#bottom!tony

They hadn't been together long - they'd danced around each other for years, finally caving when Peter finished undergrad. It was a comfortable type of love - something you see in old movies, or cheesy romance novels.

But the sex... Jesus christ, the sex.

Peter hadn't had much time for... self discovery, while in school. Between patrol, double majoring in biochem and genetics, and maintaining a semidecent sleep schedule, there wasn't really opportunity for him to date or fuck around.

So when he came back to Manhattan, and they finally quit mooning over each other... needless to say, Tony hadn't had that much sex since his twenties.

It was generally kind of nice. Tony was sweet, gentle in his love making. Peter preened under the attention, sure - there was nothing wrong with their sex life. But Peter could tell Tony wanted something different.

When he brought it up, Tony turned bright red, stumbling over his words.

"It's not... There's nothing wrong, honey, really, I promise. I just... Sometimes I wish I was in your... position." This left Peter confused. "You... You want to bottom?" He'd never mentioned anything about it before.

Peter's tone didn't help Tony's blush, nor did it make him feel better about the whole ordeal. "Listen it's not... It's not an issue really and I don't... I don't have to. Seriously, if you're not comfortable we-" Peter stopped him mid sentence.

"Okay, no, that's not what I said at all. I just didn't know what you meant, Tony, let's take a step back." His hands immediately went to Tony's shoulders, bringing the older man back to the present. Grounding. "I love you, you know that right?"

Tony relaxed in his grip, taking a deep breath. "I know, I know, and I love you too. I just... It's embarrassing." Peter cocked his head, still not following. "You gotta use your words, T, or I can't give you what you want."

He closed his eyes, thumbs stroking over Peter's knuckles. He could do this, he could do this.

"I... So you know how you got bit by the spider, right?" Peter was very aware. He was also aware of just how bad Tony was stalling.

"Tony if you don't just spit it out I swear to go-"

"I want to see how much cum you can fit inside me!" He broke. With Peter holding him, right up in his face, he couldn't do it, couldn't hold it in anymore.

He slid to his knees, head falling into his hands. "I just... You can go so much, and sometimes when I'm fucking you I get to thinking.. How many times could you go in one night? How much could you produce? A few ounces? A cup? More? Makes me cum so quick just thinkin' about it, even in my old age. Can't stop thinkin' about it, about you fillin' me up like that. I can't do it anymore.

"It makes me feel like a gross old man, you know? Thinking about you like that? About you using me like a toy? It drives me crazy but I can't stop, can't keep it in anymore." He was shaking, unable to stop himself once he started.

Peter's eyes were wide, mind racing to process what Tony was saying. The bite had impacted their sex life - he could rebound almost instantly, and he did... produce more than the average twenty-something.

He sat down next to Tony, cradling him. "That's all you had to say, baby, it's okay. Shh shh, you're okay." he rubbed circles into Tony's shoulder, kissing his temple. "You know I'd never judge you for wanting something, right?"

Tony sighed. He knew that, logically, of course. His anxiety around admitting it didn't listen to logic, though, and it was hard to override that. "I know. I know. I love you. I'm sorry for freaking out."

Peter just kissed him again. "It's okay, T."

•|||•

Peter waited a few weeks before bringing it up again - both for Tony's benefit, and his.

He'd spent a long time digging through medical journals, doing independent research... He even made a (very awkward) call to Dr. Strange.

It didn't take him long to create a game plan: he needed to double his water intake, get more leafy greens and ripe fruit in. It wasn’t difficult - he had to shift around some of his calories, sure, but he made it work.

The worst part was not orgasming. He and Tony'd resumed their normal sexual activities a few days after their... discussion. But Peter made it a point not to cum - he wanted to build up as much as possible.

Even worse - he was edging himself several times a day. Massaging his prostate, sleeping with Tony, jerking off until just on this side of orgasm in the shower... He made it a point to work himself up and then leave himself there. He'd read several articles that talked about edging and semen production, and they all agreed - the less you cum, the more you produce and retain.

So he went with it. For the better part of a month - he didn't cum.

Tony, initially questioned it - but with some solid reassurances, and promises that Peter had "something exciting" in store, he let up. Getting him on the edging process was fun too - enough spice to keep Tony entertained until Peter was ready.

And ready, he was.

•|||•

He decided on a Friday night - that way they'd have all weekend to recover (or continue, if Tony wanted).

He made a real spectacle of it, too - stocking them with water bottles and easy snacks, bringing in a bunch of clean towels and leaving them at the foot of the bed. He wanted this to be good for Tony, and part of that was being ready for anything.

He waited until Tony was finished with work to bring it up. He didn't want Tony to be distracted at all, and he knew exactly how much anticipation can hinder daily activities.

When Tony walked through the doors of the penthouse, he could tell something was up.

It wasn't like Peter to be so... Flighty.

He was walking circles around the bar, drink in hand. Tony couldn't tell whether or not it was a drink drink, but it didn't matter... If Peter was up and pacing like this, there was definitely something up.

"Hey baby, how was your day?" Okay, yeah, something's definitely up. Peter never asked - he always waited for Tony to start - always gave Tony the opportunity to either vent about, or forget entirely, the day he'd just finished.

Tony dropped his suit jacket on the bar chair, walking back to meet Peter where he stood. He grabbed Peter's face in his hands, kissing down from his forehead to his lips. Peter sighed into the contact, relaxing immediately. "It was okay. What's got you all tense like this?"

Peter exhaled sharply before responding. "You know how you... brought up that thing, a few weeks ago? That thing you wanted to try?" Tony hesitated, eyes narrowing. "I... Yeah. Why?"

Peter blushed under the scrutny. "I've... Well, you know how I've been working on that thing? Not... not coming? I wanted to surprise you... And I think today'd be a good day." Tony was confused now. "You... you wanna try it? Topping, I mean?"

Peter snorted. "Not just topping, silly. That thing you specifically mentioned - seeing how much I could make, for you? I've been keepin' myself on edge, saving up all my cum for you." Tony shivered, goosebumps forming down the entire length of his arms. Peter's breath left his hair on edge, his words burning straight through Tony.

"I... I remember. Are- are you sure? Like I said, I mean, we don't hav-" Peter cut him off almost immediately.

"If I didn't want to do it, baby, why would I bring it up? Why would I spend almost a month edging myself for you? Why would I spend a month intentionally eating semen-enhancing foods, hmm? You think I was doing all that stuff for the hell of it?" Tony blushed at the words, head dropping to Peter's shoulder. "No, of course not, I ju-"

"You need to stop making excuses." Peter pulled back, meeting Tony's eyes. "If I didn't want to do this, I wouldn't have brought it up. Wouldn't have spent so long making sure I was full enough, had enough for you. You know how long it's been since I've cum, T, baby? Twenty seven days. It's been twenty seven days of edging, of producing this-" he reached down, gently cupping his own balls through his shorts "- for you? All of this cum, just waiting for you, waiting for your pretty hole?" Tony shivered at the words. Fuck, Peter knew exactly how to work him up.

"I'm sorry, baby, I just- this is a lot. So much, Pete, you gotta know that." His vulnerability was aparent.

"I know, Tones. We can go slow if you want - we won't do anything. Just want to show you i'm willing." Peter's tone was gentle, reassuring. It helped Tony immesurably.

"I- okay. I want to. Try, I mean. I trust you, we just gotta.. Gotta go slow. I'm an old man, you know." Peter knew it was said in jest, but Tony would always have a soft spot in his heart. "Not that old," he poked.

Tony bit back with a kiss, forgoing words he wasn't sure he could find. It was slow, soft at first - a thank you for everything Peter did for him, for the whole situation.

Peter responded eagerly, taste of grenadine and carbonation on his lips. Thank god, he hadn't been drinking. Something Tony'd always appreciate - Peter's sober excitement. The energy he put into their relationship. The devotion. He balanced Tony out perfectly. 

Peter nipped at his bottom lip. It was sweet - playful, but it made the whole thing so much more intense. Tony responded in kind, licking into his mouth. He pulled a quiet moan from Peter, seizing the opportunity to meet the other's tongue. Passion always took a while to build with them - reverence and love always taking priority.

Today, though... Today was different.

Tony's mind was still going steady, trying to process exactly what they were about to do. Peter really wanted to try this with him. It was groundbreaking.

He felt the excitement burn low in his stomach. He'd always had a thing for cum - whether it was his inside someone, or vice versa - there was just something so visceral about it. Watching it slowly drip from someone's hole, sucking it out, sharing it. The idea of breeding someone, of being bred, having cum forced inside him over and over again, without consequence...

He'd tried to keep his love for it under wraps - Pepper had no real want for children, and god forbid he get wrapped up in a custody battle. He hadn't messed around with other men since his twenties, either, so the opportunity to explore this side of him just... never came up.

But now, with Peter - his most beloved supertwink with a refactory period of, like, -1, and his enhanced output... the possibilities washed over him.

He hadn't realized just how turned on it made him until Peter separated them, hands toying with Tony's waistband. The sudden lack of lips on his gave him the opportunity to express his appreciation - several broken moans escaping him. "Oh god, Peter, baby please."

He never claimed to be above begging, but he didn't do it often. It was a sight to behold, and with Peter being on a hair trigger...

Peter reached up, grabbing Tony by the throat. "What do you want, love? Use your words, tell me. Can't give you what you want if you don't use your words, Tony."

Tony dropped his head, gasping into Peter's neck. "Please, Peter, baby. I need you to fuck me."

Peter laughed, breathy. "Can't hear you, baby. Come on, come up and tell me what you want."

Tony looked up, shaky exhale falling onto Peter's lips. "I. Need you. To fuck me. Please, Pete?" His request was met with a smile. "Of course, baby."

Peter reached down and hooked under Tony's thighs, lifting him up like he weighed nothing. Tony often forgot about Peter's strength when they weren't in the field - feeling weightless like this, safe in Peter's arms? It was erotic, it was safe, it was everything. "Oh, god."

Peter took them to the bedroom, carefully setting Tony down on the bed.

Tony reached his arms up, snaking around Peter's neck. He brought them together for another kiss, not wanting to lose contact with Peter.

Peter chuckled, carefully peeling Tony away from him. "We can't do this if you don't let me get naked, T. Be patient." Tony rolled his eyes, allowing his fists to fall back to the bed. "Been patient, need you now." Peter tossed his shirt to the floor before dignifying Tony with a response.

"Don't talk to me about patient, mister. I've gone almost a month without coming, how do you think I feel?" He finished removing his jeans, leaving him in nothing but strained boxer briefs. Tony could see the outline of his cock, already leaking. He was nearly as hard in his own pants - which he was suddenly excited to remove.

Peter, perceptive as always, walked toward Tony and began helping him strip. Now shirtless, Tony reached up to place his hands on Peter's chest. He planted small kisses all over it, worshipping the man in front of him. Peter threaded his fingers through Tony's hair, enjoying the attention. "I thought this was about you, baby. Why you takin' your time with me?"

Tony looked up, smiling at the man above him. "Just thankful, is all. Love you." Peter cupped the sides of his face, reaching down and kissing Tony reverently. "Anything for you, baby. Anything. Now, let's get you out of those pants." Tony fiddled with his zipper, tugging the slacks down to his ankles before kicking them to the side. Now in a similar state as Peter, he felt so much more open, exposed. They were really about to do this. Peter had prepared for this. His dream was finally coming true.

He inhaled sharply, feeling the flush of arousal reach his cock. It was so intense, so much all at once - he felt high. This was definitely not an experience he planned on forgetting anytime soon.

Peter straddled him, shifting them back and up the bed. He met Tony halfway, sighing into the kiss. It was firey, full of hunger - neither really wanted to wait anymore.

Peter pulled back, meeting Tony's eyes. "Are you ready? You sure about this?" Tony nodded his head, mind too cloudy to use words right away. He was ready about this, so fucking ready.

His face must've said everything - Peter quickly helped him out of his boxers, sliding them down and tossing them next to the towels. He grabbed the bottle of lube he set out, wetting his fingers thoroughly before reaching down.

Tony'd opted to lay on his front, knees tucked under his hips for better access. Thank god for a nanite bed - they'd developed the tech to aid healing times and recovery after surgery and intense (battles) workouts, but quickly discovered the many sexual uses for it - one of which being added support for Tony's joints.

Peter traced over his hole, toying with him a moment. He very rarely topped in general, but he'd be willing to do it for the rest of his life if it meant he could see Tony like this. He was already so sensitive, gasping and rocking back into the attention. Peter laughed, gripping Tony's hip harder and steeling him before teasing his rim. He was so gentle - just barely dipping in with his index finger before massaging around and pulling back out. He wanted this to be good for Tony, not just a check off his bucket list.

Tony keened, hips pushing back into Peter's fingers. Greedy. "Relax, T. Let me do the work, okay baby?" All he received was a high whimper in response.

Peter laughed, rolling his eyes as he finally gave Tony what he wanted - he thrust two fingers in, careful not to go too deep to fast. Tony moaned, pitchy and high in his throat. It was so much better than he remembered.

Peter kneaded Tony's ass with his free hand, mouthing praise into his beautiful cheeks. Who knew he'd be such a service top? Peter certainly didn't, but he was definitely enjoying it.

He twisted his fingers, feeling around for Tony's prostate. When he found it he pushed, gently, redirecting his attention toward giving Tony the best prostate massage of his life. Tony instantly jumped, gasping into the sensation. Peter's fingers were just long enough to reach, just dextrous enough to keep him on edge. Tony fisted at the sheets, at Peter's shoulder - it was so much. Why did he ever stop bottoming?

He rediscovered his voice shortly after. "Fuck, Pete baby please, need you to fuck me now. Wanna cum on your cock, can't wait anymore. Please baby, please, need you." He was babbling, desperate and not willing to hide it anymore.

Peter, nearly as fucked out, conceeded. They were planning on going multiple times tonight, anyway, why not get the first orgasm out of the way? He pulled his fingers from Tony, wiping them off on one of the nearby towels. Good job, Parker.

Tony whined at the emptiness, still so unabashedly needy. Peter smiled to himself. He'd never seen Tony like this before, and he was so happy he was the one to do this to him. Tony was known for his stoicism and poker face - for Peter to be able to tear that wall down so easily? It was a pride point, for sure.

He reached for the bottle of lube again, coating himself in the cool liquid as he stroked. It didn't take much to get him ready - he felt like he'd been hard for eons, and wasn't thrilled with the whole "waiting" thing.

Peter rubbed over his hole again, smirking when Tony instinctively clenched around nothing. He sat up on his knees, easing himself into the man in front of him. Tony immediately dropped from his elbows, moaning as Peter sank all the way inside. It was so much better than he'd imagined - Peter wasn't particularly lengthy or girthy, but it felt like he was made for Tony. Designed specifically to fuck into Tony's hole, and to wreck him as he did it.

It literally brought Tony to his knees, arching back into Peter's touch and begging him to move. "Please, Peter, baby, give it to me. I can take it, whatever you give me, please, just please I need you to move. I need you to fuck me, baby, please."

it was enough to convince Peter. He pulled back, forcing himself all the way back with a quick snap of his hips. Tony moaned, broken and desperate. It was slowly becoming his mo - who knew Tony Stark was such a slut for his baby's cock, for his cum?

Apparently Peter'd been thinking out loud. He tended to do that during sex - couldn't keep his mouth shut, and whatever "filter" he had completely flew out the window. "Yeah? You like it when I fuck you, T? Like the idea of me cumming inside your pretty little hole? Wanna feel my cum leak out of you, baby? How much do you think i'll give you today, hmm? You do the math on it? I did. I did a whole fuck ton, just to see how much I'd give you.

"You wanna know how much cum I'll give you, T? Hmm? Math says it'll be 1000 mils the first time, can you imagine that? One thousand mililiters of cum, in your pretty little hole. Leaking out, drippin' all down your thighs? You're such a slut, can't even stay tight long enough to hold my cum inside. What a little cockslut, you are. Who would've thought?

"We already know how many times I can go. What was our max, like 8? Imagine eight of those fat loads inside you, love. Can you feel it? Can you feel me inside you? You're so tight, Tony, but you won't be when I'm done with you. No, I'm gonna stuff you full and leave you like this, leave you to feel as it runs out of you.

"Or maybe, maybe, I'll leave you here. I'll wipe you off, get you all clean. Then maybe I'll run over, grab one of our plugs. Plug your pretty little ass, leave you full of my cum. How about that? You like the sound of that?"

He did, by god Tony did. The sound of it, the sheer idea of being so full, so heavy with Peter's cum inside him... being plugged, and left to suffer..

It had him cumming embarassingly early. Tony typically prided himself on his stamina - stamina that was nonexistent with Peter's words.

He came, slack and broken, with Peter's name on his lips. He felt his own cum splatter on his stomach. It was pathetic, it was nothing compared to what Peter was going to give him. It was humiliating in the best way imaginable.

Peter groaned, gritting his teeth as he felt Tony tighten through his orgasm. It was too much, he was so on edge after waiting so long.

It was nearly painful when he finally came. He could feel his balls tighten, feel the fluid flowing through him and spraying out the other side. He felt like a fucking firehose, orgasm lasting nearly a full minute.

He felt like a popped balloon after, useless after being so thoroughly empty.

It was made perfectly fine, though, by Tony's rising stomach.

This might have been the first load, and it was probably going to be the biggest of them all, but Peter was still shocked at just how much of an impact it made. Tony's stomach grew, near a solid inch as Peter continued pumping into him. The more he thrust, the larger he got - Peter continued to thrust into him until it was painful.

When he pulled out, a healthy amount surged from Tony's abused hole, covering the sheets beneath them. Peter snagged a towel in time to catch it, not wanting it to soak through to the mattress. It took several to handle the mess in front of him, and by the time he was done Tony was nearly asleep.

Peter stood, walking over to their dresser. He opened the top drawer, removing one of their smaller plugs. There was zero resistence when he slid it inside Tony, preventing the rest of him from escaping.

Tony hummed, content. "When do you think you'll be ready to go again? Because I definitely need a nap." He hadn't opened his eyes, but he still blindly reached out for Peter.

His beautiful, soft face was so close to Tony’s own, and as he looked around them Tony marveled at that beauty so close to his mouth, so close to his lips.  It seemed so natural to just close the distance between them, to move his lips to brush over Peter’s cheek, over his neck.

“I think...”

He craned his neck to look above and behind him, and Tony found himself absurdly longing to nuzzle up against the boy’s Adams’ apple.  He was wearing an oversized sweatshirt that seemed to be the same water-color periwinkle-iridescence that surrounded them, and Tony thought that, if he touched it, he would understand this place better.  

But... he was touching it.  He was touching Peter.  He had Peter wrapped up in his arms, and when Peter finally looked back into his face they both found themselves blinking at each other in surprise.  

Then Peter smiled angelically, and Tony bathed in the glow of that smile.

“I think we’re dreaming,” Peter said softly, whispering against Tony’s mouth, just before he kissed him.

Tony’s eyes went wide... was Peter having this kind of dream?.. but then closed his eyes again and luxuriated in the soft, warm mouth on his.  Besides, when he opened his eyes he only saw things that confused him... he thought it had been daylight before, and they lay in a shallow pool of sparkling water.  But now it seemed to be evenintide, and they were safely hidden away, laying on the bank of a river in a deep purple wood...

...and then Peter’s tongue was making tentative, shy strokes against his mouth and he was distracted by other, more pressing matters.

If this was what Peter dreamed about, well, who was Tony to argue?  He opened his mouth with a moan and pulled the boy closer.  He was cold... or at least he had been... so he buried his hands underneath Peter’s soft shirt in hopes that the warmth of the boy’s skin might ground him.  Peter’s body was firm and strong and when they tangled their legs together... dammit Tony still couldn’t tell if they were laying down or standing up... or were they floating?... he could feel the boy’s urgency pressing against his thigh.  

Well, it was Peter’s dream after all, so why not?  Tony took the boy’s hand and led it down to his own erection.  The coruscation and iridescence were confusing, but the look on Peter’s face?  That Tony understood.  That Tony understood completely.

“Oh... oh Tony...” Peter whispered with a shy smile.  He hid his face in the crook of Tony’s neck.  With one arm, Tony pulled the boy closer, holding their bodies firmly together.  With his other hand he guided Peter’s hand into his trousers.  He took a moment to look around him again... they seemed to be surrounded by purple smoke that billowed and rose around them with alarming speed... he wondered vaguely if he should be worried about that... and the Peter’s hesitant fingers wrapped around his length and he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Yours Peter,” he whispered, although he wasn’t sure if that made any sense.  His voice was far rougher than he had intended... dammit he was trying to be gentle...

“Help me, Tony,” Peter was whimpering, lifting his mouth and nuzzling against Tony’s beard even as he spoke.  “Help me...”

“I’m here baby,” Tony said, trying to reassure the frightened boy (although the boy’s hand didn’t feel frightened, the boy’s hand didn’t feel frightened at all.  The long fingers were warm and nimble and they were stroking him with sure and confident strokes.)  Forcing his eyes open, he tried to get his bearings.  Their empyreal lavender journey seemed to be over and they were back on the shores of the purple forest... that was good.  Wasn’t it?  That meant they weren’t floating, at any rate.  Tony’s back was against the warm (cold) earth, and that meant...

...and then Peter’s fingers made him catch his breath and he wasn’t sure what anything meant anymore.  

“Help me Tony,” Peter moaned again, propping himself up on one elbow and kissing Tony hard on the mouth.  “I don’t want to wake up, I don’t want to wake up lonely and alone in my bed miserable and stupid and thinking about you...”

“No baby, no.”  Tony said firmly.  He wrapped his hand around Peter’s wrist and pulled it away... any more of that and this dream was going to be over too quickly... and moved Peter’s arm to drape around his neck.  “No more of that.  No more waking up defeated and dejected... I’m not going to spend another night alone in my bed wishing I was with you.  We’re going to stay together, and when we wake up...”

Once again he tried, fruitlessly, to understand.  He rolled them onto their sides, holding Peter tight in his arms, keeping their legs tangled together.  The back of his hand scrapped against the rough bark of a tree... except it felt more like a stone wall than a tree... they had plenty of room to move in this moonlit forest, even though it felt like they were confined to a tight space...

...dammit this wasn’t right.  He looked up in vain for that purple moon, trying to get a sense of direction.  Maybe if he knew which was North was he could...

...he could what?  He had no idea how they got here,  He had no idea where ‘here’ was.  He only knew that Peter’s fingers were combing through his hair and the boy was pulling him into a deep kiss and maybe that was all that mattered.

He did know that the ground they were laying on was cold, and when Peter took his hand and boldly placed it over his own erection, Tony’s brain finally began making connections.

“Your suit has heaters,” he murmured against Peter’s mouth.  Pulling away enough to get his mouth up against Peter’s ear, he whispered his plan.  Peter grinned and giggled, but nodded in agreement.  Moving Tony’s hand up he guided to the device on the center of his chest, disengaging the suit and letting it fall loosely around him.  Soon they had it between them and the bank of the purple river (the stone floor??) and enjoyed it’s heat.  Tony congratulated himself on killing two birds with one stone, getting away from the cold floor and enjoying touching Peter’s skin without the suit (but wait, wasn’t there a soft sweatshirt?  It seemed Peter had been wearing a sweatshirt...)

“Your turn,” Peter said with a grin even as Tony opened his mouth to ask.

Tony gaped, then looked down at himself.  His Westwood tux had been rumpled by their lovemaking (and by their dip in that iridescent pool, and by their journey through the clouds no doubt) and as Peter’s fingers confidently undid his buttons Tony blinked at the memory.  He reached up for his glasses, but his glasses weren’t there.  Of course, because he had been talking to Peter.  He never needed his armor when he was talking to Peter.  They were in his vest pocket, he could feel them there.  And his Westwood... he remembered.  He remembered changing.  He had been wearing his worn-out Black Sabbath t-shirt and ragged sweats when the call came to convene at the SI to to finally meet, to confront Quentin Beck.  He had gotten as far as finding matching socks when he found out that the Avengers... no... when he found out Peter was going to be there.  And now here he was, shaved and shorn and being undressed by the same young man he had dressed up for.  How had he gotten here?  He couldn’t remember, and Peter’s curious hands were making it impossible to think.  All he knew was this was not a dream... he could tell because in his dreams he never had to reveal this scarred, older body to this beautiful god-like boy.  But here he was, letting Peter undress him while steadfastly holding onto his lover for fear he would float away...  if they wound up floating through the purple billowing clouds again how would they find each other?  The only thing he could understand was the small of Peter’s back underneath his fingertips, the firm, toned muscles of Peter’s thighs in his grip.  There was no longer any ‘up’ or ‘down,’ but there was Peter’s caught breath and soft moan as Tony’s hands caressed along Peter’s stomach.  Peter’s bare chest pressed against his own no longer left him feeling exposed, it only made him feel real.  

“I won’t let go of you,” he found himself saying, as best he could (he felt breathless and winded and a little helpless, but Peter’s shy smile gave him courage.)    “We won’t let go of each other... Peter?  Listen to me... we have to wake up together... and if we don’t... Peter if I wake up alone I swear I’m going to call you immediately and tell you I was wrong.  I was wrong to push you away.  I was wrong to tell you ‘no.’  I was wrong, and I’m sorry, and I’ll do anything if you give me another chance.  Because I lied to you baby, I lied so badly...”  It was too much.  He pulled Peter close and whispered his confession against his willing mouth.  “Because I want it too.  I’ve wanted it for so long.”

Peter kissed him and held him tightly in strong arms.  “We just won’t wake up,” he said finally when he pulled away.  Keeping their foreheads together his eager hands moved between their bodies, touching and exploring.  If this had been a dream Tony would have had darkness to hide the scars and wreckage that Peter was now caressing, but the darkness wasn’t there.  Perhaps because it was Peter’s dream?  

“We’ll just stay asleep, they don’t need us anyway,” Peter was saying, tucking his head into the crook of Tony’s neck and reaching lower again.  “Cap and Barnes and Clint have it under control... Mysterio’s schemes tend to be shortsighted and underdeveloped anyway.  Trust me, I should know.  We’ll stay here.  We’ll stay asleep.”

“I love you baby,” he moaned into Peter’s mouth.  “We don’t have to stay asleep to stay together.  We’ll still have each other when we wake up.  I’ll tell you the truth, I promise.  I lied to you and I’m sorry.  I do love you, and when we wake up I swear to you that I’ll tell you...”

“Tell me now,” Peter demanded, and the billowing purple clouds parted for them as Peter moved Tony onto his back, boldly pulling Tony’s leg up to hook around his waist, urgently pressing his aching erection against Tony’s body.  “Tell me now.  Say it again.”

“Yes,” was the only word Tony could remember, and he repeated it over and over again.  “Yes Peter,” he coaxed and moaned and keened, sometimes shouted, as the lovers rose through the cloudy climbs and starry skies, arms wrapped around each other, promises and vows and declarations weaving in and out of iridescence, blending with the water-color hues.  

                                                           * * * 

In the skies above the SI building Mysterio swore and shouted and cursed loudly enough to be heard by those on the rooftops below.  What he saw on the monitor in his helmet distracted him so badly that an arrow from that ridiculous archer very nearly clipped him in the shoulder, and the explosion that went off behind him had set him careening off course.  There was no way out... he would have to flee.  Shit, this wasn’t fair.  The Avengers were supposed to be weaker without Ironman and Spider-Man, and maybe they were, but what Ironman and Spider-Man were doing in the panic room where he had trapped them was making him weaker too.  Dammit they were supposed to be killing each other, but every glimpse Mysterio risked at the monitors he had left in that room told him otherwise.  Damnation and hellfire, the neurotoxin he had specifically designed for the two of them seemed to have no effect, and instead of fighting each other they were... dear gods they were...

...was Peter Parker actually fucking Tony Stark!?!

He still had plenty of ammunition, but now he had no motivation.  In the spectacular fireworks-and-smoke display that he usually saved for emergencies he beat a silent retreat.  His evil plan couldn’t have gone any further south if it tried.  

He didn’t even loudly promise to be back.  

He wasn’t sure he wanted to be back.  

He had tried to get Tony Stark killed and, if seeing was believing, he had just gotten Tony Stark laid.  It was over.  He had screwed up spectacularly and now he was retiring from evil villainy.  Probably forever.

And then Peter turns fifteen; presents a few months later, earlier than most of his yearmates. 

As an alpha. 

The first Tony knows of it is when he comes home and smelled… something off. Something viscerally wrong, disgusting. Something that only got worse when he went into the living room and found Peter hunched over on the couch, a little ball of misery. 

“Peter?” Tony says. He’s still supposed to be in school and Tony doesn’t think he got a call about Peter being sent home. “What’s wrong?”

Peter looks up, red eyed, upset. “I’m sorry,” he says,  offering up a piece of paper. “I— it happened at school and the nurse ran the test and it’s— I’m—”

Tony doesn’t need him to say it; he knows what the red header on the test results means. Knows what that smell is now, knows why he feels on edge in his own home. Peter’s an alpha. Peter’s—

Peter’s shaking. “Dad,” he says, “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to! I don’t want to be an alpha! I’m sorry!” He bursts into tears and fuck, it doesn’t matter how awful Peter smells now, Tony can’t just let his baby cry all alone like that.

“Oh kiddo, no,” Tony says, kneeling inf ront of Peter and grabbing his hands. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“But you hate alphas!” Peter wails. “You hate them so much and now I’m one and— I’m sorry, please Dad, I’m so sorry.”

Fuck, fuck. “I don’t hate you, sweetheart. I could never hate you.” He tugs Peter closer, Peter clinging, sobbing against his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, I know that. I know you didn’t want this, but… it’ll be okay in the end, I promise. You’re going to be okay.”

*

It’s rough at first. 

After Peter gets through the first stage of his presentation, his scent settles. Grows, into that thick, bitter, sweet scent that clings to the back of Tony’s tongue. It’s awful, and Tony can’t escape it; it’s everywhere in the house, and all over Peter, over everything he touches. 

Peter can’t help it. He knows this, and he’s not going to make his son take blockers just because Tony has a— a thing about alphas. He’ll get used to it. He’d told Peter it wasn’t his fault and it’d be okay, and he’s going to do his damndest to make Peter believe it. 

He’s never going to let Peter know how unpleasant it’s become to even be in the same room as him, much less it next to him, or to hug him and kiss his forehead and treat him just like Tony always has, because Peter is taking this badly. He’s distressingly fragile about this, and Tony’s worried. It’s his own fault, with the way he’s talked about alphas all of Peter’s life, but he’d never thought— well, it doesn’t matter now. He’s just got to try and fix some of the damage he’s done. 

It’s not Peter’s fault he’s not quite so perfect anymore.

So, it’s rough at first, but slowly, things ease. Slowly, Peter’s first rush of scent dies down, mellowing into something not quite as awful. Starts to take the influence of Tony’s, softening a little, becoming more familiar. Not nearly as comfortable to be around as he used to be, but still something Tony finds easier to tolerate.

Slowly, Peter becomes more comfortable with his secondary gender, and Tony— Tony works hard not to think of Peter like that. To not apply those stereotypes—are they, Tony wonders, if they’ve been born out every time he’s dealt with an alpha—to Peter. He loves Peter, and he’s never going to stop loving Peter, no matter he’s become. 

And then Tony has a heat.

Tony doesn’t even think about it; it’s never been a problem before. When Peter was younger, Tony would send him for a long weekend at Uncle Rhodey’s and grit his teeth and suffer through it. Sometimes he broke, when the heat aids weren’t enough and he was so desperate he couldn’t stand it. Would hire a heat companion, the lowest rated alpha they could find, one willing to shut up and take orders.

The need quiets as he gets older, thank god, and it got to the point where he could nearly ignore them. Could just spend a few hours knotting himself once Peter had gone to bed and keep going the rest of the time. Maybe a little more irritable, a little tired, a little achy, but just fine, and Peter knew by then you just be a little more forgiving for those few days. A little kinder, even. 

Had actually been really good about it the last few years. Been cute, actually; had put on Tony’s favorite shows, had tried to cook things Tony especially liked (or order things he did, when the cooking failed spectacularly a few times. He definitely got that from Tony.), had practically bullied him into using the jacuzzi when Tony complained too much once about hurting all over and getting old. Had just… attempted to pamper him a little bit, adorably.

Tony won’t lie; he’s never let an alpha do that for him. He hadn’t wanted to give them ideas. But it’s always been fine for Peter to do it, and it’s been a little comforting. Peter’s just a good kid. 

But this time— 

This time, his heat hits him harder than usual, all the aches and pains and itchy, burning want that he’d thought he’d mostly left behind. This time, when Peter came home from school, Tony knew without seeing him, hearing him. He knew, because the second Peter walked in—

He didn’t smell terrible anymore. 

Fuck, he smelled good, so good, insansely good. The best thing Tony’s ever smelled, and that base part of his brain wants to just bask in it, cover himself in it. Tony freezes in the doorway of the kitchen; he doesn’t even remember getting here. 

He stares at Peter and Peter stares right back, eyes wide and darkening, his scent rising in response to a heat. 

Tony swallows, hard. “Peter,” he says. “I think you should go spend a couple days at Ned’s. Or Rhodey’s, or— or even Nat. Just. Not here.” 

Peter blinks at him, slowly. “I don’t have to,” he says. 

Yes, yes he does. “I want you to,” Tony says, and he knows it’s going to hurt Peter; there it is, that little flinch. Anything he can do to get Peter out of the house is going to be worth it, though, because this— this is not supposed to happen. His body is not supposed to recognize his fucking son as a good potential mate.

“Are you sure?” Peter asks, stepping forward, and Tony shudders, his scent deepening, spreading. Suffocating. 

“Please,” Tony croaks, and Peter nods. Practically flees, and Tony has the horrible realization that Peter might have felt something of the same. 

It’s not a good heat. 

*

Things get a little awkward. 

They avoid talking about it, completely, but… well. Tony isn’t going to stop having heats, after all. And Peter— Peter is stubborn. So stubborn, like Tony doesn’t know where he got it from, like Tony hasn’t encouraged it. 

Peter loves him and hates to see him hurting. So the next time, when Tony tells him to go— Peter squares his shoulders and says no. 

“Last time,” Peter says, “I came home and you’d barely eaten. You slept for almost the whole day after and you looked awful and you smelled—” he stumbles to a halt, blushes. “You smelled wrong,” he says after a deep breath. “Like you were sick. It— it scared me, Dad. I don’t want to leave you alone like that.”

“I don’t have to be alone,” Tony says. “I can— I can hire a companion.”

Peter frowns, staring down at the floor. Crosses his arms. “You’d hate that,” he says, very small. 

Yeah, Tony would. Has, in the past. It’s better than the alternative though. 

“Please,” Peter says. 

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea, kiddo,” is the most he can manage without— without saying something heading into dangerous ground.

“It’s not a problem for most people,” Peter mutters, and Tony doesn’t want to be the one to point out that apparently, they aren’t most people. 

He caves. 

It’s an even rougher heat. Oh sure, this time he doesn’t spend the entire time curled up in bed, frantically fucking himself with the largest knot he has and still feeling empty and desperate and abandoned, barely dragging himself to eat or clean up a few times, feeling sick, feverish, the whole time. And Peter’s downright annoying about attempting to take care of him, bringing him food and pestering him about not hiding away the whole time and making Tony take care of himself some more, even if it’s mostly to avoid the shame of Peter seeing him like this. 

But it’s torture, having Peter in the house. It’s torture, having what his brain seems to think is the perfect mate right there and not available, not doing anything. Having to tell himself over and over, in the worst of his heat when he can barely think straight anyway, that he can’t have this alpha. He can’t have Peter. Can’t have his son, fuck.

This is one of the many, many reasons Tony hates alphas. Because they do this bullshit to him, fuck with his head and make him want things, make it so hard to control himself. Make him consider things he never would. 

He wouldn’t. 

This is why he hates alphas, Tony thinks, the heat after that, Peter insisting that it had been fine last time so he’s staying again. This is why, he repeats in his head, making himself wait until Peter’s gone to bed before he fucks himself with his newest aid, larger than all the others, with all the bells and whistles to make it seem like a real alpha’s knot. 

This is fucking why, he tells himself as he comes again and again and again, clenching around it and muffling everything coming out of his mouth in the pillow; because they make him do this, want this. Makes it so easy, so good, to imagine Peter fucking him, knotting him, filling him up and biting him, god, fuck. Makes him moan Peter into his bedding; whisper, hopeless, desperate, please, Peter please, need you.

Because they make him not himself. 

But he’s not going to stop having heats, so he has to— has to just find a way to deal with this, a way that leaves him able to still look Peter in the eye after his heat’s passed. They’re not going to stop.

Worse, so much worse, Peter starts having ruts.

The first one— the first one, Tony hadn’t even smelled. The first one had been an almost instant slide from normal—Peter a little testy and distracted but normal—to full rut, Peter’s scent sharpening, deepening, flooding over Tony strong enough to make his knees go weak, send him sagging against the counter. Peter’s staring at him when Tony looks over, a little glazed, heavy and intent like Tony is some sort of prey, and it’s horrifying to see that expression on his kid’s face. 

Tony freezes, not wanting to set Peter off in any way, and Peter closes his eyes. Inhales, long and deep, scenting Tony, Jesus Christ. 

Opens his eyes, and there’s a flicker, a moment where he seems to realize what is happening, what he’s doing. Freezes too, and then—

Runs. 

He’s gone before Tony has a chance to move, a chance to even call after him, slamming out of the house without taking a single thing with him. Tony sits, shakily, and has a little breakdown. 

He doesn’t know how they’re going to manage this now. What the hell they’re going to do. Fuck, what Peter’s going to feel, when his rut is over.

Rhodey calls a few hours later, just to let him know Peter’s with him, safe and incredibly upset. “He won’t tell me anything,” Rhodey says as Tony clutches his phone, “but… well, he’s in rut, Tony. It’s probably his first, right?” Tony manages a noise that sounds like affirmation. “Right. I’m sure that’s it; they say it’s rough the first time. He can stay until it’s over. He’ll be fine; don’t worry, Tones.”

Too late. 

If he thought things were awkward after his heats, they’re so much more fucking awkward when Peter comes back two days later, rut scent gone. His normal scent nearly scrubbed as well, buried beneath heavily scented soap and— Tony sniffs, carefully, once Peter’s turned his back. His scent is so muted, metallic tinged, just off— he took a blocker. He took a fucking blocker so his scent wouldn’t bother Tony as much.

Tony’s heart nearly breaks. “Peter,” he says. “Baby. Come here a minute.”

Peter’s wary when he walks over, ashamed. Stops, a little too far away. “No,” Tony says, and opens his arms. “Come here.”

“Are you sure?” Peter says, so quiet, and Tony’s heart does break, completely. 

“Oh, kiddo,” he says. “Yes, yes, I’m sure,” and he clings to Peter just as tightly as Peter clings to him. It feels like he hasn’t properly hugged Peter in months.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers. “I’m so sorry, Dad, I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why but I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tony tells him. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. We’re going to be okay.” He ducks his head, brushing his mouth right over Peter’s scent point. “I don’t want you to take scent blockers,” he says. “They’re not good for you, and you’re not— you don’t need to, Peter. I’m going to be fine without them.”

“I don’t want it to bother you,” Peter says, and Tony shakes his head.

“It doesn’t. It won’t,” he promises. “You’re more important to me than any of that.”

*

He doesn’t know how he gets through his next couple of heats. 

Peter stays, and stays, and Tony gets used to his scent there, during them. He starts thinking—

You’re not supposed to be ashamed of anything you think during heat, whatever it is, however wrong it is. Everyone knows it turns omegas into someone they aren’t normally, that those things don’t count as real wants. Still, Tony doesn’t think h should ever admit that what he’s started thinking about during his last few heats isn’t just Peter, inside him and under him and filling him up. 

It’s Peter, how Peter— Peter wouldn’t be one of those alphas, would he. Peter’s stubborn and a little pushy sometimes, but he’d never try to take over, never think he’s better than Tony. Never try to push him, manipulate him into doing something he didn’t want. Wouldn’t try to mate him or breed him without Tony’s permission, and would never use him like a mindless fucktoy, a stupid little omega slut. 

No; Peter would be such a soft alpha, so willing and careful with Tony, so easy to control, to direct. So good at taking direction. 

Peter would be—could be—the perfect alpha for Tony. He’d barely need any training to be exactly what Tony wants; after all, he already loves Tony. He already wants Tony. It’s like this is what he was born to be. 

It’s awful, but Tony’s still thinking it during his heats. Is still thinking it outside of his heats, day to day, watching Peter and seeing all the ways in which Peter would be perfect. He already smells like Tony. He already knows exactly what Tony likes. Knows how difficult Tony can be and isn’t bothered by it. And he’s gorgeous, he’s so fucking gorgeous, so tempting. 

He thinks Peter’s watching him a little too.

There’s something wrong about contact between them now. There shouldn’t be, but when they’re curled up together, watching TV; when Peter slides up behind him and hugs him; when Tony leans against his side when he corrects Peter’s work— those touches are off, are too much, too charged. Heavy with a kind of intent that does not belong there. 

Peter doesn’t leave during his next rut. Just stays in his bedroom most of the time, and Tony’s on edge the whole first day despite himself. When Peter emerges every now and then, he follows every move Tony makes, unmistakably hungry. 

Tony should feel hunted, should feel angry and horrified the way he had been the first time Peter looked at him like that. 

Oh, he doesn’t. Stares back at Peter on the second day, challenging. What, that stare says. You want something? Gonna do something about it?

Peter ducks back into his room and hides, but his scent is thicker, coating the inside of Tony’s lungs. He’s not handling this as well as Tony’s managed his heats with Peter in the house. 

Not nearly as good at keeping quiet when he moans Tony’s name either.

The last day— the last day, Tony wakes up and feels sore, heavy. Lies there and thinks, sluggishly, a little too hot, that he really wants to curl up and waste the day on some TV marathon. Really wants to— 

Fuck, he thinks a second later. Oh, fuck; this is… not great.

Peter’s in the hall when Tony comes out of his bedroom. Close, like he was lurking, drawn in by the scent of Tony’s heat, and the scent of Peter, of Peter still in rut, hits Tony so hard he shudders. God, he wants.

“Dad,” Peter says, his voice low, rough. “Dad, this—”

“I know,” Tony says, cutting him off. “I’ll just— I’ll visit Natasha for a few days.”

“No,” and Peter walks—fucking stalks—toward him. Backs him up against the wall, his hands on either side of Tony, trapping him. Tony feels frozen. “I don’t want you to go.”

“That’s just your rut talking,” Tony says. “That’s all.”

Peter shakes his head, slow. “No,” he says. “I’ve heard you, Dad. I know what you want when you’re in heat. I could give it to you.”

Tony swallows, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He should be afraid, he thinks, distantly. He should be worried about what this alpha might do, might try and take, now that he’s got Tony nearly pinned, but— he doesn’t fear Peter. Never will. There’s just… heat, a sharp screaming hunger riding up in him.

“I’ve heard you too, kiddo,” Tony says.

“Dad,” Peter moans, swaying closer, nearly touching him. “Dad, please, please, I want— I know you don’t want an alpha, I know, but I’d be so good. I’d be so, so good for you, I promise.”

It’s too much, too much, and Tony has held out too long. Has stopped being able to beat himself up enough for the things he’s been thinking, for what he wants. “I know,” he says. “I know you’d be so good. Fuck, Peter; you’d be perfect, wouldn’t you. You’d be every last thing I’ve ever wanted in an alpha.”

Peter closes his eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath. “Let me,” he says, his voice so rough they’re barely words. 

Tony doesn’t even bother to think. “Yes.”

He gets a growl from Peter for that, gets Peter pressing closer and kissing him, his hands all over Tony. Tony hooks his hand around the back of Peter’s neck and pulls him in, holds him there and kisses him deeper, again and again and again. 

“Peter,” he says once Peter’s pulled back a little. “Not here, kiddo. I’m not up for getting knotted anywhere but bed anymore.” Peter moans; yeah, he thought that might catch his attention. He’s still like all alphas in some ways. 

“Why did I even bother getting dressed,” Tony mutters, walking Peter back into his bedroom, shoving him toward the bed. 

Peter’s still watching him, so intently, but a tiny little smile creeps onto his face anyway. “So I could undress you?” he says, and fuck, he’s going to be cute about this. Of course he is; it’s Peter. 

He kisses Peter, hands up under his shirt. “Better get on with it then,” Tony says.

Oh, he’s seen Peter naked plenty of times, across all ages, and he’s sure Peter’s seen him naked a few times too. But this is completely different; this time, they’re looking. This time, they’re touching, and it’s so good, it’s everything Tony’s been wanting for months now, the contact he needs to settle his heat a little. 

They fumble their way onto the bed, tangled up on their sides, Tony’s hand sliding down to Peter’s cock as they kiss, and he loves the way Peter’s breath catches. Peter’s hand curls over Tony’s side, spreads across the curve of his ass, and then hesitates. He presses his fingers down and slips them a little lower, a little closer to Tony’s hole.

“Dad,” Peter says, “can— can I, uh. Before I—” He cuts off with a groan, and it’s adorable. “Oh my god, I’m going to be terrible at this.”

Tony nips at Peter’s lip, at the edge of his chin, teasing. Playful. “You’re going to be perfect,” he says. “And yes. Whatever it is, yes.”

“Fuck,” Peter whispers, and then he’s rubbing his fingers along the cleft of Tony’s ass, right over his hole, spreading around the slick that’s already leakingout. Presses one in slowly, watching Tony, and sure, Tony doesn’t need it but it still feels good to finally have some part of Peter in him. He’s still early enough in his heat that he can let Peter have this without immediately needing more. 

He scrapes his teeth over Peter’s neck, getting a shiver from Peter. “Gonna open me up for your knot?” Tony says, and Peter whimpers. “Come on, kiddo, you can get more than that in there.”

Peter listens, pushing a second finger in so easily, and Tony loves how quick Peter is to obey; how easily, thoughtlessly he does. He’s not going to really challenge Tony in any of this. Is more likely than not going to let him take the lead—ask him to, even—just like he does anytime he runs into something new. He always brings those things to Tony, like he’s certain dad will know what to do. 

His slick is running down Peter’s wrist by the time he’s given in and gone for three, Tony grinding back onto them, his hand slow on Peter’s cock, mouth slow against Peter’s. So sue him if he’s a little distracted. 

“I’m going to need more than that,” Tony says. Pushes Peter over and straddles him, and the way Peter stares up at him is fucking addictive. The way Peter moans when Tony rubs his ass over Peter’s cock, when Tony slides down onto it, is even better.

“Oh fuck,” Peter breathes out. “Dad, you feel so good I can’t even believe it.”

“Feel pretty good yourself, alpha,” and Peter’s fingers dig into his thighs, hard. “You like that, huh?” Peter bites his lip. “Like having an omega all to yourself?”

“Yes,” Peter whispers, and Tony— he was so sure Peter would be good for him, but—

“Do you feel it?” he asks, quieter. “There in the back of your head, looking at me and seeing an omega?” Peter’s breath catches, and Tony settles down on him, grinding slowly. 

“Does it make you want things?” Tony murmurs. “Make you want to just… get me under you, get me pinned and fuck me, make me beg for you knot? Make you want to get your mouth on me, make me bleed and bond me and break me in? Is that what you want, alpha?”

He hopes not, but he has to know before he ends up caught, has to know if the mistake he’s making is just that Peter is his son. Just, he thinks, fuck, just. 

Peter’s staring at him, his hands painfully tight and that dazed, heavy look gone. “No,” Peter whispers. “Dad— no, I don’t. I don’t want— am I going to? Is that what— is that all I can do?” his voice rising, anxious. 

“Oh baby, no,” Tony says, leaning down and kissing him. “Of course not.” Peter’s hands ease on him, and he draws in a shaking breath.

“Good,” he says. “I want— I want other things, not that. I just— I didn’t know, I’ve never—”

“I know,” Tony says. “Aren’t you lucky, getting me for all these firsts.” He raises his ass, starting to ride Peter slow, far slower than he really wants to. “So what do you want, sweetheart?”

Peter shakes his head, without words as twitches under Tony. It’s like getting Peter’s cock in him sets Tony off, brings all that want, that need from his heat back front and center, taking over his brain. “How about this,” Tony says. “This is what you want,” as he fucks down onto Peter, clenches around him. “You want that, want to feel me so tight all around your knot, don’t you,” and Peter groans, his hips jerking up, meeting Tony. “Want to feel me keeping you there, stuck with me.” 

He gets a hand on his cock and Peter’s eyes snap to it, his mouth gaping open as he stares. “You want to be caught by me; you know it’s true,” Tony says. “Want to know I wanted you when I’ve never looked at another alpha.”

“Oh god,” Peter says, “yes, yes, you can catch me, Dad,” and it should sound like the cheesy line it is, like an alpha teasing, pretending they’d hold true to it when they’d been caught good and hard.

It doesn’t. 

Tony’s suddenly desperate for Peter’s knot, the need for it sinking into him and spreading; he presses his hands against Peter’s chest and starts riding him fast and hard, just like he’s wanted to for months. “God, Peter,” he says. “Want you in me, want you to knot me up good.”

“Dad,” Peter whines, “you can’t say that, fuck.”

“No?” Tony says. “I think I can say whatever I want and you’ll love it. And what I want is for you to fill me up, lock so tight not a single drop of come could get past. Come on, kid; show me you can be as good as you promised.”

Peter’s gasping, flushed bright red and thrusting up into Tony frantically. “Gonna,” he manages, and he’s got that glazed, heavy lidded look again, sinking deeper into rut, into the mindless animal hunger of it. 

“Look at you,” Tony says. “Is that all it takes, huh? Telling you how much I want you swelling inside me, stretching me out? All you need to turn into this needy rutting beast?” Peter moans, his fingers leaving bruises on Tony, fucking him hard. “You’re such a slut for an omega hole, aren’t you,” and it’s fucking perfect; he can feel the first swell against his ass, the barest bump of a knot starting.

“Tell me, baby,” Tony asks, “is it better that we’re who we are?”Peter’s staring up at him, hanging on Tony’s every word; Tony leans closer, wants to be sure Peter can hear him over the loud, messy sounds of them fucking. “Do you like it more, knowing you’re going to knot your dad? Gonna come in your dad, breed him?” and he doesn’t need Peter to say anything, not with the way his knot is growing, still sliding in and out of Tony but there’s a little force to it now. 

“I mean, who could possibly know you better,” Tony says. “Or is it more than that, hmm? Do you like knowing that you came from me? Came out of me right where you’re about to come in me?”

Peter jerks so hard, his knot really getting with it now, barely slipping out of him on the next stroke. “Dad,” he gasps. 

“You were always meant for this,” Tony tells him, starting to pant himself. “Meant from the start to be so desperate for me, so needy, just begging for an omega to fuck, to milk you dry,” and it hurts when Peter tries to pull out that time, his knot hitting the point where they’re already stuck together; Peter could come like this—Tony could let him—but it’s not good enough, would just be a waste to have a loose knotting.

“I didn’t even know it,” Tony says, “but I made you to be so fucking filthy, so perverted. I picked the best donor for you, wanted you to be the best you possible could, but you’re even better.” It almost catches, Peter humping against him the limited amount he can, whining pitifully; Tony leans down, pulling on the knot a little, till his face is right over Peter’s. “You need this,” he says, Peter nodding immediately. “Need to be caught so badly, baby. You’re going to wind up being one of those alphas they talk about, that just can’t get enough, can’t ever get enough of being in an omega. It’s going to be so easy to make you knot me again and again, as many times as I want.” 

He laughs suddenly, nearly dizzy with the possibilities that just opened in his mind. Kisses Peter hard, biting his lip. “Think you’ll knock me up?” Tony whispers, pulling back just enough to see Peter’s eyes, wide and dark, shocked. Wanting. “Gonna give me a grandkid to spoil rotten?”

The sound Peter makes at that is incoherent, but the way his knot sinks further into Tony says enough. “Like the thought of that, do you?” Tony says. “Guess we’ll have to keep trying till it works.”

He feels it catch, feels it swell inside him, fucking huge, god. Peter’s got the most perfect alpha cock, the best Tony’s ever had. “That’s it,” he gasps, “fuck, that’s it, kid. Just like that, oh god, you’ve got such a good knot, so hard, ugh!” Feels it twitch as Peter starts to come, as Peter jerks under him, sinking even deeper, settling in and shooting off in Tony. Some distant part of Tony nearly hums with satisfaction. It’s a tight lock, a good breeding; Peter’s going to seed him easily like this. 

That shouldn’t be appealing at all, but it really fucking is, Tony’s cock throbbing in his hand; a few more strokes, another little thought about Peter’s pup, their pup, the best of all possible choices, growing in him, and he’s coming, clenching down hard around Peter’s knot. 

When he sinks down, ass pulling wonderfully at Peter’s knot, Peter wraps his arms around him. Kisses him, slow, messy, pretty fucking out of it, but to be fair, so is Tony. He closes his eyes, shoving his nose into Peter’s neck, mouth over his scent point. Licks at it and Peter moans, turning his own face into the same spot on Tony's neck, breathing hot and humid against it, and Tony wouldn’t say no if Peter bit down right now. 

He won’t because that’s just… not how Peter is, but Tony wouldn’t say no.

Tony squirms on Peter's knot every now and then, unable to help it, needing to remind himself how good it feels, how tight it’s settled. Peter moans every time, clinging tighter. 

“Still okay?” Tony says softly, and Peter tilts his head back, looking at him.

“Yeah,” Peter says, a little slurred, but it looks like he’s hitting a lull in his rut. “I needed you so much, Dad. Wanted you so much. The way you smelled—  I was losing my mind. How could I even look at anyone else when you were there?”

He’s tracing his fingers over Tony's back, slow, mindless circles. “I know you don’t want an alpha,” he says, quieter. “I won’t be all like, super alpha though, I promise.” 

“You’re not an alpha,” Tony tells him. “You’re my alpha.” 

“Fuck,” Peter murmurs, shivering. “Please— I can be your alpha. I can. I will.”

“You will,” Tony says, meaning it, making that commitment without a second thought. “You’re a dream come true, Peter. Perfect, so perfect for me, like no one else ever could be. You’re already mine, already made from me.” 

Peter moans, pressing his face harder into Tony's shoulder. 

They stay like that, drifting a little; it’s a hell of a catch, Peter’s knot not shifting in him even a bit, not shrinking at all. Tony wonders how long it’ll stay. If it’ll be this tight every time. 

He hopes so. Of course his son would do this well too.

It lasts and lasts, and— and Tony’s slipping back into heat, Peter’s knot still just as caught in him as before. God, this is going to be a wild heat. 

“You said,” Tony starts, Peter stirring slightly, “said you’d heard me.” He drags his nails down Peter’s side, slowly, just feeling how he presses up into it. “So were you making sure I heard you? Doing it on purpose?”

“Um,” Peter says. “I— maybe. A little. I mean, I— I didn’t want you to know? I felt so bad about it. But I still… really wanted you to know. Really wanted you to—”

“Wanted me to what?” Tony says, propping himself up a little so he can look at Peter. It might be nearly torture for Peter, but Tony can still get off like this, listening to Peter’s dirty little fantasies. Can still come all over Peter and all around his knot. “What were you thinking when you jacked off and came calling my name?”

“Ohmigod, Dad,” Peter mutters. 

Tony snorts. “Little late to be embarrassed, kiddo.” Twists, clenching at the same time, and Peter groans as his knot gets all that movement. “I wanna hear; entertain me, baby.”

Peter wrinkles his nose, but his arms stay tight around Tony. “I— I was thinking about you—” He takes a deep breath, turning until his face is tucked against Tony’s neck. “Was thinking about you fucking me,” he says, just a little muffled, and that was not quite what Tony was expecting. 

“Yeah?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Peter mumbles. “You— you’d tell me I hadn’t earned the right to knot you yet. That I’d have to work at it, show you how good I could be.”

“Fuck, Peter,” Tony says, squeezing his cock. “How were you supposed to show me that, hmm?”

Peter seems to realize what Tony’s doing then, tucking his head in more and looking down. Reaches down a second later, his fingers brushing over Tony’s, over his cock. “All kinds of ways,” Peter says, wrapping his hand around Tony’s, pressing their fingers between each other’s, slowly stroking Tony’s, using their hands together. “Anything I could think of, Dad. Letting you fuck me anywhere you wanted, any way; blowing you, or sometimes you’d just fuck my face and come all over it,” and Tony groans, hips jerking into their hands and pulling at Peter’s knot in the samemovement. 

“I’d think— I’d think about you tying me up on the bed, to it, telling me alphas couldn’t be trusted,” Peter says, hand moving faster, tighter. “Telling me you’d help me learn, that maybe if I did well enough, you’d ride me like that, still tied up, after you came in me.”

“Jesus,” and it feels so good, this dual sensation, Peter all over him, in him. “You’ve got a filthy mind, baby.” He nips the underside of Peter’s chin, licks it, just barely, and he doesn’t know if Peter will even understand what that means. “I like it, Tony says. “After all, I know where you got it from.” 

Peter huffs out this strangled laugh, his hand tightening around Tony’s cock. Moves faster as he starts talking again, Tony thrusting into it, closer by the moment. “You wouldn’t let me knot you even then,” Peter says. “You’d pull off as soon as I was almost there and make me come like that, play with my knot after until I felt like I was going to cry or pass out or something,” and he probably would. An alpha’s knot is so sensitive, not meant for anything but the warm, soft inside of an omega. 

Tony shudders. “Next time,” he tells Peter, “next time, sweetheart. When—oh, fuck—when I’m not in heat, when I can give you the full attention you should get.” He pants, rocking against Peter, clenching tight around him. “I’ll make you knot like that when I’m not in heat, because you haven't earned that yet, have you. God, I can’t fucking wait, wanna see what you’ve got in me.” 

He’s close, so close, Peter breathing heavy against his neck. “I should— Peter, baby, please.”

“Should what,” Peter whispers.

“Should get you like that,” Tony says, his eyes closing, right on the edge. “Get your knot popped and then compare you to some of my aids. See what you’re closest too and fuck you with that one.”

“Fuck,” Peter says, shaky. “I— I know I’m bigger than most, you’d have to— I don’t know if I could take one that big,” and Tony’s coming, squirming on Peter’s cock and twitching in Peter’s hand. 

Peter’s knot might have gone down a bit, he thinks as he lies on Peter, his brain most static and white noise. Just a few things, circling round and round— wait.

“Bigger than most?” Tony says. “How would you know, huh? You haven’t even seen the size of what I get in me.” 

It’s cute how Peter blushes, avoiding his gaze like he can pretend Tony isn’t there while he’s literally stuck on Peter’s cock. “Uh, I—” He squeezes his eyes shut, the rest coming out in a rush of words. “I snuck in once and found them and maybe played with them a little and that’s how I know.”

“You— you little perv,” Tony says, but it’s delighted. “Shit, Peter. That’s— I wanna say I can’t believe it, but boy can I. So what, you borrowed them for a bit? Or did you get off in my room and do your little comparison there?”

“Ahhh,” Peter moans, so embarrassed, but he brought this on himself. “It— it was when you went off to that conference overnight.” 

“So it was in my bed.”

“Maybe,” Peter says. “But, uh. Yeah. I did that, so I do know that I’m bigger than all of them except the new one, so—”

“Wait,” Tony cuts in. “Wait wait wait. New one? New one? Peter Benjamin Stark, that was not a one time experiment, was it.” Peter’s got his face hidden, an arm thrown over it like that’s any actual protection. “How else would you know that any of them are new, hmmm? Unless you just happened to see what was there before I got it and after.”

He pushes at Peter’s arm until he can see one eye; waits. Peter opens it, eventually, squinting at him. “You sneaky slut,” Tony says. “You went back for more, didn’t you. How many times?” 

Peter shakes his head, his face flaming red. “Too many,” he mumbles. 

Tony opens his mouth, about to demand more details, when Peter’s knot slips. He shudders, feeling it get smaller by the second, sliding out of him and leaving him feeling empty. “Ugh,” he groans, and clings to Peter a little, Peter gasping sharply. 

Oh, he feels gross, god. A hot shower sounds amazing, but that would require standing, and walking, and just in general moving and all of that sounds awful. He sighs against Peter’s collarbone. “So which one was your favorite?”

“What?”

He nips Peter, lightly, but Peter still jumps. “Which heat aid?” he says. “I know you probably tried them all.” 

“They— uh, I— it’s—” It’s almost painful to listen to like this; Tony takes pity on him.

“I just wanted to find out which one I should use, when I get you knotted on one while you’re still caught in me. That’s all, baby,” Tony says. Grins. “But I can just pick one, if that’s easier.” Peter makes a helpless little sound. “How about the one that expands?” Tony asks. “Or— what about the one with a tube; I could fill it up and make it squirt in you. Could lick it back out of you after, even. What do you think?”

“Daaaaad,” Peter whines. “You— I can’t— oh god, whatever you want, please.”

Tony laughs at him. “You really are a slut for this,” he says, tilting his head up and kissing Peter. “Love you, kiddo.” 

“I’d like any of it,” Peter says. “Anything you wanted from me. Anything at all; I love you too, Dad, so much.”

“I know,” Tony says. God, he knows. This— if Peter hadn’t loved him, maybe he might have been able to hold out longer. 

If Peter hadn’t loved him, this would have gone so much worse. He sure as hell wouldn’t be kissing Peter right now, warm and soft. Wouldn’t be nipping at Peter’s scent point, teasing, pestering him until Peter huffs and squirms away. Wouldn’t have Peter following when Tony rolls off him, flops over again onto his stomach, face buried in his arms. Stretches a little, and Peter’s hands are on him, stroking down his side, over his head. Peter’s mouth is on him, trailing kisses across his shoulders, lingering for a moment at Tony’s scent point, darting out his tongue to taste it. 

Peter’s hand wanders lower, practically groping at Tony’s ass. Not that Tony can blame him for being tempted, but there’s something— he’s not sure it’s entirely sane, the wave of humor that hits him at the thought of it. Maybe just a little hysterical, he decides, and he’s going to blame that completely on his heat. It’s always made him overreact. 

“Dad?”

“Mmm?”

“Can— would it be okay—”

“Peter,” Tony says. “I told you. Yes. Whatever it is, yes. Carte blanche, kiddo.” 

Peter huffs. Mutters to himself, something Tony can’t quite make out, and then, at the end, “Fine.”

Fine what, Tony wonders. Peter’s hands are on his ass, spread across each cheek and pulling him open as Peter shifts on the bed, settling between Tony’s legs; maybe that was it, maybe Peter wanted to look. 

Or not, oh, god, Tony jerking as Peter licks up the cleft of his ass, stopping right before Tony’s hole. Pulls back and licks another line up, a little to the side of that, and it takes Tony entirely too long to realize Peter’s licking up the come that’s dripped down Tony’s ass. Can he be blamed, really, for being a little distracted by the wet, soft heat of his son’s tongue there, of all places?

“Fuck,” Tony gasps. “What the hell, baby, what—”

Peter pulls back, his breath hot against Tony’s skin when he answers. “I was going to ask,” Peter says, just a little sharp. “But noooo—”

“I’m not regretting that,” Tony says. “Just— Jesus, kid!” as Peter presses his mouth against Tony’s hole, licking at it. 

He doesn’t bother with words after that. It’s easier, better, to focus on the feel of Peter’s tongue against his skin, all along his rim and inside, firm and soft and wetter by the second as Tony starts slicking up again; he doesn’t know if Peter’s going to be able to keep up with it. 

So much better to dig his head and his knees into the bed and push up into Peter’s touch, into his mouth. Peter lets him, waits until Tony’s settled in and then keeps him there, his arms hooked around Tony’s thighs, hands on his ass. Buries his face as deep as he can and laps at Tony, eager and fucking hungry. Tony can feel every touch, every breath, every moan Peter makes, and he’s getting pretty noisy himself. “God, Peter,” Tony manages at one point, “where the hell did you learn this?”

Peter barely pulls back enough to answer. “Didn’t,” he says. “I just— wanted to.” Dives back in and Tony groans. 

“You’re filthy, that’s what you are,” Tony tells him. “Fucking nasty, baby. Of course you’re a natural at this, you— oh fuck, right there, kiddo, right— yeah, keep it up.” He’s not sure if he can come from this—hell, if he can even come again so soon—but he’s going to try. 

“It’s— it’s just ingrained in you, isn’t it,” Tony says. “Down to your bones, buried so deep, that you’re a slut,” and Peter moans into Tony’s skin. “Such a slut, such a good fucking slut, hungry for slick; you’re a disgrace of an alpha, you know that?” 

That gets him a huff, and then a hand on his cock. Tony almost tells him no, almost insists on testing this, but it feels so good and he just wants to come. He’s past caring how, just— “Come on kid,” Tony gasps, “come on, show me what you can do.” 

Peter keeps licking after Tony’s come, lighter, softer, but still going even when Tony starts squirming, too sensitive and worn out. “Peter,” he whines. “Baby, ugh, stoppit. I know you’re a slut for slick but enough.” 

There’s one more broad, long swipe of Peter’s tongue and then he’s pulling back. “It’s not my fault you taste good,” Peter says, and Tony laughs. 

Turns a little to look over his shoulder at Peter and doesn’t regret it; Peter’s face is red, his lips even redder, wetness smeared all over his mouth and chin and cheeks. Spit or slick or come, it doesn’t matter. “You think it tastes good because it tastes like you?” he asks, idly, watching Peter lick his lips.

“What,” Peter says, staring down at Tony’s sill spread open ass. “Because it’s my come I’m eating out of you?”

Tony snorts and Peter gives him a confused look. “No, dumbass,” Tony says, Peter scowling, “because you’re half me. More than half, technically.” 

Peter rolls his eyes, actually rolls his eyes, god. “Or maybe you just taste good, Dad,” he says, wiping the back of his hand over his chin.

“Well, come on,” Tony says. Crooks his finger at Peter when he frowns. “Let me have a taste, then.” 

Peter’s mouth drops open, and then he’s crawling up over Tony, making things difficult as Tony tries to turn over at the same time. Kisses him, pressing his tongue into Tony’s mouth, and honestly, Tony doesn’t care what any of it tastes like. Just wants this, Peter’s lips on his. 

“You know,” Peter says when he pulls away. “You’re kind of a slut too, Dad,” and the laugh slips out of Tony before he even thinks about it. 

“Guess it just runs in our genes,” he tells Peter.

“Yeah,” Peter says, nuzzling up to him. “I guess I had to get it from somewhere.” 

“Guess you did,” Tony says, and— maybe no one will ever understand, but this was the right choice. Peter was the right choice, was the alpha he’s been holding out for all this time. 

Of course he’d ended up carrying the perfect alpha for himself. This was always meant to be. 

“Love you, baby,” Tony tells him, soft, almost a whisper against Peter’s skin. 

“Love you, Dad,” Peter whispers back, and that’s what really matters, isn’t it.

*