeks are flushed (shame), his eyes watery (sadness), and his breathing rapid (fear?). Fuck. Peter is scared. Tony can feel him shaking. So he does the first thing his head tells him to and pulls the kid in close, wrapping his arms around him. Peter doesn’t fight it - he just sags against Tony and buries his face in his shirt.
“Easy, kid,” Tony murmurs, reaching up to brush his fingers through Peter’ hair. “Deep breaths. No panic attacks. You’re okay.” His voice is steady. His heart is not. It doesn’t matter, though. He needs to make sure Peter is okay.
They stand there for a few long moments, Tony stroking Peter’ hair, Peter refusing to look up. Tony realizes, slowly, that he has to be the adult here, and the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
“So,” he says, and he feels the kid tense up. “What I said earlier still stands. Even the Tony Stark is not worth jeopardizing your future for.”
Peter laughs, sniffs wetly against Tony’s chest. He goes to pull back, and Tony lets him, though he’s still ready to grab the kid again if he tries to run away. He looks better, but there are still tears in his eyes and Tony hates himself for being the reason for them.
“You don’t need to let me down easy, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. “I’m sorry. I know you have better things to do than - “
Tony raises a hand, shaking his head. “First of all, I get to decide my priorities, and I decided you’re one of them. Deal with it. Second, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I’ve been People’s sexiest man alive five years in a row. Crushing is embarrassing, but normal.”
Peter blushes. Hard.
“And on top of that,” Tony continues, even though he shouldn’t. “I’m fifty kinds of fucked up that you don’t need to deal with on a relationship level. It’s bad enough to get this much exposure, even at arm’s length. You should have relationships that suck because neither of you know what you’re doing, not because someone has more baggage than Alaska Airlines.”
The corner of Peter’s mouth quirks up, almost a smile. “You aren’t the only one with baggage, sir.” He lifts his arms, showing off the scar from the spider bite, like that compares in any way to the years of bad decisions Tony has behind him.
Tony sighs. “You just need to find your Lois Lane. Or, maybe Lewis Lane in your case.” Peter’s blush deepens. “But the baggage you’ve got is definitely not enough to warrant…”
“I remember dying.”
Tony’s jaw slams shut. The mood in the room shifts instantly - it’s heavy, oppressive. Tony can feel his throat working around half-formed apologies, but he can’t find the air to voice them. Peter takes his silence for something it’s not and looks down, kicking at the ground.
“I’m not complaining or anything, sir. I’m happy to be here. I just…” He waves a hand at the air, one of Tony’s habits he’s started picking up. They’re spending too much damn time together. “That’s what I have nightmares about. Dying. Coming back. Not coming back.” The kid’s voice cracks, and he coughs, glancing up at Tony.
Tony feels like he can’t breathe.
“How am I supposed to explain all that to anyone without them wanting to walk away?”
That is what Tony should do. Walk away. Peter’s smart - he doesn’t really need Tony’s mentoring, especially not after he starts college. He’ll do just fine without Tony there holding his hand. But Tony wants to be there, holding his hand, and that is where the problem is.
“The superhero life doesn’t lend itself to deep, lasting relationships,” he says. “Doesn’t mean they’re impossible. Just… hard.”
Peter nods. He’s got his arms wrapped around himself, hunched over like he’s trying to make himself small. It’s heartbreaking. Tony’s self-control bends a little more.
“You know I’m not relationship material,” he says. He really should stop, but now he’s just trying to make things better, to make it sound less like a rejection and more like the favor it is. “Come on. I’m sure you’ve read enough tell-alls about me. I’m a jerk. I’m self-centered and egotistical and the only way I know how to show affection is by spending money. And on top of that, I’m really fucking old. And going grey.”
Peter looks up, meeting his eyes. “Thirty years older than me,” he says, and shrugs, like three decades are nothing. “I don’t care. You should keep dyeing your hair, though. Grey will make you look like a mad scientist.”
He can’t help it. Tony chuckles, shaking his head. And Peter flashes a smile at him, a genuine one, and Tony’s self-control finally snaps.
“I’m not saying no,” he says, watching as the confusions on Peter’s face slowly gives way to wide-eyed wonder. ‘You’re an adult. I’m not going to make decisions for you. Just… think about it. A lot.”
He expects the blinding grin on Peter’s face. He doesn’t expect to be pushed up against the nearest wall (he forgets, sometimes, how strong the kid is) and to Peter in his face, eyes dark.
“All I’ve done is think about it,” he says, and Tony’s stomach flips due to a weird mixture of guilt and arousal. Peter’s hands are on his shoulders, but Tony doesn’t reach out to touch. Not yet. He needs actual confirmation that Peter at least thinks he wants it.
“You were the last thing I saw before I - “ The kid bites his lip. “And the first thing I wanted to see when I came back. I know I want this.” He hesitates, and then his hands drop to Tony’s hips. “I want you, sir.”
The sound Tony makes is sinful. He groans, eyes closing as his head knocks back against the wall. Peter is going to kill him, and they’re both going to love every minute of it.
His hands come up to settle on Peter’s waist.
“Do you promise to shoot higher than a community college?”
Peter grins. “No pushing around administrators to get me in somewhere.’
Tony wants to kiss him. He waits.
“One more thing. When you come to your senses about how you deserve better than what I’m giving you, don’t waste time. Cut and run, kid. Don’t let me waste more of your time.”
“Okay,” Peter says, and Tony hopes that when the day comes that Peter realizes he made a mistake, he won’t hate Tony too much for going along with it.
“Can I kiss you, Mr. Stark?”
Tony raises an eyebrow. “I think we’re way past ‘Mr. Stark,’ don’t you?”
Hopefully, his dreams will catch up. If not, then Tony’s okay with being fooled. He doesn’t remember the last time he wanted anything so bad, for so long.
Peter smiles, all pretty eyes and shy dimples, and Tony doesn’t wait for him to ask again. His hand comes up, slipping into Peter’s hair and pulling him in close. Then, they’re kissing, and Tony is determined to make this one better than the last.
He’s got a lot of tricks, and he pulls out every one. His thumbs brush over Peter’s jaw as he licks into his mouth, demanding and possessive. And Peter just opens up for him, keening in between breaths, his fingers bruising on Tony’s hips. They’ll leave marks, and Tony couldn’t be happier. He wants to be able to press his own fingers into the bruises later and remember.
He shifts slightly, sliding his knee in between Peter’s legs. He swallows the gasp the kid makes, drops his hand to the younger man’s hips to rock him forward. And he can feel how hard Peter is in his jeans, can feel how close he is just from making out.
Peter breaks the kiss. He’s panting, cheeks flushed. Fucking gorgeous, Tony thinks. And then he says it, because it’s true. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he says, voice rough, and Peter blushes harder, closing his eyes.
“I’m - “ he starts. He’s floundering for words, so Tony helps, moving Peter’s hips forward against his thigh. This time, the kid moans, dropping his head to Tony’s chest. “Mr. St-tark, I’m not gonna - “
“Last?” Tony finishes. Helpfully. Peter groans against his chest, nodding. Tony’s tempted to press his thigh up, rock Peter’s hips down, make the kid come in his pants right there. Very tempted. “Not a bad thing. Kinda want to see it.”
He kinda wants to do a lot more, too, but that can wait.
“Okay.”
Tony expects a couple of shy movements, expects Peter to test the waters before he throws himself into it. But, as always, the kid just defies expectation. He puts his arms up around Tony’s neck and presses his face against the hollow of his throat, breathes in, and then he’s rocking his hips forward, rutting against Tony’s thigh. His breaths are sharp and ragged, punctuated with breathy little moans, and tony is so turned on it hurts, but he doesn’t move. Peter is chasing his own pleasure, and Tony’s can’t stop watching.
He leans down, brushing his lips over the shell of Peter’s ear, and the kid trembles, whines, fists his hands in the collar of Tony’s shirt. Tony kisses his ear and hums softly. “Almost there,” he murmurs. “Come on, sweetheart.”
Peter makes a soft sound. His hips stutter, jerk forward, and then he’s shaking apart in Tony’s arms, still grinding against his thigh as he rides out his orgasm. And all Tony can do is watch and rub a soothing hand up and down his back while the kid comes down.
Slowly, Peter’s fingers release Tony’s shirt. He shifts back, probably going for casual, but the kid’s jeans are tight, and now they’re soaked through with come. Peter winces, groans when the fabric moves over his groin.
“Might want to lose the pants,” Tony suggests.
Peter looks up, flashing Tony a grin.
“Only if you lose yours too, Tony.”
And Tony decides he doesn’t care if he’s dreaming. He’s going to milk these moments for all they’re worth and try to memorize how Peter looks when he sex-flushed and happy.
He points to the elevator. “Go. Now. We need a bed.”
For a moment, Peter looks confused. Then the expression melts away in a soft smile.
“Yeah.” He reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess that’s a better place for a first time.”
The thought of being the first person to see peter like this shouldn’t make Tony’s dick twitch in his pants. It does. He groans, closing his eyes. “We don’t have to - “
“No! I want to.” Peter is crowded in his space again, all eager eyes and demanding hands. “Please. I’ve been thinking about you fucking me for way too long.”
Tony’s brain conjures up the appropriate image: Peter, on his back, thrusting two fingers into himself while he moans Tony’s name. It’s something Tony wants to see. Next time.
“Bed,” he says firmly, and Peter just grins.