Five Times Tony is There

V

So, it's not like Peter really cared if his date went well or not. He doesn't need anyone. He's a lone wolf, always has been, and probably always will be. It's fine. 

It's what he keeps telling himself, anyway, as he dangles his feet over the edge of an abandoned building down by the docks, trying desperately not to think about all the things he could have done differently during the evening. 

This is all Harry's fault. He should have known setting Peter up with some random dude was bound to end in disaster. It's not like the last time he hooked up with some stranger was a lot better. (Peter doesn't remember much of it, but Harry has yet to move past the point where he had to rescue him from tearing a guy in half because he couldn't keep his powers under control.) 

At least the night sky is pretty to look at. It's quiet and the wind is calm and summer is doing a sprint to show up early this year. It's nice. Much better than that awkward blind date. The guy didn't even look good. Even Deadpool has better facial features, and that guy isn't exactly the prime example of eye candy. 

Not that looks is all that matters. But it makes an important first impression, right? Right. He didn't know how to talk to people either. Hell, he was even worse at communicating than Peter is, and that's saying something. 

Peter lets his mind wander as he stares at the starless black sky, blaming it all on Harry(He deserves it. He's the worst). Some day, when all the crazy animal themed villains decide that maybe Peter should get a break, he'll travel to a deserted island somewhere and watch actual stars. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he's seriously considering throwing the damn thing in the ocean in front of him as a solid fuck you to whoever wants to bother him in his peaceful state. But he can't exactly afford a new one, and the vibrations is more like having a bulldozer roll over his thigh, so he picks it up and answers without looking. 

"Hey, Pete." Whoever he thought might be calling him, Tony Stark was not on that list.

"Tony! Hey! What can I do for you?" They haven't actually talked since Peter woke up in a bed that wasn't his, in clothes he didn't recognize and a robotic female voice telling him the date and time and that he was safe in one of Tony Stark's guest rooms at his penthouse. He did get a quick rundown of the previous night, though, and left in a hurry of burning skin and several creative plans to murder his best friend. 

“Just wondering if you’d be up for a drink or something.” 

“Yeah, that didn’t exactly end well the last time I did it. I’m so sorry about that. Again.”

“How about I come over to your place, and we can watch a movie or something?” 

“Tony, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s great. Just wanted to ask if you maybe wanted some company.” 

“Did Harry call you?”

“He might have. Look, you don’t have to say yes, but I’ll probably show up at your apartment anyway. I’ll bring some beer and popcorn and we’ll watch one of those really old movies you keep talking about.” Peter snorts, but considering he wasn’t really planning on spending the night alone, having some company doesn’t sound too bad. Even if it is Tony Stark and Peter owes him the world for having to witness him both drunk and high and terribly horny at the same time. 

“Sure, whatever you say. I’ll be home in about thirty minutes or so.” There’s some shuffling on the other end of the line, and then an angelic sound that may or may not be Tony humming. Which should not be doing things to Peter’s lower department. 

Maybe hanging out with Tony is a bad idea. It’s actually a terrible idea. Especially when images of Peter curled up against the older man’s chest and having warm hands against his skin is what his stupid brain is making up as he swings his way home. 

This is going to be a disaster. It’s doomed before it even starts. But Peter is used to disasters by now. Tony is just trying to save his already disastrous night. He’s just being a good friend. (Who would have thought, right?) Peter can push his own mentally disturbed mind aside and be thankful. (He can try, success isn’t one of his many powers.) 

He sees Tony park his car as he swings across the street to his apartment building, and fumbles with his window to get inside before Tony makes his way up. Not that it’s a big deal or anything, but Peter may not have been up to date with his cleaning schedule lately, and he really doesn’t want Tony to look at him and think he’s some kind of pig. (He totally is. He’s living alone, and he’s barely even home, it’s not his fault New York is the starting point for every guy who wants to try the villain course.)

“Hey!” Peter rips open the door, and he sounds just a little breathless. But he’s been swinging through the city, so it’s not like Tony can tell he’s been frantically tidying up while picturing naked old ladies and reciting the periodic table to get his wandering mind under control.

“Hi. I brought some imported beer and picked up some popcorn at the movie theatre. I didn’t know if you had a microwave or not.” 

"What kind of college student doesn't have a microwave?" Peter shoots back as he takes the items out of Tony's hand and steps aside to let the billionaire inside his studio bachelor apartment. 

"The rich ones who've never used a kitchen in his life." 

Peter hums in agreement, not really in the mood to argue when the man is pointing out the facts so perfectly on his own. 

Tony takes off his shoes and hangs his coat over one of the kitchen chairs. It gives Peter the perfect view of the man as he casually strolls through his little home, looking at the posters on the walls and studying his gaming collections by the tv. 

Tony's wearing a long sleeved AC/DC shirt and plain jeans, hugging his thighs and ass in a way Peter's brain could never have conjured up on his own. 

It's not fair, how the man can look so out of this world handsome without trying, while Peter can't even look semi human after spending half the day in front of the mirror.

"So, what movie do you want to watch?" Tony drops down into Peter's secondhand, worn down couch, and there's something so wrong about that image, Peter is tempted to ask if they can move over to Tony's penthouse instead, just so that the puzzle looks a little more realistic. 

"It's whatever, really. You pick something." Peter settles in the corner and hands over the remote. He doesn't mind what they watch, really. He's probably going to watch the overly hot man occupying half his couch anyway. 

"Footloose, it is."