Chapter Text
“For your whole lives, you will only seek one thing in particular.”
Peter focuses on the velvety voice resonating within the class, doing what seems to be a routine now.
After his first audition nearly a year ago, he’d received an acceptance letter from Queens’ local dance company, The Blue Swan Dance Academy. Luckily it’s a prestigious company with a bunch of opportunities for him; he can keep his form in shape with daily practices, participate in various events and simply enjoy performing what he loves the most.
“Perfection.”
His ears are used to hearing the same mantra everyday, so after a while he starts to accept the concept of this whole ‘perfection’ thing, is even fascinated by it, because he knows by now what his teacher is going to say next.
He’s about to make a turn on his toes, when—
A sharp, prickly pain below makes him hiss. There’s a worrying ache on his ankle from last week’s practice, Peter remembers.
The abrupt halt gains him a few heads turned at his way out of curiosity, the hushed whispers are unwanted and distracting more than ever. He tries his best to ignore them and smiles through the pain.
Except that he fails in his attempt to do so.
“You will never be able to achieve it, so,” Natasha Romanoff points her sharp looks at him, and for an eye contact that lasts only two seconds, the message is loud and clear: go easy on yourself. “It’s an art of progress, not perfection. Don’t forget that.”
Peter straightens up his position, sweat running down his back.
His closest friend, MJ, smiles at him from where she stands. Peter appreciates the encouragement and repeats the move, cautious. He’s delighted when he earns a soft, “That’s better,” from Miss Romanoff.
He smiles back at MJ.
An Omega at the age of eighteen, he’s aware that it’s not easy to come to the point where he is right now. Being a classical ballet dancer requires endless nights of patience, hardwork, and being ambitious most of all.
He cherishes every moment he spends in this big, white coloured practice room accompanied with a smooth instrumental music. If he succeeds to get in the good graces of Miss Romanoff until the end of the semester, he’ll get the chance to perform at the opening night of the big gala, The Ballet’s Grace that happens once every three years.
After the daily practice is over, Peter’s exhausted and covered in sweat everywhere. He checks his phone only to see that he has two missed calls from Aunt May aside from her messages.
the foods runnin cold
guess I’ll eat alone
???
He sends a quick text back. sorry. ibb b4 it gets dark
ok bb, love u
don’t forget to buy milk on the way back
Peter smiles at the mention of Carla; the sweet stray kitten he rescued on a rainy autumn day, presumably climbed a tree but couldn’t find her way down, too scared. He recalls the moment he took her home, and how she became attached to his lap ever since.
sure will do
He stops by the city park on his way back to soothe his aching muscles. It’s a place he often comes to, surrounded by big trees and leading to a long park alley. Since Peter hit his presenting age, the Omega feels nervous at times. Despite the long evening traffic happening right outside, the scenery calms his nerves, clears his head. He needs this.
Peter looks around; a teenage boy is running after a ball, plus a lovely couple is basking in each other’s company a few benches away (which makes him turn his head the opposite way, face flushed all of a sudden). He sits on an empty bench and places the brown shopping bag on his lap. His eyelids get heavier the more he struggles to keep them open, so in the end he closes them with a huge yawn, knowing that it’s a losing battle to fight.
The naked tree branches remind him of how much he misses the spring already, he can’t wait to see the trees bloom to life and paint the sky in whites and pinks.
Surely that wouldn’t be all, the Spring Heat would come in its glory as well: an enchanting time of the year purely devoted to the Omegas. Peter wants to be one of them so bad, a thrilling desire to taste what it’s like falling in love. An Omega’s heat truly begins once they find the ‘other’ half of their hearts and souls, an unbreakable bond for life on both parties. His heat wouldn’t kick in unless he finds an eligible mate to be destined with.
Omegas are remarkable creatures in their nature, and being an unclaimed one is more risky than ever. Until then, he’s glad Aunt May doesn’t set strict rules for the sake of his safeness.
He intends to keep it that way.
*
Tony Stark, at the age of forty-two, had enjoyed twelve years of being totally irresponsible after losing his parents, and freely had let Obadiah Stane take control of the family business. Since the betrayal of someone whom he’d actually considered as family, things have changed.
If you think I’d hesitate even a second for this...
Being stabbed in the back takes a man some time to regain their balance and strength back. If Tony has to bear the blood on his hands for that, so be it.
You’re no more controlling me.
He takes all the reins in his own hands, the way things are meant to be. Tonight is no different: getting rid of the mess a bunch of idiots left behind who thought it would be smart to threaten him. Him; genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. The Alpha head of both the renowned Stark Mafia and the largest tech conglomerate in the world, Stark Industries.
He despised getting his hands dirty, but he has to strangle his enemies at birth, now that he’s learned his lesson, now that he knows better than to underestimate. The bitter taste of betrayal stings on his tongue, or maybe it’s just the alcohol messing with him. He started to drink more than usual, and he’s not the only one to notice that either.
Pepper is looking at him with piercing eyes across the seat.
“I hate the taste of water.”
“C’mon, Tony. That’s what you come up with? You’re truly devastated,” she snorts.
“Am I? What about using those pretty legs to good use and get a goddamn bottle of Vitamin C for me?”
“You know what? Forget it. It’s better you drown in that bottle and get wasted completely, then I’ll—”
“No, Pep—”
“-enjoy the pleasure of utter silence—”
“I want the goddamn vitamin—”
“-which is an exception in your presence!”
“Are you guys done?” Happy throws his hands in the air, seemingly frustrated. The bickering absurdly stops after that.
Tony discerns the Alpha’s tension in the air is affecting his friends, too. Pepper, in sober fact, worries about him and Happy is rather annoyed for God knows what reason this time. And here he thinks carrying on the business with his ‘ex-lover’ secretary who is an Alpha as well is the worst thing that can ever happen to a man.
Happy. Happy who’s not so happy at the moment is much worse.
Tony looks outside the window, asking, “What the hell are we doing in Queens anyway?”
*
Peter must’ve fallen asleep, because when he opens his eyes an unknown amount of time later it’s already dark on the ‘creepy’ side. He blinks a few times to regain his sight but sees nothing else other than the empty benches.
There’s a desolate feel to the place.
He stands up to leave. “Shit. May’s gonna be pissed.”
That’s when he senses another presence, someone approaching him from behind. More like, sneaking up on him.
*
There’s traffic that keeps them going bit by bit, probably two drivers swearing to each other and occupying the road for the others. “The Audi doesn’t deserve this torture,” Tony sighs, patting the rich texture of the interior design.
“Neither do I,” Happy grunts, then blows the horn at the car getting ahead of them, “I see you, asshole!”
“...Never mind.”
Tony tosses the glass aside after finishing his drink, looking outside. There’s not much going on; trees, trees, lights, trees again, until there is, until he sees it from the corner of his eye. Misses it out, almost.
At such a late hour of the day, he doesn’t know how, how come he focuses on that one lean figure so far away from his range of vision. Tony knows what he sees. “Cazzo.”[1]
He grits his teeth harshly, jaw clenching, breathes short and through his nose, an instantaneous reaction shocking himself, shocking all of them. His eyes are probably shining red like the traffic lights on the road, too.
“Tony? Hey, what’s wrong?”
The word ‘wrong’ irritates his nerve endings even more. “Stop the car.”
Happy obeys immediately, pulling the car sideways.
He spots two people in particular. For a second he wants to assume it’s a couple trying to work things out. It’s not his business, nor concern. He wants to believe it so.
There is something not quite right about the setting.
The Omega (Tony just knows he is one) pushes the man in front of him, punches his chest in a desperate attempt that screams help. Tony gets out of the car in lightspeed, not waiting for Happy to properly park it and running towards them. The Alpha doesn’t like what he sees, doesn’t want the young man to get hurt. His only thought is help him, and it’s not even a thought by this point, Tony decides, it’s the instinct.
“...is all I’m sayin’.”
“What part of ‘no’ you don’t understand?!”
“S’ gon’ be lotta fun.”
“Get away from me! I said—”
“-nasty little bitch!”
The Omega falls to the ground with a loud bump, groaning in pain. Tony is late to stop it, he hates himself for it, and in the middle of all the fight and adrenaline, he realizes that this is the face of a young kid. So young.
He is determined to beat the shit out of the drunken bastard.
“What the hell, man?!”
“You better keep that fucking mouth shut.”
Tony lands a fist at the man right in the eye, knocking him out on the spot, rage clouding his sight, clouding his judgement, painting it in red. Perhaps it’s the man’s bloody face he caused in mere seconds that blurs his vision. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t stop there.
He roars, sputters in the stranger’s face with rage, smashes it hard.
“You’ll pay for this. You hear me?” His voice sounds strange even to his own ears, a furious growl far, far away. “I’ll make sure of it.”
He pulls the gun out of his jacket, sees the foul is unconscious to beg for his life. Good. It’d be an attempt in vain anyway.
He places the gun inside the Alpha’s mouth.
That’s when he hears someone beg.
“Please! Don’t!”
The boy cries out, holds a shaky hand to cover his mouth. To silence his sobs maybe. It doesn’t escape Tony’s notice that his eyes linger on the tiny pink mouth a little longer than necessary.
“Don’t! Oh, God! Don’t!”
“Don’t worry, boss. I’ll take it from here,” Happy speaks in his ear in a hurry.
He trusts Happy to do what he’s got to do without being told. Besides he doesn’t want to do that in front of the kid, he decides, once he takes in the sight of him; the Omega’s face, white as a sheet at the violance played before his eyes, and the wet lashes surrounding them.
“P-please...”
Big, wild orbs shine with terror.
Tony doesn’t want to scare him off more than he already did. Anyone would do the same thing... react the same way. Right?
Right, Tony?
He has no time to debate with himself, his priority is someone else entirely. Someone with a delicate neck, and trembling lips. He notices, again, that the focus of his eyes are still on the kid’s mouth. It’s just. More dangerous than what just happened, even.
He clears his throat. “You okay, kid?”
The boy looks at him in horror. Disgusted at the blood on his face, no doubt. Tony doesn’t mind it at all, he’s familiar with all types of violence. Then again, he’d seen things that even someone like him shouldn’t have witnessed in the first place.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now.” He leans in to the boy, can’t help it.
The assurance, no matter how true it is, gets him another series of hiccups. “He came out of nowhere! T-tried to- to-”
“Did he?” he has to ask, eyes intent and leveled with the kid’s.
The brown orbs are filled with tears. “N-no.” Then comes the whisper, hoarse, Tony almost wouldn’t catch it. “You saved me.”
Tony shouldn’t come any closer to him, considering what was about to happen in the first place. But he doesn’t know what to do other than to take the fragile frame in his arms.
So he does.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you.” He murmurs at the boy’s soft hair, caresses it in what he hopes to be a calming gesture. “Va bene piangere... ssh...”[2]
His left hand trembles, so he keeps that one to himself, and his voice comes out hoarse contrary to his shushing. The Alpha in him is still on the alert, restless. He finds himself wanting to keep this young thing by his side, just a little longer.
“It’s Peter.”
The sobs fizzle out. Tony stills.
“M-my name. It’s Peter. Parker,” Peter repeats himself in a trilly voice.
“Can you stand up, Peter?”
He attempts. Doesn’t succeed, though. “Guess I hurt my ankle when I fell down,” he says quietly, hand gripping the mentioned area.
“It’s okay. I’ll carry you.”
“I don’t know if it’s a—oh!”
He picks Peter in his arms in a bridal carry, for he’s sure that the boy is unable to wrap his legs around him safely.
“I’ll take the car, you let me know later,” he tells Happy over his shoulder.
“Sure thing, boss. What about Miss Potts?”
“Don’t worry about her.”
He walks towards the car with Peter in his arms, about to ask him what his home address is. Then he meets with two closed eyelids, dry tears leaving subtle traces on his milky skin. He’s asleep with the crash of adrenaline, or passed out, Tony’s not sure. His heart beats safe and sound, and for now that’s all that matters.
He hops on to the driver’s seat after carefully laying Peter’s slender form at the back seat.
Pepper looks horrified.
“Don’t ask.”
“Sure. Yeah, sure.”
Anyway she sounds like she doesn’t want to know.
*
A proud view of highly luxurious room welcomes Peter back to consciousness; if a chandelier needs to be pumped with that much crystal, that is. The bed feels soft and yielding under his weight, the pillows, the silk sheets—
Aunt May doesn’t have silk sheets.
He tries to stand, and sways in his place when all he sees is the dancing black spots behind his eyelids.
“Hey, easy, kid. Easy.”
Someone hands him a cup of water and supports his back for him to stand upright, a tentative touch that doesn’t make him jump out of his skin right away. Peter drinks it in small, unhurried swallows. Knowing that he won’t fall down because someone is there to hold him steady.
That someone being the man who came to his rescue.
Peter exhales the air he didn’t realize he held in until his lungs started to hurt. And he only realizes now that he’s holding the man’s upper arm in a tight grip, even though he already handed him the empty cup back. He can feel the tense muscles under his touch.
Peter tries to regain his posture back and lets go of the Alpha (Peter just knows he is one) with burning cheeks, not able to meet his eyes. “Thank you, sir.”
Alpha, Peter has to remind himself.
“It’s alright. You’re in Stark mansion, you’re safe here,” the man nods to himself, like an assurance meant not only for Peter, but for himself, too.
Those soft assurances were the only thing that kept Peter sane until now, even the parts he didn’t understand the meaning of, presumedly another language. Peter finds himself missing the warmth of the older man’s skin, too. A ferocious fire against all the coldness around him, that’s how Peter felt next to the Alpha. He tasted the fire on his tongue, his palms, all over his— is that how it feels to—
He shakes his head.
Wait.
“You said Stark mansion? You’re. You.”
“Frankly, I’m me, kid. Tony Stark in the flesh.”
They stare at each other for a moment.
“I need someone to pinch me, like, right now.”
Tony Stark smirks at him, although doesn’t grant his wish like Peter’s been anticipating.
Maybe Peter is indeed hallucinating. He feels like he’s about to pass out a second time, yet tries to hold himself together for the sake of one of the world’s most powerful men in front of him. It’s Tony Stark. Wow.
“Wow. I mean. It’s surreal.”
He’s doing a great job of holding it together, just great.
“I dunno, kid, it felt pretty real to me,” his smirk fades away as fast as it appeared. “As much as I hope it happened under different circumstances...” He doesn’t seem willing to finish his sentence.
Peter doesn’t want to think about that, either. He can’t, or he’ll simply faint.
Mr Stark’s gaze is soft when he continues, understanding. “I wanted to take you to your place, but you were passed out, so.”
“Yeah. Right,” he gulps, the sound of the miserable motion is audible. “Um.”
“Dr Cho checked on you while you were asleep. She recommended to apply some ointment, and to definitely put ice on it,” he points at Peter’s ankle.
“Thanks, Mr Stark. Thank you,” Peter falters. “Seriously.”
Mr Stark shrugs, “It’s nothing, kid.”
Why do you keep calling me that?
“I’m damn glad there’s no permanent damage on your body.” His eyes skim over Peter’s frame, but before Peter can bury himself in the mattress with embarrassment, Mr Stark goes on, “Physically.”
Their eyes meet again.
“How are you feeling?” Mr Stark asks.
It’s his turn to shrug. “Fine, I guess.”
Really, he’s fine. Fine, and...
“Safe,” he adds, not meeting his eyes.
They fall into silence, but for some reason it doesn’t make Peter feel super nervous or out of place like he usually does next to a stranger. It’s true indeed: Tony Stark was no one else but a stranger to him until a few hours ago, someone he only heard of from TV news, commercials or playboy magazines.
Yet Peter admitted to feeling ‘safe’ with him.
Now that Mr Stark said ‘physically’... His ankle throbs, the one that was already sensitive for a while is much worse, now. “It hurts, actually.” He admits with a shy hand gesture towards it.
Mr Stark responses instantly, “I’m on it,” then uncaps the ointment placed on the nightstand. Peter reaches forth to uncover the silky sheets around his legs, but the man stops him halfway. “No, you lay back. I’ll do it.”
The Omega shudders involuntarily.
Mr Stark doesn’t seem to notice the reaction he caused, too focused on his task already. Peter does as he’s told, trying to keep still.
He likes it.
He likes the sight of those thick fingers covering his slim ankles both. Knows what those hands are capable of. He saw them covered in blood, holding what seemed to be a heavy gun. He saw everything. Hell, he saw Tony Stark. Ruthless. Brutal. He remembers those terrifying moments with a chill going down his spine.
“What were you doing out there so late, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“It’s alright,” Peter reassures him. “It was supposed to be one of my usual visits. I admire the scenery, the sense of calm when I’m there."
“Sounds like you were trying to escape from a bedlam.”
“You make it sound ridiculous now,” Peter chuckles.
“Absolutely not,” Mr Stark doesn’t look at him, but the corner of his lip turns upwards. “I’d say you be more careful next time, tag someone along with you if you must.”
“I can take care of myself just fine.”
“Sure you can.”
“I can,” Peter insists. “I just didn’t expect to be seen.”
There’s a brief halt to Mr Stark’s slow motions on his skin.
“You didn’t expect to—what?”
He looks at Peter with his mouth slightly agape.
“I said—” he makes a vague motion with his hand, “Never mind. It’s ridiculous, right,” Peter feels overwhelmed under the man’s gaze, as if his strong hands weren’t a torture already.
“I heard what you said, I just don’t understand what makes you think that. One must be blind not to see you.”
His cheeks feel warm when he tries to explain, “Let’s just say... I spend most of my time in a competitive environment. People hardly notice me at daylight. It’s not like the same wouldn’t apply to the end of the day.”
“You’re serious, Parker.”
“I am,” Peter nods. Breaking the eye contact with Tony Stark is seemingly impossible at this point.
“Have you seen yourself? Clearly not. Let me tell you this,” he shakes his head, disbelieving. “If you seriously think that way, it’s more likely you than those people around you who’s failed to see you.”
This time, it’s Peter’s chest that feels warm. It’s so much warmer, keeps getting warmer with each breath in.
“You say it like you do.”
“I do, kid. I do see you,” Mr Stark’s jaw clenches. “I saw you out there, remember?”
It’s impossible not to feel the fire. It’s a crime to even think about tearing his gaze away.
“I saw you, too,” he gulps. “I’ve never seen someone so—”
“...crazed?”
“-protective of me.”
Mr Stark doesn’t say anything. Peter babbles anyway, cheeks flushed, eyes tranced.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you went after him. Glad you didn’t, though. I’m glad you’re here. Because I,” just zip it, Parker, this is where you zip it— “I saw your eyes, I—ah,” the stinging pain causes Peter’s leg to jerk.
Mr Stark murmurs a quiet apology under his breath, returning his attention to his work in hand with a sharp intake of breath and very clearly ending the conversation.
Your eyes were red, Mr Stark. Ablaze. Red and burning fierce.
Peter’s in awe with how tender he’s being treated; rough fingers massage his skin with such delicate strokes, thumb rubbing in carefully. He likes this state of feeling, where his eyes close and body goes limp under Stark’s care and not having to worry about anything else.
He knows that Tony Stark is a dangerous man. He knows that he’s in a dangerous man’s house, in his bed. Well, not exactly his bed, that would be crazy, but definitely in a bed that he owns nonetheless.
Peter feels a heat washing over him in spite of the current ache, forcing him to squeeze in his thighs on a sudden impulse.
“I—I think that’s enough.”
Mr Stark pulls back on demand and checks him over thoroughly which does not help to slow down Peter’s heartbeat at all. He wipes his hands on his pants and stands, “I’ll bring some ice to put on it. You wanna make a call? You shouldn’t walk on your feet in this position.”
Peter knows he’s right. Still, part of him wishes he was curled in a ball of blankets watching TV in the familiarity of his home, and not worry about how his aunt is going to freak out about all this.
“You can crash in here, if that’s what you worry about.”
“Um. I’ll make a call quick, then I guess I’m done for the day.”
Mr Stark nods, seemingly content to hear his answer. “You can find everything you need here, toothbrush, clothes, whatever it is. The servants are off duty, so call me if you need anything.”
“Sure, Mr Stark, thank you,” he means it.
“Don’t sweat it, kid.”
With Mr Stark leaving, Peter takes a deep breath, grabs his phone from his back pocket and dials the number, trying to think of an excuse for the night.
“Peter?! What the fu—?!“
Here we go.
*
After making sure that Peter got the treatment he needed and fallen asleep on the spot, Tony heads to where Pepper is.
He stops by the corner on his tiptoes. Just in case.
And he turns out to be right.
“...freaking lost it, Rhodey. You should’ve seen him.”
There’s a short break before she speaks.
“Don’t I know that? Told you so... Yes, hopefully. Okay, I’ll see you there.”
“Talking behind your boss’ back, huh?” Tony scolds her with a finger, entering the study room. “U-uh. So rude.”
Pepper puts her phone back in her clutch, not taking her eyes off him while doing so. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Not tonight, apparently. When you clear your head, and he leaves here.”
Tony frowns at her tone, more than her choice of words.
“I’ll let you know what you need to know, Pep.” Sometimes it’s a little difficult to set the boundaries between the two Alphas. “You don’t need to stay. It’s not like we can get any work done here tonight anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walks to the bar and pours himself a drink, hoping she’ll get the cue to leave him alone.
“Don’t you think you had enough of that for today?”
“Just clearing my head,” Tony says half-mockingly, raising his glass in the air.
She doesn’t fight him any longer. She must be exhausted as much as him, it seems.
“Suit yourself. Good night.”
“Night,” Tony replies back to the empty room, looking outside the wide windows that show the whole city in its glory. Before he knows it, there’s a message from Happy.
done
He’s at ease for all the lives he ended tonight.
Still, at the end of the day, there’s a feeling in his chest that leaves him out of breath. Something he’s never experienced before. It’s foreign, daring, but he embraces it despite everything. He feels good. Fuck that. Fuck good. He feels grateful to be able to save Peter’s life.
“Peter Parker,” he mutters the name to himself. With an unconscious impulse, his tongue darts out to lick his lips, as if it savours the taste of each letter voiced.
That’s when he feels like shit. That’s when it hits him.
Comically that, Tony has to bring a hand on his chest to dispel the numbness there.
The Alpha-red eyes. The thunderous roar. The blinding rage. The satisfaction that only comes with the assurence of protecting your territory, protecting what’s yours solely—all being the signs of arguably one thing—no. No it can’t be. Not this fast, at least, not this excruciating.
Tony’s been alone for so, so long. The idea that he finally found his—he can’t bring himself to say it.
It’s cruel in its unpredictability, the question that will keep him awake until the sunrise, all the while the dreadful possibility gnawing at him: What on earth is he going to do now?
[1] Shit.
[2] It's okay to cry.