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Tony sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. Christ, he was getting too old for this. He loosened his tie, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. They were no use to him now that his suit had been crushed. He flicked his eyes over to one of the projected screens, watching the battle play out.
At least the destruction of his suit had aided the team, seeing as they were able to get the villain subdued only minutes after. Tony flipped off the screen after that, slumping back against the wall. He had too much to do, always had too much to do, and he didn’t have time to join the other ‘Avengers’ out on the field.
Tony hadn’t been out in the field in...in a while. If the press wanted to say it was because he no longer plays well with others, well, he’d continue to let them think what they wanted. It was a tactic that had worked his whole life, more or less, and no way was he going to tell the press the reason he refused to join in on the fight was because he didn’t feel safe.
Because he didn’t trust his team. Not anymore.
Well, he didn’t trust all of them, and that was enough to keep him from the field. If it wasn’t for Peter he may have even retired, channelling all of his focus and time back into Stark Industries, but he wouldn’t leave the kid to fight alone. If that meant sending out suits he controlled from the safety of his own lab, well. That's what he would do.
He wouldn’t, couldn’t , let Peter get hurt. Not again. Not because of him, or worse, for him. Not after everything Tony had already done to him, all the pain and the grief he had caused. If Tony wasn’t so sick , he would have made Peter stay away, hang up his suit once and for all, but he...well, he had never been good at denying himself, and keeping away from Peter felt like a special kind of torture.
So no, he wouldn't stay away from Peter, but he would do everything in his power to make sure the boy stayed safe.
“You have a guest,” Friday told him, startling him out of his thoughts.
He turned a confused frown to the elevator door, having no idea who would be riding up to his workshop. Only a few people were allowed in that elevator, and it didn’t make any sense for any of them to be here. He was about to ask Friday, his curiosity winning out, but the elevator doors opened with a ding .
“—ou sure he’s okay? Right? You said he was okay, Mrs. Karen, he has to be,” Tony saw Peter before the boy saw him, though once he did Peter launched himself forward.
Peter looked rough, fresh from the battle he had been a part of, suit dirty and torn. His mask was in his hands, his hair askew and his eyes red. It took a moment for Tony to steady himself from the force of Peter barrelling into him, before his brain caught up to what was going on.
“Kid—what?” Tony asked, staring down in surprise at the arm full of pretty, pretty boy he now had.
God, what was he supposed to do but hug back? He couldn't push him away, not now, not like this— and hell, didn't even want to push him away. He had no idea what had Peter so upset, though. He rubbed a hand in large, sweeping strokes up and down Peter’s back, letting the boy take his time to calm down.
“I'm s-sorry Mr. Stark,” Peter said on a breath, and his voice shook, Tony's neck growing wet where Peter's face was pressed into his skin. “I, I th-thought you were, were d-dead.”
“Oh,” Tony said, and his brain stilled.
Peter had been worried about...him. Was upset, distressed , over Tony’s well-being. He was crying , because he thought he saw Tony get hurt. Tony didn’t know what to do with that, or how the deal with the fact that the knowledge made his heart feel lighter, brighter than it had in years.
He held Peter tighter, trying to ignore the way their bodies were pressed together.
“I—I didn’t k-know you weren’t in the suit,” Peter said, his voice nothing more than a whisper in the silence of the workshop.
“I don’t go out much anymore,” Tony admitted. He should let go, he should step back and pull away. He shouldn’t keep holding on—but Peter fit so well against Tony’s chest, his head tucked neatly under Tony’s chin, that letting go felt like the hardest thing in the world.
So he didn’t, and he cursed himself for it even as he held on. This, the closeness and the intimacy of the moment was everything Tony didn’t let himself think about. Because Peter was young, he was so young, but more than that, he was good . Tony could ruin that, would ruin that , if given the time. He would find a way to ruin the goodness in Peter, twist his purity into something ugly. And that was the last thing he ever wanted to do.
So he tried to pull back, because holding Peter was a painful kind of pleasure, but Peter kept them close. Tony knew how strong Peter was, of course he did, but he so rarely showed it off. Tony stopped trying to get away, and he let Peter hold them close together. He continued to rub circles into Peter’s back, making sure his hand didn’t stray too low, no matter how much he wanted to slip his palm over the swell of Peter’s ass.
“N-not yet,” Peter asked, and Tony couldn’t say no, had never been able to say no when Peter asked him for something.
“Alright, kid. Not yet,” Tony murmured, letting himself take a deep breath of Peter’s hair. He knew he’d only remember what the boy smelt like for so long, but hopefully the memory of what Peter felt like in his arms would help get him through the following heartache—heartache that was bound to be caused by knowing what Peter felt like in his arms.
Peter pulled back, just an inch, only enough to get his hands between them. He ran them up Tony’s torso and over his chest, danced his fingers up Tony’s neck until he was cupping Tony’s face in his palms. Tony didn’t do anything, couldn't do anything, just stood there as Peter rubbed gentle thumbs over the soft skin under his eyes.
He stared down at Peter, his heart beating far too loud and far too fast, but he couldn't seem to calm down. Hell he could hardly breathe over the lump that was forming in his throat. His chest felt too tight, his heart filled to burst, and he curled his hands into fists at Peter’s back.
“Peter—” Tony began, voice a whisper. He didn't know what to do.
“Don’t say no, please , don’t say no,” Peter asked, begged, his eyes wide and wet and Tony was a weak man when it came to temptation.
Tony didn’t move back when Peter pressed closer, and he let their lips meet in a soft kiss. He kept it to that, the gentle press of their closed mouth, a soft slide of their lips. He held Peter tighter, ignored the broken noise that came from his own mouth. He pushed as much as he could into the kiss and hoped that somehow Peter would understand what he was trying to say.
He only moved back enough to rest their foreheads together, though he kept his eyes closed. He didn’t want this moment to end, hell, he wanted to stay here for the rest of time, to live in this single moment. Tony breathed deeply, and he took another long minute to steady himself before he leaned back enough to look at Peter’s face.
“Thank you,” Peter said, his face red and his eyes happy.
“You never need to thank me, Kid,” Tony told him, taking a deep breath as he debated his next sentence. “I’d do anything for you.”
The smile Peter gave him was worth exactly how vulnerable that sentence made him feel, and Tony couldn’t bring himself to care one bit, not when he was able to lean down for another kiss.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Tony murmured, taking a step back but keeping Peter close, letting the boy match his steps.
He had no idea what was going to happen, where they were going to go from here or what was going to change. But, looking down at Peter, Tony felt like something like hope settle in his chest.