Raising Hybrid Puppies [a Starker coffee shop AU]

Chapter 15

Tony wishes he could think of his bedroom as a cocoon. Sure, he feels safe there – but 'cocoon' implies he's some sort of larva, ready to turn into a beautiful butterfly.

He's no butterfly. He gave up on that a long time ago.

No, his bedroom's more of a bubble, albeit a temporary one. A place far removed from the rest of the world, where all that matters for these brief periods of time is Peter's hand in his hair and his fingers stroking his chest.

It can't last. Tony's head is never quiet for long, even after revisiting the horrors of Afghanistan. And besides, even in its quiet state, there's still ample activity. You'd think there'd come a point where it all just stops – the theories, schematics, the worries, the calculations... but Tony's been waiting for forty-eight years for that moment and so far it's been in vain.

Just as Tony feels the usual busy hum of his mind return full-force, Peter's stomach rumbles.

Laughing, Tony lifts his head from Peter's lap, then swings into a sitting position.

"Oh, kid," he chuckles. "Yeah, food might not be the worst idea you've had today."

"I'm full of great ideas," Peter grins.

"Oh yeah? That include marketing the web fluid to civilians?"

Predictably, Peter dives into a litany of protests which Tony stops by throwing a pair of jeans from the drawer at the kid's head. He takes that as his cue to get dressed, and Tony seizes the chance to withdraw from the bed and slip into the bathroom.

He can't quite gain his footing – not being alone after an episode feels strange. It's weirdly intimate, yet in a totally different way compared to all the blow jobs they've been sharing or that pretty hot bit of intercrural.

It makes him feel off-balance, and Tony hates it.

He checks his reflection in the mirror but his face looks fine, if a little ashen. Then why does it feel like there are some layers missing? Even putting on fresh clothes is a challenge. His hands aren't shaking per se, but they might as well.

And if he spends any more time thinking, he's gonna regret it. Time for evasive maneuvers.

"What cuisine are you in the mood for?" Tony calls out. Anything to get them out of this before it becomes awkward. "There's one Indian place on the list that even Bruce deigns to order from – how's that sound?"

Peter pops his head in. Of course he's grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh yes! Can we get that bread thingy with the dips? I've never had Indian but that's what they give you for starters, right?"

"Never had... You're living in Queens, how did you make it to sixteen without ever having Indian food?"

Peter averts his eyes even as his cheeks flush. "Well, take-out's always been a treat and, uh, May usually goes for Thai?"

Tony shakes his head. "Jeez, you hear that, buddy?"

"Ordering dinner now, sir," JARVIS, the saint, replies promptly.

*

"It's papadam, for the record. Can't let you eat it without knowing what it is."

Peter nods, all solemn and serious. He always treats what Tony feeds him – figuratively, mind you, there are lines to Tony's kinks – like a convict does his final meal. Tony doesn't get it; it's just take-out, for fuck's sake.

"You got a shift tonight?"

Tony has the kid's schedule memorized but Peter doesn't need to know that.