Archive of Our Own

College life evidently suits Peter. He's grown in the last few months, not so much in stature, but definitely in confidence. It's probably just the winter jacket, but he looks broader round the shoulders too, with the hint of a tan that Tony had no idea Michigan was capable of giving in winter.

According to Happy he's blossoming from an occasional little shit into a medium sized one. Which, whatever, it suits him, Tony's proud.

"Did Parker start rowing or something?" he asks FRIDAY through his headpiece, watching the Avengers greeting ritual play out in all its excessively muscled glory. It seems to involve Peter hugging everyone in a 10 metre radius, then back slaps, unnecessarily intricate handshakes, and a friendly fist bump for Larry the intern.

"Spiderman does not typically take part in competitive sport," FRIDAY reports.

Ah, of course, because the kid has an unnecessarily large conscience. Tony taps his foot impatiently against the marble steps and waits for the circus to end. He invited Peter to the compound, not Rhodey or Steve. So they could science.

"What is this?" he says to himself, watching it play out. Wanda doesn't kiss him on the cheek. As if to prove his point, Larry the intern puts his hand out for a second fistbump and then receives it. It's mildly nauseating.

Finally, Peter looks up and gives a wave to the stairs, where Tony is waiting for him to you know, come play with the billion dollar technology and stop performing Madame Social Butterfly for all of New York.

"Come on, Arachno-man," he calls out. "Larry can get your autograph later."

With that he turns, starting his way back up the stairs the moment he hears Peter say 'sorry guys, gotta go, catch you later'.

A moment later, web shoots up the central stairwell and then Peter's swinging up and onto the step in front of him, backpack safely slung over his shoulder. No sign of the freshman fifteen on this kid.

"You couldn't have waited one extra second?" Peter says.

"I don't see how one extra second would change anything."

"Happy was making eyes at Aunt May again and if I'm not there -"

"Sorry, not sorry," Tony says, continuing up the stairs. He's positive she's capable of making it back to Queens without Happy's number. "If you have a new uncle by the end of the day, I'll pay for your therapy."

"There would not be enough therapy in the world," Peter calls out, still a few steps below. "You know that right?"

His voice seems to echo in the stairwell. "Right?" he says again, plaintively.

He uses another strand of web to swing back up in front of Tony when he doesn't get a reply.

"I don't think that is what the Spider God intended when he gave you those powers."

"Ha ha. What's the big hurry, anyway?"

"Oh, I left the oven on," Tony says airily. "Or wait, do I mean the brand new cyclotron? I suddenly don't recall."

"What?" Suddenly Peter is scrambling to catch up with him. "Are you joking? Please don't be joking."

"Go see for yourself."

Peter pauses, glancing between him and the ceiling beyond which lies the lab. Then he bounds upwards on another strand of web.

Two hours later, Tony rubs absently at his arm and looks up to find Peter watching him with his soulful eyes.

"What?" he says, when the kid doesn't stop.

"Oh, you have kinda uneven triceps," Peter says. "I only just noticed."

Tony blinks. Was that something he was meant to monitor or care about? Oh no, my right arm is point five centimetres bigger than my left. Did he not have a whole suit to counterbalance his general human fallibility?

"Thanks kid," he says, pushing Peter's water bottle over so it rolls off the desk. "What are you, a gym rat now? Do you even need to gym?"

Peter shrugs very earnestly, catching the bottle before it can hit the ground. "No. But really, they're not even."

Looking at the expression on Peter's face you would think it was a matter of national importance.

"Yeah, well, my dominant hand and I have a close relationship. Fill in your own hilarious genitalia joke about heavy lifting here."

He pushes away from the desk with a flurry of wheels and rubs at his right shoulder without thinking about it. Peter watches him do it, this time with a pointed, stubborn kind of frown. Tony recognises it from the time he took Peter's suit away, back in the good old days when there was only one suit and he still had Peter mostly contained to New York.

"What?"

Peter wheels himself closer with a push of his legs. "If you hunch against it, you'll just make it worse."

"Really?" Tony says, rolling backwards. "You're a physio now?"

"Here," Peter says. "Let me - "

"Nuh uh," Tony says, dodging him. "No Vulcan nerve pinches in the lab."

"That's not what I -"

"No fancy pressure point jabs in the lab, then."

"Mr Stark, stop- "

"Fluffier puppies than you have tried the innocent look on me, kiddo, I'm not falling for that."

Peter grabs the edge of his chair, preventing him from going any further. "I'm not gonna hurt you!"

Tony helpfully stops pushing himself away. "Not that with that attitude. Maybe with your weak grasp of nuclear physics."

"Hey! I'm okay, and we can't all be super geniuses."

"No, we can't," Tony agrees, because it's only going to be three years before Peter has his first degree and starts catching up to him. He has to get his wins in while he still can.

Peter frowns and then uses his uncommonly annoying strength to spin Tony around on the chair.

"Just relax," he says, putting his hands on Tony's shoulders. It's, all in all, a little surreal.

"Least relaxing thing that anybody ever says when trying to get someone to relax," Tony points out as Peter's hands settle down and squeeze softly.

He starts up a gentle rotational movement that Tony begrudgingly finds is not unpleasant. After a few minutes, he feels his right shoulder start to feel heavy and relax itself. The effect is even a little soporific. It was not entirely unlike having his shoulders rolled out like dough. Except in a way that felt good.

He allows Peter a point.

"Are you using your super strength on me?"

"Maybe. You should buy a foam roller or something."

"You know I can pay people for this, right? Whose actual job it is."

Peter makes a thoughtful noise, concentrating his thumbs on one particularly painful area. Tony swears his hears something in his shoulder crunch and then release.

"Yeah, but do you actually, Mr Stark?"

He can't really fight that. It probably has been awhile since he paid someone to pummel the giant knots out of his back. Which is clearly the only reason why whatever generation Z thing Peter was doing with his hands was having an effect. He's not sure he even remembers the last time someone got him face down on a bed in any context, but that's not something he's telling Peter Parker.

"Okay, you can stop now, I'm officially 100% jello."

Peter stops kneading but he does something that feels like a work down, with gentle touches that smooth inwards towards Tony's neck. It's nice in a way that Tony could genuinely see himself paying someone to replicate.

"You may have a back up career there," he admits, as Peter's hands finally pause and rest on his shoulders.

When he tilts his head to the right and then back the other way, it feels significantly freer.

"If swinging off rooftops doesn't work out?"

"Uh huh," Tony says. He has a feeling he's going to sleep well. "Where'd you learn how to do that?"

Peter slinks back round to his own side of the desk with pink cheeks. "Um, don't know?"

"Seriously?"

"Just a friend," Peter says, with a pause that clearly means it's way more than a friend.

"Uh huh?"

"You carry a lot of tension, you know," Peter says, quickly.

Tony ignores that, toying with the idea of more questions and seeing if he can get a name, but the way Peter won't meet his eyes suggests he's probably not ready to talk about it yet. Which is adorable. He shuffles his chair back over to the desk and casts around for what he was doing before.

Peter seems to relax when he realises Tony isn't going to dig any deeper into his romantic escapades.

"Hey, did you finish that design you sent me mid-semester?" Peter says. "I had some more ideas."

"Yes, weeks ago. Don't give me puppy dog eyes, Parker. You had project work. I'm not being responsible for you tanking your higher education."

"I'm not tanking anything!"

"I also let out your room to Larry the intern while you weren't here."

"Hey." Peter really does bring out the puppy dog eyes for that one. "I go away for a few months and you get all mean."

"You mean you go away for a few months and get all -" Tony illustrates his point by waving at Peter's new Peter-ness in general. "What was that? I hate it when people touch my neck."

"Sorry," Peter says instantly.

"Not you, kid," Tony says, with a sigh. "People, other people."

"Oh," Peter says quietly, looking more cheerful.

Peter spends the next morning doing his own thing, catching up with other people. Tony knows that because he banned Peter from the lab to make sure it happened. Not that he wouldn't be happy for them to stay locked up in there for the whole week, inventing the next super-super-collider, but it only seemed fair to let the rest of the team get a small look in.

As it is, he wakes up at 5am with ideas buzzing in his brain. The only person he spots on his way over is Natasha, with a towel over her shoulder and wet hair. He points blearily up the stairs in the direction of the lab in lieu of any actual conversation and she gives him a silent thumbs up.

He must nod off sometime between the first cup of coffee and a bird tapping insistently at the window around 11am. At first he thinks someone has managed to transmute themselves into a crow and got stuck outside, but then he realises it's just spotted something shiny and is trying to get in.

When he scrubs at his eyes and turns to go back to his work, he finds it has moved across the bench and there's a plate with a sandwich on it in its place.

Eat me, the note next to it says, in Peter's handwriting.

Tony stares at it, blinking, for a long few moments. To his distaste, he's the one that loses the staring contest.

"Who made you the boss of me?" he asks it, pushing it away and then thinking of Peter's face and guiltily pulling it back.

He fully intends to leave it there, or open the window and feed it to the crow, but twenty minutes later his stomach grumbles and his aching neck makes him feel bad about undoing all Peter's good work by sleeping at his desk. So he eats the sandwich while he works on a Quinjet projection and it's not the worst thing in the world.

He works right through the rest of the day in his office, taking the chance to power through everything so he can give Peter his undivided attention in the lab when he's back tomorrow. There's two very boring conference calls and then an interesting but way too long thirty minute chat with Larry the intern, who apparently has to write a short piece on someone at the facility before he's allowed back on SHIELD's graduate programme. Tony tries to be vaguely helpful but it's difficult to provide new information when the internet already knows pretty much everything there is to know about him and all that's left are trade secrets he's not gonna share and the embarrassing number of times Happy's had to scoop him into the back of a car across his lifespan. Though who's he kidding, the internet probably knows all about those too.

By the time he's reviewed the latest designs from R&D and fended off two phonecalls from Everett Ross' office, he's ready to put on the suit and dive into the Hudson just to get five minutes peace. He makes do with drawing the blinds and settling in for a power nap on the couch by way of reading finance reports.

When he wakes up again, it's dark. His watch says it's almost 1am and his stomach reminds him he's skipped at least another meal, so he makes his way to the kitchen only to find it already occupied. Peter is sat on one of the counters, munching on something dry and noisy, and he looks up a little guiltily when he spots Tony, like Tony isn't capable of covering the cost of the occasional midnight snack.

"Superbody metabolism," Peter says mournfully. "I swear they worked me extra hard today on purpose. I think I might've invented a whole new backflip swing thing no-one's ever seen before because Wanda was definitely gonna fry me if I didn't."

"You didn't web her boyfriend to something again, did you? I hear she doesn't like that."

"No," Peter says. "Well, maybe. But has nobody thought that if Vision can go through walls then he can probably go through webbing if he really wants to?"

"Not all substances are equal," Tony says, holding up a finger and starting down that train of thought before thinking better of it. "Wait, no, that's not something we're considering at 12:47am."

"Okay," Peter says. "Just saying though, pretty sure he could squish me like -"

"A bug?"

"You're right, let's talk about something else."

"Right," Tony says.

He reaches for the cupboard behind Peter and Peter takes a minute to focus, like he's only just seeing Tony there. When he does, he stays sat there slowly eating his cracker, and just moves his shoulder out the way so Tony can open the door. Somehow that, more than the hand skills, more than anything else, makes Tony pause. Old Peter would've been sliding off the counter at the first hint of being anything like in the way, apologising as he went. Tony has a moment's nostalgia for that Peter, before the new one taps him lightly on the leg with a toe and says "Hey, wanna help me prank Cap tomorrow?"

"No," Tony says. Because his plans for tomorrow don't involve humans, or humans other than Peter who goes blessedly silent if given enough equations.

Then he feels cruel for cutting Peter's plans off at the knees and remembers something Wanda suggested. "But hey, would you like a not-a-party party?"

"What's the occasion?"

"Happy Thursday?" It's technically Friday but he's beyond caring. "I'll get you some non-alcoholic beverages of your choice."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Because there's no liquor on campus at all."

Tony gives his best disapproving but amused eyebrow tilt. "But is it the good stuff?"

"But what's the good stuff, Mr Stark?" Peter says with an innocent look. "And how will I ever know if you don't get some in for the party?"

"Not-party," Tony corrects, noting Peter's tidy manoeuvring. "Okay, you can have one drink."

"Wow that's super generous of you."

"Well, you can't have too much fun here, else you won't go back."

"I thought that was the plan. Keep me locked up in the workshop all day. Never let me leave."

"No, that's the plan after you graduate," Tony says. "Top of your class."

"Hey no pressure," Peter says, ducking his head.

"So, who taught you your crazy new massage moves, anyway, a nice guy or gal in your class? Is that what kids do in the library now?"

Peter flushes a deep pink. "Maybe I read a book on it."

"Uh huh," Tony pulls out his disbelieving face for the second time. "Not buying it. You don't do that without first-hand experience."

"I read a book," Peter says, with a hint of insistence.

"Thanks for the party, Mr Stark," Peter says.

He's a little flushed and kind of adorable. If Tony were smart, which he is, he would safely assume Peter's managed more than his one drink. Oh, what a shame.

"Thank FRIDAY, she organised it all, not me. I just set the parameters."

Peter smiles at him softly. "Well, tell her thanks from me."

"Tell her yourself, you've been away too long if you've forgotten she's everywhere."

"Uh huh," Peter says. "Yeah, I totally forgot."

Tony has a response for that, but then Happy's at his elbow, asking him about the suspect mess someone made in his garage. Tony's expecting Peter to float away, to go swap notes or saliva with the other bright young things, but he just waits, smiling and nodding occasionally at other people.

"Are you sure you don't want me to spin Aunt May a last minute invite?" he says, once Happy has been pointed in the direction of the perpetrators. "I feel bad that she's not here to mingle."

Peter looks at him suspiciously, far too astute for his own good, or Tony's.

"That's okay, thanks Mr Stark," he says, his eyes still slightly narrowed.

"Nobody here you think she might want to spend more time with?"

Peter gives him a pointed look. "There's already a guy, okay? And he seems nice."

"Happy's nice," Tony says, because he can't resist the opportunity. "You don't think Happy's nice?"

"I think we should give Aunt May a bit of space."

Tony laughs. "Okay, we'll give Aunt May space. And you're sure there's no-one I can invite for you? No lusty college babes or beaus?"

"I'm good," Peter says, rolling his eyes. "It's nice to see everyone."

"Mmmn," Tony says. He finds it hard to believe Peter genuinely wants to socialise with them all, though there are other younger faces around the compound now. They've recruited a little, just lightly, as some of the older crew have wanted to kick back.

"Well, it's your party, so go party. Do the macarena or the soulja boy dance or whatever you're doing now."

"The soulja boy dance?" Peter repeats, looking mildly scandalised. "Really?"

"Yeah, go super soak some hos," Tony says, proud of how he keeps a straight face.

"Wow, is this what it feels like to you when I talk about old movies?"

"Possibly," Tony admits.

Peter's smiling in a way that Tony thinks probably means 'and it's only good because it's truly awful'.

"Go have fun," he says, shooing Peter with his hands. "You'll only be this young and sober once etcetera."

Peter gives him a look that Tony's pretty sure is all Aunt May. It has a kind of weary acceptance to it. Like getting a shade tipsy and having a dance off with Thor is beneath him now.

"Okay," Peter says slowly.

"Okay," Tony repeats, with more shooing as Peter reluctantly disappears into the crowd.

Job done, Tony goes to get drunk. Only medium drunk, though, so it's okay. It's not like Peter needs him around to be the responsible adult anyway.

Two hours later, Tony is comfortably ensconced on the upstairs lounge sofa with something very expensive sloshing around in his glass and FRIDAY for company. It takes a moment to realise Peter's standing in the door, like he's not sure about coming in. When he's clocks that Tony's spotted him, he gives an awkward shrug and then steps inside. He stays stood with hands in his pockets for a moment and then he comes to take the other half of the couch that Tony's sitting on. He's holding an empty glass that, once sat down, he stares at like it holds the answers to everything.

"Remember that time I climbed up the outside of a spaceship?" he says.

"Um no," Tony replies, because he still hates that whole section of Peter's Avengers history. "And don't remind me, that's a very conscious choice not to remember that."

"Oh," Peter says.

The sleeves are rolled up on his hoodie and his lower arms are finely corded, looking strong. All the Spidey swinging must be paying off. That or all that massages he's apparently giving people now.

"How's - things?" Tony says, because alcohol doesn't exactly make him articulate.

"Good," Peter says, but he sounds tired in a way he didn't earlier.

"People treating you right? Nice TAs, good professors?"

"Sure," Peter says, picking at his cuff.

Tony knows a brush off when he hears one, so he lets the silence stretch. Maybe older Peter is more into being a silent drinking buddy.

"Do you have any more of that?" Peter says eventually, pointing at Tony's drink.

"Nuh uh. You may be all jaded and grownup now, but this is only for the tragically jaded grownups."

He means it as a joke but Peter doesn't laugh.

"Sure," Peter says. He does look tired, now Tony looks properly. But maybe that's what aiming for a double major and still doing neighbourhood patrols does to you.

"Fine," he says, handing over his own glass. "I guess your super spider liver is probably better suited to it anyway."

Peter accepts the glass with a little rueful smile, staring at the liquid rather than consuming it.

"Why didn't I use that excuse?"

Tony has no idea and pointing out his own intellect seems a little unclassy when Peter's obviously feeling morose. He means to get up and go get another drink for himself but the couch is low and comfortable and a more sensible part of him knows he should probably stop anyway.

Peter carefully downs the last two fingers in one. He coughs briefly but then he puts the glass down on the coffee table and turns to face Tony.

He looks and then he looks some more, his face impossible to read. Tony thinks he's going to break the silence first because that's him, the hilarious non-sequitur at the right moment guy, but nothing comes. All he can think is when did Peter Parker get old enough to hold his gaze without blushing, to look world-weary like that?

"Tony -" Peter says, eventually.

"Yeah?"

"I -" Peter pauses, going back to the cuffs of his hoodie.

Tony takes pity on him.

"You're thinking of adopting a guinea pig and you want me to be the uncle, correct?"

"No," Peter says.

"You're right, you're more of a parakeet person, aren't you?"

"Tony."

"Still here."

This time he doesn't fill the awkward pause.

"I missed us hanging out," Peter says eventually.

Tony finds himself touched. "Me too, kid."

It's easy to say it because it's the truth. He likes racing through complex problems alongside Peter, enjoys listening to his different perspectives on life and combat and math.

"You haven't flown the jet out to campus in a few months."

Ahh.

"Kind of ran out of forests to plant to make it up for it, kiddo."

Peter doesn't laugh so Tony sighs and rubs at his face, too buzzed to reach for anything but the truth.

"I thought it was time you got the chance to have your own space, Pete."

And it had worked, Peter had made massage-tips giving friends or more than friends, whatever. He'd done the right thing.

"It was a good choice," he continues, though he's starting to feel less sure on that. "For you as a person to get to choose who you hang out with, not to just have to be stuck with the guys in the super suits."

"Yeah, sure," Peter says. "I mean you really didn't have to visit me or anything."

"Yeah, I know," Tony says.

"I mean, I don't have a lot of people in my life who know me all that well, so it really didn't hurt at all when you stopped." Peter stops, not looking at Tony but staring fixedly at the other side of the room, his fingers curled in on themselves. "Not even a little."

A cold weight settles in Tony's stomach.

"Pete -"

"It didn't hurt at all, okay?" Peter says fiercely. He turns his face towards Tony and his eyes are shining. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

Tony reaches out but Peter bats his hand away.

"I'm fine, Mr Stark," he says, even though he looks like he might be about to cry. "But you could've explained, you know."

Tony thinks back, to the time he'd made it all the way out to the runway and then just stopped. You weren't meant to look forward to trips to see a teenager or to dump post-grad level problems on them because you'd stalled yourself. You were meant to let them loose into the wilds of fraternities and underage drinking when they went off to college. Let them find themselves amidst bad decisions and beer bongs.

"It was too much, kid. Who else had Iron Man coming to visit every few weeks?"

It was the kind of thing that would stop Peter getting the right sort of friends. If growing up well-heeled had taught him anything, it was that.

"Sure," Peter says. "It's fine, I said."

"Hey, come on kiddo. May only called last week to say your papers were great and you were making loads of friends -"

"I know," Peter interrupts. "I know how great my papers are, okay?"

He turns to face Tony again and fuck it there are tears in his eyes.

"You really let out my room here?"

"No," Tony says, suddenly feeling like a grade A asshole. "Peter, no. That was a bad joke, I'm sorry."

"Fuck," Peter says, wiping his eyes with that back of his hand. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have had a drink before I came in here."

There's a small hole in Tony's chest that wasn't there a minute ago and it's throbbing painfully.

"You want a visit when you go back?" he says. "First weekend?"

Peter laughs and wipes at his face again.

"Don't make promises you're not going to keep, okay?"

"Pft," Tony says, even as the guilt comes crashing over him full force . "As if. I think I can make one trip."

"Oh."

He knows he's said the wrong thing again when Peter stops smiling and stays quiet.

"Maybe Mr Stark it would be better if -"

"- we make it a monthly thing?" Tony interrupts. He has this horrible feeling Peter had just been about to suggest just cutting ties. "We could start our tour of every deli in Ann Arbor."

There's a long pause where Peter picks at his cuff again.

"Okay," he says eventually.

Something inside Tony sags in grateful release.

"Okay," he agrees. "And kiddo, if I do you wrong again, you tell me. Let's make that a rule, here and now."

"Yeah?" Peter looks at him slightly sceptically. "And what do you have to tell me?"

Tony raises an eyebrow without meaning to.

"Because it's not really fair otherwise," Peter adds.

"Alright." Wow, the kid definitely knew how to drive a bargain with the emotional blackmail of his shining eyes. "Let's see, I Anthony Stark swear to occasionally tell you unspecified 'stuff'. Good enough?"

"It'll do, I guess," Peter says.

"And we'll make up the rest as we go along."

The next morning in the kitchen, Peter's wearing a worn shirt with a binary joke on it and it fills Tony with nostalgia. For that little apartment in Queens, for the first time he met Peter Parker and got webbed to a door for his trouble. The kid's come far, he can see that now. He's learnt how to speak his own mind and he made the choice to send himself 600 miles away and be his own spiderperson. He's growing into something smart and capable and Tony finds he has a new respect for it after the night before.

"Hey, Pete," he says.

"Yeah?" Peter says.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"For the party?"

"For ditching the visits without telling you." He sighs, rapping his knuckles on the table. Who would've thought he'd one day be the mature adult owning up to his shit. "I thought I was making a good choice for you, but maybe I should've just asked."

Peter looks kind of dumbstruck.

"Maybe you don't need to make choices for me?" he says, tentatively. "Or maybe we could make choices on that stuff together?"

It's kind of gentle, like Tony's being very lightly reproved, and it's a strange and novel feeling. He pauses before he replies. Part of him really doesn't want to relinquish the urge to protect Peter from everything he possibly can. The other part says he doesn't get to keep Peter in the kid box just because it's easier.

"Right," Tony says, cause he knows when he's beat. "I'm guess I'm the bad sort of adult that makes bad choices for other adults, huh?"

Peter gives a rueful smile. "Sounds bad."

"You ain't seen nothing yet," Tony says, because it's true. He's capable of much worse decisions.

Peter looks across the room at him carefully, something on his face that Tony can't read.

"So," Tony says. "Are you ready to tinker with more million pound tech or are you nursing a mild hangover like me from a night of bad adult decisions?"

"The first one," Peter says, sliding off the kitchen counter, where he apparently lives now. "I got superpowers for the second one, remember?"

Tony can't help but be slightly horrified by how chipper Peter sounds. He even shoots Tony two little finger guns as he makes for the door. They wither a little as Tony gives him his most unimpressed 'I'm nursing a headache, why are you like this?' look.

"I'll see you down there once you've had your coffee, right?" Peter says more gently. "Um, sorry about your 100% human liver."

He gives Tony a sunny smile that might also be called uncharitable as he finally disappears.

"Respect your elders," Tony yells after him. "And don't touch anything I wouldn't touch until I get there to say you can touch it."

He's still smiling long after the thumps of Peter taking the stairs three at a time fade. The Parker Effect, he thinks he'll call it. A weird ability to make everyone in the immediate radius lighten up and smile. Possibly a mild curative for headaches resulting from excessive exposure to ethanol. Maybe he'll write a paper and send it to Peter's dorm.

He nurses his coffee for a little longer than he needs to, sitting in the morning sun, wondering why he feels like some screw in his chest has loosened. By the time the dregs are cold, the best he's come up with is that there's something about having Peter Parker backchat him in his own kitchen that feels homely. Which is a problem because he doesn't get to have Peter back Avengering full time for another 2-3 years and even then, only if some post-grad programme doesn't catch his eye or some loved one doesn't persuade him life's better in Kansas City or on the moon.

Gonna miss you kid, he thinks.

Then he follows that thought further and wonders if he shouldn't just retire already and tell someone else they're Chief Engineer. He could go back to Malibu, super boost some more cars and get himself a trophy wife-slash-husband to while away the hours with. Maybe the world could even do them all a favour and save itself.

He mentally calculates, just for a moment, the flight time to the west coast. He even visualises the waves until he can almost feel the temperature rising off the sand dunes and smell the salt of the sea.

He could sit on the beach, rubbing lotion onto the under-dressed trophy spouses both lightly muscled and excessively flexible. They could wrestle coquettishly for the pleasure of undressing him first and then when they had got each other all slippery he could magnanimously intervene. Then they could reconvene to his perfectly-sized bed and from there -

"Spiderman desires your attention in the main lab," FRIDAY reports, bringing the real world and his real hangover back with unerring focus.

Right. Science time.

"Thanks FRI. Turn on the coffee machine in the lab." He forces himself up off his stool. "And make it something strong."

"Yes, boss," FRIDAY says, like the best robot butler in the world.

"And activate the thumbprint recognition feature on the machine so Spiderman can't have anything," he adds. "And when he asks why, tell him it's because he made fun of my liver."

"Yes, boss," FRIDAY says again, but with a wearier tone.

The morning starts off productively, but somewhere along the line, working on legitimate projects becomes exposing things to pressure, great and small, for fun and ostensibly learning.

Normally Tony would take the blame for them having veered away from the official scienc-ing portion of their work, but it was really, definitely, Peter this time. He may be the one that okays putting a tiny fragment of vibranium in their industrial blender and seeing what happens next (result: mess, broken blender blades, no Nobel prize), but he blames giving in on residual guilt. He's not sure when the watermelon became involved but the short version is: it's not his fault, it's Peter's.

Naturally after that they pick up the idea of webbing that could hold Vision and Tony's peeved to admit that although he's pretty good at webshooter configurations, the chemistry side of Peter's goop is firmly his area.

"I know what I'm doing," Peter says, as Tony watches with wide eyes at the amount of salicyclic acid that disappears into the flask he's holding.

"I do," he insists, even as Tony insults him and Peter seems to noticeably stop concentrating on what goes into the flask next.

He's pretty sure they both see at the same moment when there's going to be a problem.

"Fuck," he says at the same time as Peter says "No!"

He only gets as far as a half step towards Peter before the flask explodes, sending tiny bits of glass tinkling to the ground everywhere.

Only the fact that he knows Peter's formula is typically non-corrosive stops him completely losing his shit. That and the fact that Peter must've turned just in time, because it's only the back of his lab coat that's covered with sticky shining fluid.

DUM-E rushes in with a extinguisher and starts spraying Peter all over with foam.

"Peter?"

"Fine," Peter yelps as DUM-E goes about his role with typical enthusiasm.

Once Tony's sure he's okay and not about to lose any skin to chemical burns, he waves DUM-E away.

"Still know what you're doing?" he says, as Peter turns round, looking bedraggled.

"I meant it to do that."

"Sure," Tony says. "Do we need to take a break?"

"No, I almost had it! If I hadn't been -"

"Backchatting."

"- taking comments."

"Receiving feedback."

"- interrupted," Peter says pointedly.

Tony cedes him that point with a wink. "Spare clothes in the second closet over there. Hey, maybe we need to get you an extra apron or a bib or something."

"Thanks, Mr Stark," Peter says sarcastically.

Standing in front of the closet he steps out of the labcoat and lets it fall to the ground. Then he starts to gingerly peel off his t-shirt. Tony observes closely, ready to reconvene to the medbay if there's any signs of burns or peeling, but Peter is just - wet. Mostly thanks to him and his excessively safety-conscious robot.

Peter doesn't look at all injured but he's not exactly going fast. Tony guesses he doesn't want to get foam in his eyes, which is understandable. The fact that the slow going only reveals his skin piece by piece gives Tony a chance to scan for injury properly, turning away when Peter glances briefly over his shoulder.

"Let me know if you need a bit more extinguishing," he offers.

"No," Peter says, turning pointedly back to the closet. "I got enough foam, thanks."

The shirt comes off and hits the floor with a wet thump. Then Peter's opening Tony's emergency closet and looking through it. The whole thing seems to be taking longer than Tony would've expected but the clock tells him it's really only been a few minutes since the flask exploded.

"Hey, Mr Stark, is there anything in here that references something post-1995?"

Peter turns, holding out one of Tony's favourite t-shirts in his left hand. For a moment Tony doesn't even look at the shirt because he's completing his medical analysis of Peter's body, making sure there's nothing that looks like it could hurt. But really, Peter looks okay. In fact, Peter looks like he's about to go cover Men's Health with his slightly damp skin and his defined abs. In fact he could probably have a whole second back-up career there, making people feel inadequate while they observed his chiselled muscles.

"Right," Tony says, because the moment has stretched long enough that it's probably weird. "Sorry you don't appreciate some of the finer things in life like - " he squints, trying to remember what's in there. "The 80s."

Normally he's better with his comebacks, but he's also trying to direct DUM-E at the residue of Peter's mess, so he gives himself a pass.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Peter pull on the t-shirt and then pick up his wet clothes and hold them loosely out in front of him. Tony points towards the chemical waste area round the back.

"But -" Peter says. "I like that t-shirt."

"Shouldn't have worn it in the lab."

To be fair, Peter's shirt is probably fine if his skin isn't peeling off, but Tony needs to discourage lab carelessness somehow. He doesn't want there to be peeling skin.

Peter comes back over and observes his now clean desk, peering at what's left of the loose notes he'd been making before things got too exciting.

Tony takes the moment to rate Peter's choice. It's a band shirt, a good one of course, because he doesn't keep hold of anything that's not. It's strange to realise he knows exactly when he bought it and what it feels like and that it's now on Peter. There are memories attached to it too, because the ones he keeps in the lab are the ancient ones that no invasive magazine writer should ever see. Seeing it on someone who didn't spend the night with him first is kind of odd. The last time it was on anyone other than him probably was circa '95 and there's a good chance it was a blonde wearing nothing else underneath.

On Peter it looks comfortable, like he's ready to kick back with his friends and then go out for the night. Which is what he ought to be doing with his holidays, not working on crazy science problems with Tony and his collection of robot friends.

Tony looks away and doesn't say anything because for once, nothing trivial or inane enough comes to mind. Peter is a grown-up and he's not exactly ugly and he's wearing Tony's clothes and that's fine. He just needs to let that be said in his mind once and then he can let it go and it won't be weird.

Except it is weird. Because when he looks up across the bench at Peter puzzling over his ruined notes, all he can think now is that if he didn't know Peter, would he be trying to get to know Peter? Because how many people are there out there who look like models but who also know advanced math and can climb along the ceiling?

Peter seems to sense the observation and looks up quizzically.

"Is this one okay?" he says, gesturing at the shirt. "I'm done with experimenting with the web fluid now, I promise. I mean not forever, but for today."

He looks tentative in a way that's all old him.

"Sorry I broke a flask," he adds.

"Kid -" Tony says, but then he stops because he really can't stand it when Peter looks at him like that, with the soulful eyes. He clears his throat. "It's not a problem."

"You look mad."

He doesn't look mad. He looks confused about the strength of his shirt-related feelings.

"What's that stupid Facebook thing?" he asks.

"Um, 'goodbye privacy, hello facial recognition?'"

"Gold star, but I think I was thinking of 'go fast, break things'. That applies here. You break all the things you need to, okay?"

Then he looks away because his urge to occasionally coddle Peter feels somewhat complicated by the addition of half-naked Peter to his mental photo album.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter pick up the newly fabricated and eye-wateringly expensive part for Tony's suit.

"Really? All the things?" he says, tossing it up in the air only to deftly catch it with his other hand.

Tony stares horrifically for a moment.

"That took a ridiculously long time to manufacture. And is also probably worth a sweet half million to some of my competitors."

Peter tosses it back to his other hand. "Still all the things?"

"Still all the things," Tony says hoarsely, as much as the acrobatics horrify him.

Peter stops and then they're just staring at each other. Tony's pretty sure he must be broadcasting all sorts of confusion because he's feeling it, the kind of strange thoughts he's going to deliberately choose not to dissect later with a glass of something. Maybe he really does need to get laid or something, because there shouldn't be something strangely thrilling about watching someone throw around his fancy engineering like it didn't weigh a thing.

"So, when you're done with your workout, maybe we could do some actual science?"

"Okay," Peter says. He's got a smile on his face again and something eases in Tony when he realises it's genuine and that Peter probably has no idea about his strange and sudden existential crisis.

"Sweet. Let's do this," he says, and purposefully looks away.

Peter doesn't give the shirt back because he's apparently a shirt thief. Tony knows this because Peter is wearing it in the kitchen the next morning, shuffling around the breakfast bar like maybe he slept in it.

"You want coffee?" Peter asks.

"How is that even a question?" Tony answers.

"Got you," Peter says, going back to the coffee machine.

Tony blames the fact that he only just woke up from some kind of nice hazy dream for the way he wants to brush the hair off the back of Peter's neck and ruffle the rest. It's not too bad, he could do that. He's probably done it in the past and never thought twice about it. But post Men's Health moment, it feels weird. He dumps it firmly in the category of not going to, even though he could.

Peter looks round, while he's reaching into a cupboard for a suitably large mug.

"Hey," Peter says, like they haven't already spoken. He really must've slept in the shirt because there's still a pillow crease on his cheek, unless he took it off to sleep and then put it on again first thing, which is somehow possibly the worse option.

"Hey," Tony says. He leans back against the counter. "I didn't realise you were such a big fan of Black Sabbath."

"Oh," Peter says, looking down at the shirt. "Well, they're okay I guess."

Tony raises an eyebrow.

"I can give it back if you want," Peter says. It sounds innocent, but somehow Peter doesn't look 100% innocent. Tony's pretty sure he's not misreading that.

"Now?" Tony asks.

Peter shrugs.

Tony has a feeling there a million things that he could say that would be acceptable and none of them are 'okay', but he's never been particularly sensible.

"Okay," he says.

Peter takes a step backwards and starts to pulls the shirt up, slowly, like he did in the lab. Like he's been practising, like it's both no big deal and a very deliberate big deal. It catches briefly on one ear and then he's just stood there, half naked, sleep pants low on his hips and his physique just as well-defined as it was the last time he'd stripped in front of Tony. He balls the shirt up and holds it out.

It's just out of Tony's reach.

Tony clears his throat. "Am I meant to come get that?"

Peter bites his bottom lip. "I don't know. Would you like to?"

His gaze is direct but his eyes all deep and genuine again and it's a such a contrast to the brazen display of skin that it hits a million times harder. Peter Parker, the strangest mixture of sweet and apparently dangerous as fuck.

"Kid -"

"Yeah?"

Alarmingly, some part of Tony is curious about what it would be like to take Peter up on his offer. To take that t-shirt and throw it somewhere behind them. To move in closer and then see where the morning would take them.

But that's a horrendously bad idea.

Peter lowers the arm holding the shirt and for a moment Tony thinks he's going to take the pants off too, but he doesn't.

"Your coffee's ready," Peter says instead. And then he takes a little step backwards and then another. Tony's gut tugs at him like it's either protesting the whole encounter or wants him to follow. He has a horrible feeling it's entirely half and half.

Then Peter's out the door and gone and the air comes back into the room.

The coffee machine hums in the background as if to remind him it's done. Tony looks over and numbly presses the button to turn it off.

He can't make himself pick up the mug because all of a sudden he doesn't need it. He's wide awake. More awake than he thinks he may have ever been at 8:09am.

"FRIDAY, lock off my corner of the gym," he says, sounding croaky even to himself. "No horny teenagers allowed."

"Yes, boss," FRIDAY says.

He avoids Peter studiously for the rest of the day. Or maybe Peter avoids him because they don't cross paths. It's good because it means he doesn't have to give all the 'here's why removing your clothes in front of me is a bad idea' speeches that swim around in his head. All the ones that just feel like fifty layers of hypocrisy given all the things he did at Peter's age and who he did them with. All the whys and wherefores and inane adult ways of justifying saying 'nope'. He briefly entertains the idea of calling Happy and suggesting Peter goes back to Queens to spend time with May early, but then he hates himself more for banishing Peter for doing nothing more than taking the invitation that he gave.

'No discarding clothes in the kitchen', he writes on the whiteboard attached to the fridge around midday because it's a scene of a crime and that needs noting somewhere.

In his head, Peter keeps standing there saying 'your coffee's ready', half-naked and soulful. 'I can give it back if you want,' Peter also says, tugging one of Tony's favourite t-shirts up and over his chest, baring himself like a present that's only been partially unwrapped.

What the fuck, he tells himself after he's clocked in enough miles on the treadmill to make his lungs burn.

Peter's absence starts to pull at him by the evening and he breaks.

"Where's the kid?" he asks FRIDAY, giving up on pretending to work on a wing improvement for Wilson.

"Spiderman is assisting with a search for a lost kayaker," FRIDAY reports back. "Location: The Hudson River, approximately one kilometre north of Athens."

"Right," Tony says. Of course Peter is out swinging off trees, helping people. He's a superhero, he does that.

"Thanks," he says. "Let me know when he gets in. Even if I fall asleep in the lab."

He gets about three seconds warning from FRIDAY that Peter is back and incoming before Peter swings himself in through the open lounge window. He guesses that's what he gets for not being more specific like 'tell me when Peter is done for the evening and heading home' or 'tell me when Peter is scaling the building and about to climb in through a window I in no way left open for this purpose'.

"Hey Pete," he says.

"Hey, Mr Stark," Peter says.

He pulls off his mask a little more slowly than he's usually prone to.

"You know you can check out when you go on patrol, right?" Tony says. "Maybe leave a note with the helpful AI concierge."

Peter looks at him quizzically, one eyebrow cocked.

"Um, I don't really log out the building when I go on patrol round campus, Mr Stark."

Tony suddenly really hates the deliberate reappearance of his last name and the pointed distance it brings.

"Well, you know, if you feel like checking in, you can."

"Do I need to?" Peter says.

Tony gets a sudden horrible feeling his boundaries are being tested, complete with yet another flashback to the kitchen and Peter flexing his newfound confidence.

"You know what," he says. "You're old enough to make that call."

God, he hates his mouth.

Peter doesn't stop frowning. "Any other calls I'm old enough to make?"

"Nope," Tony says. "I'm done. Glad you're safe, good talk, sleep well."

He picks up his tablet and makes for the door.

"Tony -" Peter says, and then he pauses. Something like relief flickers in Tony's chest. If a frosty 'Mr Stark' is the equivalent of being in the doghouse, 'Tony' is a bit like being told he can stop sleeping on the couch.

"Yes?" he says, turning back.

Peter's something in the moonlight spilling in the window. All strong, layered angles in his suit that Tony made him. This kid who's already been through fifty times more than he had by nineteen.

He's going to make somebody much better and more age-appropriate than Tony very happy one day.

"Night," Peter says.

Tony's throat sticks. He wants to do something pointless like ask Peter how the search went, if he ran into any problems. Small talk, but the type of small talk where he'd be pretending he didn't suddenly want to peel that suit off Peter and check him all over for injuries himself.

"Night, kid," he says instead, because there's things he probably shouldn't have. Ever. He's not that good.

"I'm guilt tripping you," Peter says the next evening. "This is what you owe me for not visiting. Or not telling me about not visiting."

"That seems - vaguely fair," Tony admits.

They seems to be over yesterday's weirdness or at least not mentioning it. Peter confidently makes his way over to the liquor cabinet and pulls out a bottle and Tony doesn't entirely surprise himself by not protesting.

"Is there something you're planning on drinking to forget? Because the Avengers can cover you for therapy if you need it."

"We're not getting wasted," Peter says. "We're playing Bannagrams. And you don't have to drink."

"Yes, cause it's my hardened liver I'm worried about."

"I don't really get all that drunk, remember?" Peter says.

"So all that borrowing my fifty year old scotch the other night wasn't even for effect?"

Peter has the grace to look a little shamefaced. "I get a buzz for awhile, it just doesn't last. Anyway sometimes the idea of a thing is enough."

Tony waits until Peter's had a sip of his drink and laid out half the tiles before he picks up that particular train of thought.

"So was your thing in the kitchen a heads-up of a career diversion into stripping or was the idea of it enough?"

Peter pauses in turning over tiles but he doesn't look up, and the angle hides his face from Tony.

"You were the one who said okay."

"For the record, I didn't think 'okay' meant perform a short striptease."

Peter looks up with a small frown. "I don't know, I thought it was pretty obvious what I was going to do."

"Still didn't think you would actually do it."

Peter shrugs. He's got that stubborn tilt to his chin that Tony recognises and would've praised only two days ago, but now finds himself mildly wary of.

"You like it when people press your buttons, right?" Peter says. "So I did."

That feels like a very deliberate call out. Tony is surprised until he remembers it's not like he ever recruits the ones who are quiet and unchallenging.

"I guess I could've washed it first," Peter says.

"What exactly did you do in it that made it need a wash?"

Peter fumbles and drops a tile he was about to lay down. "What? Okay, that's not fair. That is not fair if you're judging me for taking it off in the first place."

He probably has a point, but Tony figures he didn't start this weird competition. "What do they say? Don't dish it out if you can't take it?"

"Who says I can't take it?" Peter says back, his cheeks flushing a hot pink. "How do you even know what I can take?"

"Oh boy. So we are definitely talking about this."

"I don't know, are we?" Peter shoots back. "Maybe we ought to wait for you to give me permission."

Oh boy, oh boy.

"Look, I get it," Tony says, trying to aim for placating and fair. "You have fully fledged abs now and you want people to see them. That's fine. I just don't think you've thought about what comes after you've used them to lure someone into eating the forbidden fruit."

"I'm not forbidden fruit," Peter says.

"Fine, I'll be the older, maturer forbidden fruit in this metaphor."

"I -" Peter stalls. "Why do I need to have thought about it? Why can't I just -"

He tails off morosely.

"I'm going to let you work that one out on you own," Tony says. "Because that what's adults have to do. And you're one of those now, right?"

Peter gives him a glare but he goes silent. After a moment of aggressive tile shuffling, he looks back up.

"Wanda kisses me on the cheek, you know."

"Yes, I know," Tony says. "I think we all saw that."

He lays down his own word, only for Peter to immediately put a letter in the middle of it and steal it.

"Good to know you're keeping track, I guess," Peter says.

Tony gives him A Look. "Perhaps we do need to set some overall rules on PDA in the compound. Seems to be a bit of a rash of inappropriate behaviour recently."

"Wouldn't want the younger generation to shock anyone, right?"

Tony has to give him a point for that. "Feisty."

Peter blushes but he doesn't seem to have anything else, so they continue playing in the not quite awkward silence.

"You're so mean," Peter says eventually, when Tony steals his longest word with the mere addition of an 's'.

"Better believe it," Tony says, giving him a jaunty salute.

"So who do you kiss on the cheek?" Peter asks, after a moment.

"What, during welcome back rituals or in general?"

"Either."

"Anyone I like," Tony says. "Why, who wants to know?"

Peter, perhaps suddenly feeling sensible, doesn't bite back.

Getting back to lab time the next morning is a definite relief after the complications of his interactions with Peter in other places. They pass each other things without comment, Tony makes a small breakthrough on a project that's been stalled for weeks, it's good. Then Peter apparently turns evil when given a pipette, because he very definitely squirts Tony on the back of the head with something cold.

When Tony turns around, water dripping down his neck, Peter is studiously working on his soldering. He looks up at Tony with an innocent expression.

"What?"

"Nothing," Tony says, picking up the gauntlet he was working on and tapping through the environmental controls for lab. The sprinklers would get everything wet, so they're probably a no -

"Using technology is cheating," Peter says.

"Oh really?"

It turns out that he knows the location of a bigger pipette than Peter has and from there it becomes a very mature, not at all ridiculous, subtle water fight. That ends with Tony holding one of Peter's wrists and Peter holding one of his and Peter's chest flush against his, his breaths coming fast.

"Hey," Peter says, looking up through his lashes.

Tony makes himself release Peter's wrist very promptly. "I think you win."

Peter rather pointedly doesn't let him go, but he does loosen his grip slightly.

"Maybe we should make it best of three," he says.

"Maybe not," Tony says, a little caught on Peter's damp hair and where his t-shirt has slightly ridden up on one bicep.

"Might give you more of a chance."

Tony should really tug his wrist out of Peter's grip but for some reason he isn't. He's telling himself it's because Peter's stronger than him, so there's no point trying. He's not quite sure what the real reason is. Curiosity? Is he seeing how serious Peter is? Is he doing a case study on where Peter suddenly learnt all about flirting? Not just with his words but apparently also with his hands and his eyes and his casual appropriation of other people's clothes.

"So you gonna let me go then, Mr Parker?"

Peter flushes. "Maybe." He stares at his own hand on Tony's wrist, but his fingers don't loosen. Then he looks back at Tony with his chin up in a way that makes warning bells go off in Tony's head. "You don't want to try and make me?"

Words die on Tony's tongue. Um, hello, a tiny voice in his mind says. What is happening?

"Would you look at the time," he says, though he's not even pretending to look at the clock. "Perhaps we should pause for lunch."

"It's ten thirty," Peter says, still not moving.

"I'm very hungry," Tony says. "You could make me another sandwich, you seem to like that."

"Or we could do something else," Peter says. His voice isn't quite as confident as it was with the come hither stuff in the kitchen, but his gaze is still strong, still locked on Tony's. And it's not doing anything to quell the deeply inappropriate desire Tony is fighting to nudge Peter back and yes, very good, do something else.

"Or we could go get sandwiches," he says, more firmly.

Peter looks down, like he's disappointed, and his fingers loosen so they're barely holding Tony at all. Tony still can't quite make himself break away, even though it would be easy now.

"Would it really be so bad?" Peter says. "Am I so bad?"

All the flirtation has gone from his voice and he just looks sad and uncertain.

"No," Tony says. It takes him a second to gather his thoughts and discard all the options for physically reassuring Peter of his appeal. "Obviously you are perfect in a multitude of ways, but I am definitely not, and thus we will be making sandwiches and not doing anything else."

"I don't get a say?" Peter says.

"On who I have bad idea sex with?" Tony says, watching Peter flush. "No, funnily if one of us says no, it doesn't happen."

Peter deflates instantly, releasing Tony's hand like it's burning.

"Sorry," he says, looking down, anywhere but at Tony. "I didn't mean -"

"I know," Tony says, a lot softer. Maybe he went in too hard. Screw it, he definitely went in too hard. "I mean it, you're perfect. I'm just not the one who should get to discover exactly how perfect, okay?"

Peter looks back up and Tony really wants nothing more than to say more of the same, in great detail, maybe just to get the adoring way Peter is looking at him for a little longer. But if there's one person in the world he never wants to fuck things up with, it's Peter.

"I'm like that hot french teacher we all had at school, right? The fantasy is great, it gets you through high school, whatever, nobody gets hurt by it, but the reality isn't the same."

"Tony - "

"And I'm sorry if I've let this go too far or encouraged it -"

"Don't - " Peter says. "Tony - just -"

"-but I'm not going to be your ill-advised fling," Tony finishes, firmly.

Peter steps back slowly, his eyes looking wide.

"Other people's, sure," Tony adds softly. "But not yours, Pete."

"Okay," Peter says, nodding and turning his face away.

Tony doesn't like that that means he can't see Peter's face. It's difficult to judge whether a hug would be appropriate or just confusing.

"It was just sort of nice and - normal," Peter says, turning back with the tiniest tremble in his voice. "And I just don't know why you think it would be so awful."

Tony gives up on withholding physical affection and goes for the hug. Peter folds easily into his arms, just like he always does, and he's glad he made the decision to do it.

"Because I know me better than you do," he says, to Peter's hair. "And because I was nineteen once too."

Peter sighs. "Were you this annoying then, too?"

"Way worse," Tony says, with a smile. "You're really only scratching the surface. I partied way too hard and I did things with people who are far more inappropriate than even me -"

"See," Peter says, drawing back and looking up at him incredulously. "You see that, right? The part where you basically admitted how hypocritical you're being?"

"Oh yeah," Tony says. "Clocked that days ago. You can be a hypocrite and still be right, though."

Peter goes quiet, looking sad.

"It makes me happy when we -" he trails off.

"Flirt?" Tony fills in. "When you flirt with me and I do a bad job of keeping my mouth shut?"

"Yeah, that."

"All things pass, right?" Tony says, because it sounds sort of literary and like it could be universally true if he wanted it to be, or said it with enough conviction.

"Well," Peter says as he takes a firmer step backwards. "Then I guess you can make your own sandwich."

He looks peeved but also slightly determined, which is worrying.

"Fine," Tony says, grateful crisis has been averted. "You don't use enough mayo, anyway."

The following day Peter goes back to Queens to spend the last few days of his holidays with May and Tony waves goodbye and doesn't mention the sneaky mock-ups of the new spider boots he'd got Happy to put in the trunk of the car. He spent the night finishing them off, trying to fight off a heavy guilty feeling in his stomach at making Peter sad the day before he had to pack his bags and go again.

It takes a few days before he realises he might have gotten used to having a human companion in the lab again. He has to video call Bruce to get his fix on the fourth day post-Peter and then yet again admits to himself he either needs to get laid or get something else resembling a life.

He sends Peter texts though, because he got the message loud and clear about not being cut-off.

Peter, for his part, sends him messages back that are thankfully mostly PG-13. Tony tries to discourage the occasionally flirty ones by giving him marks. Constructive criticism for your own romantic good, he calls it.

whens a brushoff a brushoff, Peter texts back in reply to that. and when's someone just wimping out?

Tony ignores that underlying message in favour of sending Peter a video of a very large cat chasing a spider. The spider does not make it through to the end of the video.

Peter sends back four sad emojis in a row.

Tony feels no guilt.

On one - probably drunken- night when Peter is back on campus, Peter links him to an Urban Dictionary definition for a sex act not even Tony has performed. The message is accompanied with the hashtag #neverhaveiever.

Five minutes later it's followed with 'sorry! playing a game. sorry, sorry. please don't be werided out.'

Tony is so amused that Peter thinks anything on the internet can genuinely shock him that he does some browsing of his own and sends back another link with the same hashtag.

It starts something. Over the next few days they go back and forth finding definitions that would make more sane people cry. And when Tony starts to run out of things he genuinely hasn't done, he resets the status quo by adding a second hashtag.

#neverhaveiever played 'hide the pickle' #ontheempirestatebuilding.

It's a win until he wakes up to find Peter has upped the stakes with 'flying squirrel' and #onthewashingtonmonument.

Tony skips the sex jokes and sends a photo of himself sitting in the donut ontop of the diner. Peter responds with a selfie from somewhere that is probably the tallest building in Ann Arbor if Tony is half as smart as he thinks is.

exhibitionist, he sends. And then he remotely calls up a suit and has it take a selfie of itself from the top of the Chrysler Building and sends Peter that.

cheater, Peter sends in response.

Tony sends him a picture of his middle finger.

2/10 Peter types back, be more original mr s.

Tony stares at that one for sometime. Once upon a time he would've done something stupid like organising a trip to the White House for the perfect selfie on the front lawn, but he tells himself he's too sensible for that now.

Instead, he persuades the rest of the team to all pose wearing spare spidey hoods and sends the picture to Peter with #newavengerslineup and #peterwho?

He doesn't get a reply to that one until the evening, when he's almost forgotten he was pulling ahead.

noooooo. is it because I was winning the selfie comp? #tonystarkisasoreloser

guess you got me, Tony types back. Then, because he's apparently in the mood to misbehave: what do you want as your prize?

He settles down comfortably in his chair and makes his own bet on whether Peter will take the innocent interpretation of that message or not.

It shows Peter is typing for a long time, long enough for Tony to swill the ice cubes in his drink around ten times counterclockwise and then at least the same back the other way. When he does finally get a reply, it's just a set of three ellipses.

don't waste your expensive education now, Tony types back.

that's so unfair, Peter replies.

i know. so stop messaging back.

thought i was the one who pushed buttons?

what you gonna do about it? Tony types, because he's unexpectedly enjoying himself.

what would you do, Peter sends. Nothing else follows for a minute. But then there's another ping and if I sent you a selfie of what I'm doing right now?

Tony swallows, something that could be alcohol making his chest feel hot. probably depends on what you're doing right now

you know, right?

yes, i think i might know. Peter must be blushing at least. And at this hour he's definitely in his dorm room, probably on or in his bed. And from there there's an attractive set of options for what he could be doing there. as i told you before, i was nineteen once too.

i hear all your messages in your voice, Peter sends.

this is the point where I tell you to find an age-appropriate friend.

dont, Peter texts so fast he can't have thought about it all. because I won't. just keep talking to me.

should've known you were trouble from the first time we met Tony sends, mostly against his better judgement.

what should i be doing with my age-appropriate friend?

having disappointing age-appropriate sex.

sounds awful. why can't i do it with you?

That one definitely makes Tony's pulse thump a little faster. He takes his time with his reply, deleting first one answer and then the other, before deciding on following his gut. because I wouldn't stop until I'd ruined you for anybody else.

Peter doesn't reply to that one and Tony doesn't need to put much thought into why. He imagines it for a few nice minutes, Peter in his dorm bed with his hand under the covers and one of those blushes working its way up his chest, his eyes pressed closed, his phone lying next to him. Whatever, he wants Peter to have a good time if he wants to. And if Peter's brave enough to ask for a little help getting there, why shouldn't he get it?

sleep well kid, he adds, when he's finished the last of his drink. if anything feels awkward in the morning it's on me.

When he wakes up he finds Peter has texted him at 2am. It just reads you suck at boundaries.

tell me something I don't know, he types back.

While he's splashing water on his face in the bathroom, his phone pings.

okay: i looked at plane tickets for an hour last night.

Tony's stomach does something really weird. why would you do that?

because you wound me up so bad I think I lost my mind.

Tony's thumb almost hits the call button. In his head he imagines Peter standing in front of the mirror in his dorm room, just like Tony is. Half of him wants to look at plane tickets too.

see? he types instead. i'm a bad idea.

There's a minute or two's pause without beeps wherein Tony very determinedly rinses and spits with mouthwash. Then there's a ping and a picture loading.

It's of Peter. Peter maybe lying on his bed. It's just his head but his mouth's a little open and his eyes are closed and his cheeks are flushed and Tony knows he probably took it last night, while they were talking. That Peter probably snapped it with intention of sending it to him then.

i took more, Peter sends before Tony has really even wrapped his mind around the existence of one.

no, he types firmly. and delete them. then make sure they're double deleted.

my face isn't in the other ones. i know how the internet works too.

good, smart, Tony sends, feeling neither of those things. still delete them.

you don't even want to see?

you're going to delete them.

yes mr stark, Peter sends.

Tony can hear the sarcasm from New York. He clenches the edge of the sink and for a moment sincerely hates himself for wading in so deep.

good job, he types, then throws his phone out the bathroom door to land on his bed and takes a few deep breaths in front of the window.

"In over your depth," he tells his reflection. "But you literally cannot help yourself so you deserve everything you get."

Peter messages him something innocent later in the day but Tony deliberately leaves it a few hours before replying.

nobody here understands how much i miss cronuts is still there waiting for him when he finishes his board meeting. It doesn't tug at his heartstrings any less then than it did in the morning. Nor is it any less of a whiplash reminder that flirty Peter coexists with the other Peter, the one who has Tony curled round his little finger even though he doesn't seem to know it.

Obviously his only move is to send an express delivery of cronuts to Michigan. Whether he's salving his own conscience for flirting up a storm or just doing his best to make Peter happy, he truly doesn't know.

Peter mostly behaves himself after the picture conversation. And Tony, for his part, doesn't let himself text Peter when he's been drinking.

They've already set the date for his first campus visit and on some level Tony can't help but wonder if they're both on good behaviour in anticipation of that. Peter because he no doubt doesn't want to jeopardise the visit, and him because he knows he shouldn't flirt if he doesn't have any intention of following through.

So he sends Peter more pictures of the things he's working on and gets wistful 'wish I was there' texts back. They're studded with too many engineering jokes and math tips for them to be flirtatious, but they affect him none the less. He finds himself right back where he was when he stopped making the campus visits, missing his lab partner in crime more than he should.

When Peter spends three days solidly doing project work, he goes quiet and it's strange all over again not to hear from him until late in the evening if at all. Finally, on the Friday in the last few hours before Peter's due to turn it all in, he gets a text that just says please save me.

It's followed shortly after by not in any trouble! i mean save me from math and michigan donuts

that's what you get for not going with MIT. you could be getting your cronuts way quicker.

michigan is cool, Peter sends and Tony can hear his voice, see that firm little defensiveness he gets about his precious college.

His phone pings again, and there it is, right on queue: best aerospace engineering program in the country.

you're never going to space again, so stop trying, Tony sends, because he has very strong feelings on that subject.

uh huh

i know you're not planning on asking for permission so I've taken precautions.

like what? Peter types back.

Tony pauses because Peter's face is too clear in his mind for him to type all the actual precautions he has very much taken. Plus if Peter knows, they'll be easier for him to circumvent.

nice try, he says instead. don't you have friends to hang out with?

nice try. shouldn't you be drinking scotch and flirting with me by now?

Tony can't help himself smiling. maybe I'm shooting for a dry january.

yeah, right. what about the other part?

Tony ignores that engraved invitation. you really bored of campus life?

He's only curious. It's not like his mind is in any way ticking towards planning something ridiculous.

Peter doesn't reply. Tony waits patiently, because it says Peter's still online, until he realises exactly what Peter is waiting for.

fine, tomorrow i'm printing you a t-shirt that reads 'ground crew' and if you don't wear it i'll have to demand you give my other one back. is that close enough to flirting for you?

you can have the other one back if you come get it.

Tony stops and imagines for a moment doing exactly that, pinning Peter down on a bed and slowly pulling it off him, kissing every inch as he goes. It's the furthest he's ever let himself go thinking about it and it's enough to make his mouth start to go dry.

part of me would like to, pete, he types slowly, because he feels like maybe he owes Peter some honesty instead of just another putdown. but we've already talked about why it wouldn't be a good idea.

i know, Peter sends back. It just sucks.

Tony stares at the message for a long time with no idea what to say. He doesn't want to be the bad guy and say maybe they shouldn't text so much. He also doesn't really want to stop.

you're still coming out next weekend?

It tugs at his chest, the idea that Peter might be still be unsure he's actually coming. If he needed anything to tip him right over into big dramatic gesture territory, it's that.

what if we went big, he sends. switched it up a bit. you could bring some buddies and we'll go somewhere cool.

?? Peter sends back.

what's the point of being a billionaire with a private jet if I only use it to fly as far as michigan?

If Peter wants to have a break from campus life, he can do that.

um. tony, what are you planning?

He rules out Mexico as too far, tempting as the idea of taking Peter over the border and seeing how much tequila he could soak up is. He thinks of Malibu and the beach for a moment before he remembers Peter being sad when he was home for the holidays that he hadn't been there to watch it snow 'properly' and 'deep' in Michigan over Christmas. Like twenty inches of snow blanketing Central Park wasn't impressive enough for him.

you're gonna need a scarf, he types. and maybe some longjohns.

what? tony??

more details to follow. He's already making mental notes for himself. He has a week to make it ridiculous and unforgettable.

the plane can get fit 8, go wild. 9 if i sit on the pilot's lap or fly along outside. or would that be showing off?

you don't have to do anything special.

The fact that Tony can hear the text in Peter's voice, gently not expecting anything or used to being spoilt, does not help with reigning himself in.

it's your birthday in like six months, right? we'll call it an early birthday thing.

There's no response for a few minutes so he shrugs.

we're doing something special unless you stop me in the next ten minutes.

okay, Peter texts pretty promptly. i mean, if you're sure.

just make sure you've got a scarf. i'll handle the rest.

He starts with mysterious messages, then ships Peter a few things with notes saying 'you will need me at the weekend'. Only half of them are red herrings.

Once Peter catches on that they're going out of the country, Tony refuses to drop any further details.

As their Friday evening meet-up draws closer, he tells Peter he's sending a car to campus to pick him and his friends up. Peter refuses and tells him he's getting a cab. Tony only relents and sends the address for the airfield because the weekend's for Peter and he wants to make him happy.

When Peter steps out of the cab alone and makes his way across the concrete solo, Tony's not overly surprised.

"What happened to bring all the buddies?"

"Where are we even going?" Peter says, dodging the question completely.

"I distinctly remember saying to invite people."

"Because I'm not sure I packed right?"

"Not even Ned? That's cold, Peter Parker."

"Are we even going anywhere or did you just fly out here so we could talk on an airfield?"

Peter doesn't look at all shamefaced when Tony stares at the empty air either side of him pointedly.

"You're pretty stubborn, anyone ever tell you that?"

"No," Peter says, clearly lying through his teeth. "So, we're going to Canada, right?"

In the quiet recycled air of the plane, Peter runs his fingers over the section at that back, where Tony still has a bunch of tech installed. Peter knows enough about Tony's setups that he can call up images of his newest suit, the one they were sort of working on over the holidays. Tony hasn't touched it since Peter left. Normally he makes adjustments in his own time, tweaking things and trying new shooter configurations as they come to him, but it didn't seem right the first time he called it up, working on it without Peter anymore.

Peter's looking at the holo, turning it this way and that, as if checking for anything new. Tony can't tell whether he looks disappointed about the lack of changes or not.

"Remember my first suit?" Peter says, looking back at Tony over his shoulder.

"I think everyone involved in that construction of that suit should have it scrubbed from their memory as a courtesy. Oh wait, that was just you."

"Rude," Peter says, but he smiles. "I can't believe we haven't put in a modification so I can fly yet."

"You don't need to fly, you can spider. Anyway, you'd cramp my style."

"What, the sky isn't big enough for the both of us?"

"You mean for you, me, Thor, Rhodey, Wilson, Vision, the prettier version of Scott, Wanda when she feels like it? It's getting a little crowded up there."

"And Dr Strange," Peter adds, looking thoughtful. "Oh and Valkyrie when she's on her pegasus. Hey, what if you made me an iron pegasus?"

"That guy never returns my calls, screw him. And as for the flying unicorn thing, that's clearly cheating."

Peter smiles a little wider and Tony does too. Maybe he's a little glad it's just them really.

After a moment he makes himself turn to stare at the silently revolving holo. Peter does the same and Tony's surprised by how comfortable the silence is.

"Sorry I didn't invite anyone else," Peter says. "I thought about it, but I hang out with them all the time and I only get see you a few times a year."

Tony shrugs. "Doesn't matter. We'll just have a few extra bedrooms."

"It is Canada, right?"

"Thought it was about time you saw some mooses. Hey, have you ever been night skiing in the Laurentians?"

"What? Don't you mean like, have you ever been skiing fullstop?"

"Relax, I won't put you on a black run until you've found your feet."

Peter looks mildly terrified.

"Aren't those the hard ones?"

"Correct," Tony says, with a wicked smile. "I''m joking, there's ski school if you want to learn, but we don't have to. I was going to leave the exact schedule up to you."

Peter's trepidation melts into something softer.

"So, basically we can do whatever I like and there's snow?"

He looks a lot happier about the snow than the prospect of skiing.

"Lots of snow," Tony agrees.

Peter's happy smile, it turns out, now has the ability to make Tony's chest feel tight.

"Hey, next time I say I'm bored of campus, does this mean you can fly us to Japan?"

"No," Tony says.

"Okay, fair enough. Texas?"

"Why would you even want to go to Texas?"

"I've never been to Texas," Peter says, looking strangely mournful.

Tony doesn't really have a response for that. "I'll add it to the list."

He persuades Peter to get some sleep while they've still got a bit of flight time left, and then he dozes off himself, wondering what it is Peter's been pining for in Texas. After touch down, they spend half an hour in the terminal, going through passport control and then at the hire car desk. Peter disappears while Tony's signing things and comes back later with no obvious purchases. Tony gives him a suspicious look but Peter gives him an innocent one back and then they're heading out into the cold to load up.

After two flights, it's nice to slide behind the wheel and get to drive. Popping in an earpiece and having FRIDAY give him directions is a good excuse as any to tell Peter to go back to sleep because he looks like he needs it.

Tony's plans for eating over the weekend involved entirely off-loading cooking to any (and maybe all) of the local eateries. Peter, as it turns out, is more interested in dragging him out to the grocery store and making him carry a plastic basket around after him.

"I have been to grocery stores before," Tony says.

"Really?" Peter says. "How much for -" he casts around before spotting something on the shelf and then placing his body in front of it - "one tin of cocoa powder?"

"Well," Tony says, because he doesn't exactly have an exact idea. "Is it just Ghirardelli or some kind of special blend Ecuadorian or -"

"You have no idea!"

"I have all the ideas," Tony says, trying to peer round Peter. "Just let me see the price tag. "

"That's cheating."

"We're in a different country, Peter Parker, am I expected to be able to account for exchange rates on the go?"

"I thought you were the best at math."

"Right, when we get outside, snow is going down your back. I am going to put it there."

Peter looks unimpressed. "You can try," he says. "Oh look - three and a half Canadian dollars."

"I want marshmallows," Tony says, to get away from Peter. "I am allowed them or do I have to guess their price first?"

"We could make a whole gameshow, right here," Peter says.

The cashier is smiling at them when they check out. Peter puts enough dollars for exactly half their purchases on the desk, which explains where he disappeared to at the airport, and Tony puts the rest on his card without comment.

He doesn't put snow down Peter's back on the way back, but only because Peter turns to him once they're outside the store with a serious face and says: "If I did do a post-grad thing, would that be a problem? Staying away from the Avengers for so long?"

"Of course not," Tony says. As much as he might miss seeing Spiderman swinging by alongside them, it's definitely the truth. "You want knowledge, go get it."

"And if I didn't? If I wanted to come back and join the team again after finishing up at Michigan?"

Tony has no idea where the uncertainty in Peter's voice is coming from but he's going to do his utmost best to squash it, hard.

"You can do whatever you like."

Maybe he'd been joking too hard about the day when Peter was going to inevitably outstrip all his academic achievements by getting five degrees in a row.

"Seriously. No-one's taking any options away from you while you've got me on your side. Except maybe space. That's on my 'please no' list."

Peter smiles. "Just space?"

"Just space," Tony confirms. "Texas, if you must. But not space."

Peter goes quiet in a way Tony now knows means he's thinking.

"You know what's really funny?" Peter says eventually.

"Yeah?"

"You say stuff like that, but then you helped pay for me to go somewhere where I could learn all about building things to go to space."

"I know. Trust me, it's my cross to bear."

"No, you don't get it," Peter says. "You helped even though you knew that one day I might go back up there. Because it was what I wanted. And I guess because you trusted my judgement enough to let me."

"Uh huh," Tony says cautiously, because he's not quite sure where Peter is heading with this.

"Because I must have thought about what it would be like and what that consequences might be, right?"

Now Tony gets it.

"Okay, I see that we are no longer talking entirely about space."

"Maybe," Peter admits. "I just wanted you to know that I have thought about the other thing, all of it. And that I think my judgement on that is pretty good, too."

In a weird, sideways way, that's the most flattering thing Tony's heard in awhile.

"Message received," he says, slowly, because he's not ready to commit to saying anything else just yet.

"Just so you know," Peter adds.

Just so he knows Peter apparently isn't giving up anytime soon, that means. Like hopping on the plane solo wasn't enough of a hint.

Peter spends the afternoon falling over on skis in innumerable adorable ways. His jubilant face every time he makes it more than five metres without faceplanting is easily worth the price of the weekend to Tony. The short video he gets of Peter skidding his way down his first tiny slope is equally golden. The fact that he crashes into Tony in the last few seconds, in a way he swears wasn't on purpose, just makes it even better.

That night, the power goes out, complete with dramatic flickering and then an impressively final shuddering blackness. For a moment it's nice to realise it's not the result of an attack or a power spike because Tony's AI was busy gaining life. It wasn't even his fault in any way. Just a bit of local flavour.

He activates the torch on his phone at the exact same time Peter does.

"Hack their electrics and run them off our suits?" he suggests boredly, because it's not like they didn't both bring them.

Pete bites his lip. "I saw candles in a drawer earlier."

"Really?"

"Blackouts can be fun, right? I mean we could still fix it, but it doesn't have to be immediately."

Yet again, Tony damns Peter Parker's many heart-tugging facial expressions.

"Heating?" he says, because he has some definite priorities.

"Blankets," Peter counters.

"Light?"

"Candles."

"Entertainment?"

"There are board games."

Tony's face must be doing something sceptical because Peter's goes determined.

"Who says you can't play Clue by candlelight?"

He looks painfully hopeful.

"Can you even play with two people?"

"Let's find out?"

So they do, with Peter wrapped in blankets from one of the spare rooms and Tony in the same from another. After half an hour of Tony deliberately forgetting the rules just to wind Peter up, they give up and Tony sets them up with his tablet and a satellite connection and tells Peter the world's his oyster.

It's only an hour before Peter falls asleep on the couch, his head against Tony's shoulder, their blankets somehow having become a shared property.

It hurts Tony a little to wake him when the movie's over, but he knows all about the morning regrets that come from sleeping on cheap couches.

"C'mon kiddo," he says, gently nudging Peter. "Some of us have backs this couch will kill."

"Sorry, Mr S," Peter yawns. "You want me to use my magic hands?"

Tony smiles at Peter's hair, sticking up like a halo. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Today?" Peter says, checking his watch. "Woah, when did I fall asleep? What happened in the end?"

"Rocks fell, everyone died," Tony says. "C'mon bedtime."

He offers Peter his hand to get off the couch. Peter takes it and maybe Tony pulls too hard or Peter comes up a bit too enthusiastically, who knows which, but he's suddenly pressed against Tony's chest.

"Ohh," Peter says.

"No," Tony says, reflexively.

Peter draws back and smiles like Tony's the butt of a joke he doesn't even know about. "I thought I'd have to try a lot more than that to get this close."

"There is a line," Tony says, but he's smiling now too because the line between them has long ago become fiction. "There is a whole line."

"Uh huh. And um, where on the line is 'romantic weekend in Canada'?"

"I told you to invite other people."

"Yeah, but why would I do that?"

Tony doesn't think it's his imagination that Peter has silently managed to shuffle a tiny bit closer.

"Peter -"

He has to stop because he doesn't actually know what he had been planning to say.

"Yeah?"

No helpful words offer themselves up. He can't suggest he doesn't want to, because he does. He can't pretend either, because Peter already knows the truth. Which really only leaves giving in.

"You're not forbidden fruit," Peter says, reaching out for him. His palm comes to rest on Tony's chest. "I don't think of you like that. And who says it has to be an inadvisable fling?"

With his other hand, he lifts one of Tony's up to his face and Tony helps, lets his fingers brush back an unruly strand of Peter's hair away.

"I'm still a bad idea though."

"Okay," Peter says, closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek against Tony's palm. "Well, I'm a really bad idea too."

"Really? How exactly are you a bad idea?"

His fingers apparently don't need his permission to push gently through Peter's hair.

Peter swallows hard, his throat moving obviously as his eyes flicker back open.

"I'm pushy, sometimes," he says.

Tony touches the soft dry skin of Peter's mouth with his other hand because he suddenly can't stop himself.

"Tenacious," he corrects.

"I'm - bad at Clue."

"I cheat at Clue," Tony counters, letting himself lean forward enough that he can see Peter's eyelashes dip.

Peter gasps. "I like it when you touch me."

"Not sure I'm going to let you count that one."

"Okay," Peter says, wide-eyed. "I guess I'm bad at this game too. Please can we kiss now?"

There's not much saying no to that. Not when Tony's blood is pumping loud though his ears, loud enough to drown out all other thoughts. You didn't touch Peter Parker's mouth and get to keep your higher brain function intact.

Peter makes a noise that sounds both painful and pleased when Tony kisses him. Tony wants to put it on tape so he has the means to listen to it again whenever he likes. It's the noise of weeks of knowing how much you want someone and holding it all back, then finally, finally getting what you want. Tony knows it intimately.

Peter pulls at him haphazardly, his every movement lingering, like he thinks he might not get another chance. Things that Tony has only absently imagined over the last few weeks become real. Peter stepping in between his legs, Peter's tentative fingers tracing his neck, Peter's less tentative torso pressing up against his. It's been a long time since he's kissed anyone in a way that left him feeling out of control, but there's no resisting kissing Peter until he runs outs of breath, Peter clutching him at him tighter and tighter as they go.

Peter shudders when Tony pulls back, and Tony's instinctive response is to only go far enough to put a sliver of air between them.

"Can we go in your room?" Peter asks, like anything might be possible.

"You sure?"

"Tony," Peter says, his expression half incredulous, half pleading.

Fuck it, Tony thinks. Since when has his modus operandi ever been anything other than giving Peter whatever he wants?

It turns out underneath Peter's sweater he's wearing Tony's beaten up t-shirt from the lab. Tony has to pause for a moment on uncovering it, overwhelmed by the thought that Peter has been so close to him for the last few hours, wearing that, and he somehow didn't know.

So he takes his time taking it off, just the way he wanted to, with Peter's hand in his hair trying to get him hurry up, and Peter's legs wrapped round his torso, trying to pull him up to his mouth.

"Every inch of you was designed to torture me personally, did you know that?" he says.

"Every conversation with you for the last three weeks has been designed to torture me," Peter says, panting.

Tony's pretty sure he's in love, not just with Peter's body but all of him.

When the t-shirt's finally off, Peter pushes himself up on his elbows and then gives Tony a half-determined, half-shy look.

"Can I try something?"

"Yes," Tony says, because he would probably even say yes if Peter suggested hide the goddamn pickle.

Peter guides him with a few gentle kisses and nudges until he's sitting against the headboard. Then he lowers himself onto Tony's lap without fanfare as Tony groans. He takes Tony's wrists in his and props them up against the headboard as he rocks gently forward into Tony's body with his own.

"If I had my shooters on right now," Peter starts saying, but he doesn't get any further than that because Tony's hindbrain likes that too much and he has to kiss him.

He gets his hands back when Peter's wriggling start to get out of control, just in time to help Peter finish undressing them both. Then Peter's pulling packets out of the pocket of his pants, pushing the condom at Tony's chest and ripping open the other one with his teeth.

Peter seems pretty up for fingering himself open while Tony kisses his neck and face. He doesn't object when Tony sends a hand down, unable to resist the sound of it, and slides one of his fingers in alongside one of Peter's.

"Tony, Tony," Peter gasps out, grabbing the headboard behind them.

He kisses Tony hard when Tony makes their two fingers into three. He keens when Tony sets the rhythm, pulling off Tony's mouth to throw his head back. Tony pulls his fingers out, reaching for the condom.

"Yes?" he says, trying to find the edge to tear with slippery fingers.

"If you don't, I won't like you anymore," Peter says, his hair damp with sweat and his chest flushed pink.

Tony's not really sure how he holds out when Peter helps him roll it on. Then he's sliding down the headboard until only his shoulders are propped up, Peter helping shove pillows behind him.

There's something equal parts terrifying and perfect about Peter slowly easing himself down on Tony's cock. Tony runs his hands over the strong planes of Peter's chest, letting him set the pace, only giving into another groan when Peter's all the way down, with Tony deep inside him.

Nobody's ever ridden him quite like Peter does. There's no showing off, just Peter's face shifting between concentration and pleasure as he finds the angle that works for him. Then a tentative expression that fades as soon as Tony touches his hips and tells him how incredible he feels. Peter says things like please desperately, panting as Tony rocks up into his downward thrusts. Don't go, don't go, don't go sounds like the mantra at one point too and once Tony catches that, he's fucking up harder, needing to let Peter feel how much he wants it.

"Not going anywhere," he says gutturally, touching Peter wherever he can reach.

Peter cries out raggedly, rocking down faster.

"That's it," Tony says, wrapping his hand around Peter's cock and giving him the extra sensation. "Come on, Peter."

He feels it when Peter comes, feels his whole body clench and then start to shudder. Peter draws in big gulps of air like he can't breathe, tipping blindly into Tony's body even as his hips keep rolling, riding it out.

Peter makes another soft noise and Tony pushes up one last time and then stops holding out. His orgasm rushes up over him, pulling his thoughts apart and replacing them completely with Peter. The casual strength of his thighs, the sweat rolling down off his face, the sweet unhidden happiness on his face. He pulls Peter down with him as they sink into the bed.

"Tony?" Peter says, once their heart-rates are back to normal.

"Mmmn?" Tony says, without thought. "Right here, Peter Parker."

Any remaining tensions seeps out of Peter and he relaxes in a sweaty mess against Tony, pressing his face into Tony's neck. He mumbles something Tony doesn't quite catch but it sounds nice.

Waking up in the morning to the steady sound of Peter's breathing is more calming than any gentle birdsong or fake patter of rain. Knowing instantly that Peter is whole and sound, no check-in required, is a definite upgrade. Peter's closer than Tony remembers him being when they'd finally drifted off, as if one of them had rolled over sometime in the night, choosing to settle nearer. The covers are slightly off his shoulder too, so the power and warmth must be back on, something he's definitely going to appreciate when it's time for a shower.

Either he's thinking too loud or he must move, because Peter rolls over, clearly awake. He looks tentatively happy, like he's probably been up for awhile and thinking.

Tony clears his throat before he gets caught up in his own memories of what Peter might have been thinking about.

"So, am I making the coffee or are you making the coffee?"

Something that looks a lot like relief seems to flicker across Peter's face. He adjusts the pillow and then resettles his head on it comfortably.

"Pretty sure you're not meant to encourage my growing addiction."

"I'm just getting you ready for the rest of the weekend, building you up strong."

"Oh?" Peter says, in a way that sounds more than a little suggestive.

Tony means to resist the urge to respond to that directly with his mouth, but he fails. Peter doesn't seem to mind, if the way he kisses back is any indicator.

"So," he says again, when they're done and Peter's looking relaxed and adorably ruffled. "Coffee?"

"I'm good," Peter says. "Here." Like that really needed clarifying.

The tricky thing is that Tony is also good right there, in the bed next to Peter, and doesn't see any reason to change that.

"This is why I have robots," he tells Peter. Not that DUM-E is amazing at bringing coffee without spilling it, but he tries.

Peter bites his lip like he's holding back a smile.

"Guess we'll have to do this where there are robots next time, huh?"

Tony's clocks all the things inherent in that question, and nods. He's not planning on taking anything back. They'll have a next time near robots if that's what Peter wants. Though the events of the night before are going to warrant some examination back in New York, he's not sure he could regret any of it if he tried.

"What about Texas?" he says, carefully pulling the covers up over Peter's naked shoulder. "I thought that was next on the list?"

Peter's happy smile in response to that makes him feel like he's won some sort of prize.

"Your bedroom, my dorm room, Texas. In that order?"

"Your dorm room?" Tony is impressed.

"What else am I meant to do with a single?"

"Well, then," Tony agrees, because that's solid enough an argument for him.