#peter feels

“I’ll always take care of you baby.  Yes?  Daddy will always take care of you.  Say it.”

The shower was perfect and soothing and deliciously warm.  Peter had never imagined that they’d be intimate tonight, not after everything they had been through.  After a mad, desperate search for the newest bad guy that had begun yesterday morning and had ended tonight in an epic battle in the skies of New York City… well both Tony and Peter were both desperate for rest.  Both bruised and battered, they had limped back to the penthouse to crash.  Possibly for a week.  That was certainly all that Peter was expecting, anyway.  

But as soon the suits came off, Tony was pushing him onto the bed, hard and urgent.  Peter was surprised at first… then simply put his arms around the man and complied.  “Oh, this is nice,” he murmured and let Tony do whatever he wanted… he was too exhausted to do anything else.  

And now, here they were, in the shower at last.  Exhausted, Peter let steaming hot water pour over his aching muscles, eternally grateful for Tony’s eternally inexhaustible hot water supply. 

“Say it.”

“Hmm?  Oh… yes.  Daddy will always take care of me.”

Tony had saved his life tonight, or maybe it had still been afternoon.  And had very nearly saved his life yesterday… or that might have been early this morning… it was all a blur now.  

And Peter had saved Tony’s life, that much was certain.  That battle had been brutal, but Peter had held his own.  He glowed with pride, now.  He was an Avenger, and an equal, and everyone had seen it.  

“My baby… Daddy will always take care of his baby.  Take good care of his baby.  Yes…”

There hadn’t been much talking in bed.  That had been quick and dirty and straight to the point.  But now, in the shower, Tony’s “Baby/Daddy” talk had begun… and kept going.  Tony stood behind him, soaping up his body and washing it off over and over again.  Always repeating the mantra.  

“My angel, my sweetheart.  Daddy’s angel.  I’ll always take care of my sweet angel…” 

Finally, there was silence.  Peter was almost falling asleep standing up with Tony spoke again.

“I’ll always take care of you, Peter.”

It wasn’t his “Daddy” voice.  It was his regular voice.

“You know that, right?  

“Say it back to me.”

Peter moved out of Tony’s embrace - moved Tony’s arms from off of him and turned around.  He took Tony’s face in both hands and kissed him on the mouth.

“I will always take care of you, Tony.  We will always take care of each other.”

Tony didn’t argue.  He only looked Peter in the eye.  Suddenly he looked very, very tired.  What he mumbled was only loud enough for Friday to pick up.  The shower stopped.  The two men stood in the steam, looking at each other.  

Finally, Tony nodded.

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amazing moodboard used due to the generosity of @starker-sorbet

view the amazing original here

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Like, it’s easy to see his attitude as self-serving and uncaring, but the fact that he refuses to help Malia when helping endangers her--dude. 

in the shower?

in the Penthouse?

in bed after a nightmare?

in Wonderland?

In a Medieval Monastery?

In a Medieval Monastery with Dr. Strange and Bucky?

In a Mafia AU (With Dr. Strange and Bucky?)

In a Mafia AU (With just Bucky?)

In a Haunted House with a ghostly presence (that is Bucky?)

I am about to post some Very Serious Starker.

It's going to hurt.

Waking up with Peter in his bed, with Peter in his arms.  Was there a better feeling on this planet, or in any other?  Peter sitting up to rub the sleep out of his eyes, to yawn and stretch, to reach for his phone and then dismiss it, looking happily down at Tony before laying back down again.  Tony was happy.  Tony was on cloud nine.

That was his only thought as he inquired about Peter’s day, Peter’s plans, Peter’s agenda.  As Peter reached for his phone again and started talking, Tony only had one thought in his head.  This was too good to be true.  This was paradise.

Then paradise stood up and began to climb out of bed, then stopped.  

“I have to tell you something.”

Tony’s chest tightened.  He didn’t know how the kid did it - Tony had once flown a bomb into an alien wormhole and the only panic he felt came years later - but this kid could do it.  Say the one thing that made his whole body cold and his forehead sweat.  It was uncanny… like this kid had superpowers, or something….

“Yeah… it’s… okay this is really hard…”

There he was sitting, like a vision on Tony’s bed, naked as the day he was born, grinning in the afterglow and, supposedly, headed off to take a shower when he had stopped short and sat down again.  He was taking deep breaths before speaking.  Tony couldn’t breathe at all.

“... because I really like you…. THIS.  I mean I really like this.  Kind of a lot.  Like it’s… gosh the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me.  And that includes going into outer space with you.  And I don’t… I don’t want you to think…”

Tony opened his mouth but nothing came out.  Of course.  The superpowered miracle in his bed was about to break up with him.  What else was there for a mere human to say?

 “Oh gosh, I mean I hope you don't kick me out of the penthouse for this but…”

“Peter!”  Tony said, finding his voice at last.  Right now the boy was blushing slightly and looking like an angel from some extra-divine level of heaven.  Only Tony was pretty sure the extra-divine levels of heaven wouldn’t approve of older mentors taking their 20-something mentees to bed on occasion.  On many occasions.  Okay on all occasions when they weren’t out saving the world.

But it was no-strings-attached-sex, Tony had insisted.  It could start and stop whenever Peter wanted and there would be no consequences… Tony insisted… no consequences for saying “yes” but also no consequences for saying “no” either.  Tony had made that crystal clear… hadn’t he??  He had to make it clear once again.  

“Peter,” he scolded, sitting up at last.  Peter was sitting crosslegged on Tony’s massive Alaska King - Tony copied him and now they sat knee-to-knee to talk.  As if Tony didn’t have a care in the world.  As if he weren’t steeling himself to receive the bad news that Peter was done with the “benefits” part of the “friends with benefits.”  

Steeling himself?  He was Iron Man.  He was Iron-ing himself.  He would survive this.

He could survive having his heart ripped out by this young boy, couldn’t he?  Hadn’t his heart suffered more damage than this?

“...Robin… you are always going to be welcome in the Batcave.”  Even if it meant Peter would go back to sleeping in his room and Tony would lay down in this cold, huge bed.  Heartbroken and alone.  “So don’t talk like that.  You know none of this…”  He waved his hand around the rumpled sheets.  “You know this isn’t what matters.  Just… tell me anything you want.”

For a moment, Peter’s face fell in disappointment.  And Tony realized he would move heaven and earth to wipe that look of disappointment off Peter’s face.  Even if it meant Peter didn’t want to get naked with him anymore, Tony would have to be okay with that.  As long as Peter was happy.

“Anything, Peter,” Tony found his mouth saying now.  He hooked his hand around the back of Peter’s head and pulled their foreheads close.  “I mean it,” he said, and was surprised to find he was sincere.

Peter took another deep breath.

“I really need you to…”

Another deep breath.  He touched their foreheads together.  Then he leaned into Tony’s embrace to lay his head on Tony’s shoulder, whispering into the older man’s embrace.  

“I really need you to stay closer after I… after you make me come.  I mean… I mean we don’t have to snuggle-snuggle… but…”

Tony moved his legs out the way and wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling him close.

“I mean… I guess… maybe I do?” Peter asked, sounding slightly relieved.  “Need to snuggle, I mean… just for a moment, not forever…”

“Oh kid, of course, why didn’t you just ask?” Tony said, or would have, if he could have spoken.  Instead he was just pulling Peter’s head to his chest and rocking him back and forth.  So the kid couldn’t see.  So the kid couldn’t see his face breaking with relief, with gratitude.  Peter wasn’t ending this ill-conceived mismatched sexual liaison… not yet.  Not today.  Tony still had a few days left in paradise.    

“...and… I don't know but… if maybe you could…”  Peter was continuing, feeling bolder.  Tony kissed the side of his face in encouragement.  

“What, baby?”

“…if you could talk to me.  Afterward.  Just a little, I mean.  Your voice is such a turnon… but after I come it just goes away completely and that leaves me feeling… unmoored.”  

And Tony Stark, the man Pepper had described as a “wall of sound,” the man who had driven lovers mad with his inability to stop talking after sex, the man who had spent a solid decade disappearing after sex just to avoid his struggles to avoid conversation, that Tony Stark, said yes.

He said it calmly, of course.  He held his young lover tight and chuckled at Peter’s embarrassment, explaining that the only way for the two of them to be good in bed together was to practice, and making a few obscene suggestions along the way.  Peter was all grins and snuggled into Tony’s embrace, gladly engaging in the conversation, making suggestions of his own, and generally expressing relief.  And Tony…

…Tony was laughing at himself.  Laughing in relief.  He had made such an effort to stay silent in bed, to leave Peter alone, to give Peter his space.  But what if he didn’t have to do that?  What if he didn’t have to try so hard?  He was all grins now, just like the boy in his arms.

What No One Tells You About The End Of The World 

Is

…you still have to eat once in a while.  You still have to shit.  You still have to lay down and sleep and then, eventually, you have to get up the next day.  You think you will just stay in bed forever - but I promise you can't.  You will have to get up.  You’ll get bored.  You’ll realize you haven’t bathed in a while.  And eventually, you’ll have to eat.

At least he has something to eat.  Peter reminds himself, sometimes, that he still has electricity and hot and cold running water.  He may live completely alone in a world where the human race has forgotten his name, but at least he has something to eat, and someone to eat with.  Not everyone does.

And Peter does have someone to eat with.  And someone who, on occasions, asks him if he’s eaten today.  Asked if he was getting enough rest.  “Not that I’m one to judge,” that someone would joke mildly, and then some conversation about night-owls and insomnia would follow, but still.  It was nice to be asked.  Such a tiny little kindness that really hit home when the whole planet has magically forgotten your existence.  

Although his older lover might be amused if Peter ever described him as “kind.”  “Infuriating” would be more accurate.  “Maddening.”  Both by day and by night.  Maddening by day (that ego was NOT an act, and sometimes difficult to live with behind closed doors.)  Maddening by night (that scrape of beard on the back of his neck, making Peter crazy…)

What no one tells you about the end of the world is that you will still wake up with morning wood. And that maybe… even though you are sure you don’t deserve it… maybe you still get to feel good.  Sometimes.

(And sometimes… maybe  more than just good.  Maybe a lot more than good.  Like when he strongarms you to face the wall and presses it in inch by inch, forcing you to take it slow, forcing you to wait.  You’re stronger than him, obviously, it’s not like he’s wearing all his fancy clothes right now but how are you going to fight him?  Not when your cock is in his expert hand and the scrape of that damn beard against your neck is making you insane…)

He apologizes for being an asshole sometimes.

Which… kind of hurts.  Because he never apologizes to the world for being himself… he just is.  That’s what Peter admires about him.  He is completely and utterly himself… doesn’t seem to doubt himself.  Not like Peter at all…

(Also, he never referred to himself as an asshole until they went to bed together.)

Not that Peter can complain.  Having this older man for a lover… this older, arrogant, infuriating man… well…

It gets lonely at the end of the world.  Especially when you’re surrounded by people walking past you, walking to and from work every day and every night, not knowing that your world just ended.  You think you won’t need companionship after your whole world falls apart but, oddly, you do.  Existence has ended, but you’re still human.  Apocalypse is now and passed, but it’s still good to have a conversation about that crazy thing you saw on the street today.

And if you have that conversation while laying side by side in this ridiculous bed, letting the sweat dry off your bodies as you catch your breath and marvel at what you’ve just created together, well…

…who knew you could still laugh after the world has ended?

Laugh, or chuckle, or maybe roll your eyes or maybe even growl a little in frustration at the one man in the world who knows your name.  Maybe even fight a little… maybe even quarrel.  You think you don’t care about anything any more… what else is there to care about at the end of the world?  But you are still a human being.  You still have edges.  And sometimes yours bark up against his and you feel yourself bristling…

…but all of that melts away at when Peter finds himself melting in that man’s iron arms.

His lover is an older man  - he never lets Peter forget it - and he loves to point out that, as an older man he is just not as interested in his own climax as he is in other things.  Peter’s lover is a scientist at heart.  And he is often at night he seems more interested in certain scientific experiments on Peter’s willing body than he is anything else. 

How many times can Peter come in one evening?  How long can he wait, held gaping there on that silver razor edge, waiting for release?  

Who knew, here at the end of the world, that you could still be surprised?

And so Peter does just that.  Gets up in the morning.  Eats.  Shaves.  Shits.  Teases his lover gently about how long he spends looking in the mirror every morning, meticulously plucking his face to maintain that signature facial hair.  There’s more and more gray appearing in that hair now than ever before, but Peter just uses the term “silver fox” and kisses his lover before going out into the world.  Out into the world to try to find some kind of meaningful thing to do.  Then comes home (he gets to think of it as “home” now - that is such a relief) and lets his older lover take control again.

And you might as well.  Let him take your jaw in an iron grip and turn your head back for a demanding kiss as he slowly moves inside you… holding your breath in hopes to hear those tiny sounds that he makes, those noises that mean he can’t hold back much longer.  No matter how much he brags about not caring about his own climax.  There, on the edge, if you can keep from keening and begging, you can hear him too.  Those sounds he makes when he’s no longer able to remain dignified…

And that's when you realize the hard ugly truth - the world has ended, but you are still alive.  And you DO have a few blessings to count.  You have a place to sleep.  You have hot and cold running water, electricity, and food to get out of bed for.

And someone to go to bed with.

Someone you are actually starting to care about.

And that is the problem.

Because, much to your surprise, here at the end of the world, you are not alone.  And now you’re almost feeling like you might want to get up in the morning?   like you might want to go out into the world and see what’s in it? because you know when you get home at the end of the day, there will be someone to… to talk to about it?

And yes, okay, that someone is a little hard to live with… yes okay maybe he is the best in his field and maybe it isn’t pride if you know you are the best but still…

But maybe… maybe that man is being a little different now.  Maybe he’s making a lot more references to things that happened “before you were born” or even “long before you were born”  which you KNOW is a subtle way of reminding you that the gulf between your ages is huge, and it won't exactly get smaller over time.   

But there’s no point in thinking about the future.  Why think about the future when the world has already ended?

And maybe that's the key to it all.  There is no future.  There is no past…

…okay there is a past.  There is a whole hell of a lot of past… but now days it feels, to Peter, like it all happened to someone else.  Some other kid, someone he had been close to.   Someone who also had lego sets and also had one close friend that shared his obsession.  Some other kid who got the quiet anti-social girl to become his best friend and share a million crazy life experiences, including that first kiss, with each other.  Some other person that saved the  world alongside Tony Stark.  

Some other person that watched him die.

That other kid would never have… well he certainly would have dared to go to 177A Bleecker Street and demand to talk to Stephen Strange.  He would have done that.  When he just couldn’t take it any more.  Couldn’t stand to live in a world that had no idea who he was.  That kid would have dared to explain it all to Stephen Strange.  That other kid might have even accepted the apology, and offer of accommodation, from Steven Strange.  

But would that other kid have gone to bed with Stephen Strange??  Would he have even taken that risk?

But he did.  THIS Peter Parker did.  This Peter Parker had taken that risk because, let's face it, what else did he have left to lose?  

And now, whatever else Peter had, he had another man to talk about the End Of The World With.  Another man who, kind of, understood.

Another man who just might have some good advice.

“Look out there, kid,” he said one evening, bringing Peter, clad only in his boxers, to that large ornate archaic window at the far end of Stephen’s large ornate archaic bedroom.  The window of the Sanctum Sanctorum  was currently looking out over the street of Hong Kong, not Greenwich Village, but still, Peter got the point.

“The world ended out there, too.  I guarantee you - someone out there on that street is watching the people walk by hating them.  How can they keep walking, how can they keep going back and forth, how can they keep going to work?  Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?  I guarantee you’re looking down on the end of the world right now.

“The world ends for people every single day…” Stephen was murmuring now.  He was standing close behind Peter, his strong hands on Peter’s hips.  Peter resisted the urge to close the distance between them, to press his ass against Stephen’s erection, to distract him and end this conversation.  It wouldn’t be the first time, certainly.  Sometimes a cold part of Peter complained that he wanted Stephen Strange for distraction, NOT for advice.

“But you, you keep going out there.  You  KEEP going out there and you KEEP helping other people.  Because you know the truth.

“What no one tells you about the end of the world is that - enhanced or not - magic or not - special or not - 

“You are still human.”

“And humans keep going.”

   amazing moodboards by @mrstarksbaby

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tagging @muse-of-gods

TW: panic attacks, physical stress reactions

TW: use of the word "Daddy"

Thaat wasn’t what the text said, of course.  Not on Tony’s main phone.  A phrase like that

THAT kind of talk only happened on a different device.  And Tony wouldn't be looking for messages from Pete on THAT device until tonight.  Tony’s main phone, an SI prototype, was supposed to be unhackable.  But that, of course, just made it a target.  That’s why they kept that kind of talk on the special phone.

What Peter DID sent Tony on his main phone was in code.

//DINY//

Tony blinked at the four letters on his phone.  No one should have been able to text him during THIS meeting.  But Peter’s number was different.  Peter seemed to need something.  But it could probably wait…

//diNy//

Tony stood up, took his briefcase, and left the meeting.

There would be hell to pay later - Pepper’s eyes were daggers - but “Daddy I Need You” was one of the safe words.  Safe phrases, really.  It meant important business.  NOT arms-dealer-shipment-ship-cut-in-two business.  Not Avenger business.  It meant Peter business.

Personal business.

Usually, the kind you couldn’t really talk about with the lights on.  With your clothes on.  THAT kind of business.

Normally safety words were to make the intimacy STOP, but Peter had Tony had realized early on, they were anything but Normal.  That’s why they had an entire Safety Lexicon - things they could say that would stop ALL conversation or action and bring attention to the problem at hand.  Tony had just never received that phrase in a TEXT before.  His brain raced as he tried to find a private place to have the private conversation.  This wasn’t Avenger guinness - Peter SHOULDN’T be involved in Avenger business.

Peter was SUPPOSED to be preparing for his last final.  His FINAL final - the very last lest he would take before officially have enough credits to graduate.  He wouldn’t GRADUATE graduate until the end of the term, of course - thus Tony scheduling these back-to-back meeting on the other side of the country.  When Peter’s graduation ceremony happened in May, Tony would be there, along with a huge cheering section, ready to paint the whole Columbia campus red.  Hot Rod red.  That’s why Tony was spending December in LA, leaving his young lover alone.  Peter was using his entire Penthouse as a study-space for these last few credits.  They weren’t even HARD credits, just technicality-credits.  Classes he could breeze through and test out early, things he needed to officially get the first degree.

So why was Peter needing him now?

Finally Tony found a small room with a door he could close to have the conversation.  From his briefcase pulled out a special pair of glasses - another SI prototype that the world+ wouldn't see the market for another 5 years or so.  He switched them on and started talking.

“Hey Bambino, what's wrong?  Talk to me.”

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There was a moment’s pause.  Then, much to Tony’s surprise, another text.

//Daddy, I need you.//

“I’m here, angel.  What’s wrong?” Tony said, trying not to sound impatient.  Peter KNEW how important these meetings were.  This time Tony and Pepper were investing in LA were necessary to free Tony’s schedule for the next several months.  They had PLANNED it this way - planned for Tony to be gone so Peter could focus on his last finals.  Planned on Tony and Pepper camping out in LA to wrap up all their business dealings in one fell swoop before Tony took a leave of absence from the company.  All so he could spend more time with Peter.  That had been the PLAN.  Why was Peter screwing with the plan now?

There was a long pause.  A pause Tony didn’t like.  There were times Peter “needed” him, like when he was feeling melancholy over the death of his uncle.  Then there were times Peter “needed” him as in a ferry full of people had split in half and he couldn’t physically keep the entire ship together by brute strength alone.

He tried a different strategy.  Using the holoscreen available with the glasses, he pulled up a keyboard and started typing.

//Daddy’s here, bambino.  Tell me what’s happening.//

//I’m scared Daddy// was the immediate reply.

That made Tony blink.  Scared?!  His Uncanny Spiderman?  The one with radioactive blood?  The kid who clung to and entered an alien ship after he had SPECIFICALLY ordered the kid to return to earth??   The kid who had saved the life of Dr. Strange with his arcane movie knowledge and his willingness to risk being sucked out of a space ship into instant death?  Already Tony’s mind was calculating how long it would take to get from LA to New York if he suited up and took off from on top of the building they were in right now.

Still, he texted calmly.

//Talk to me, baby.  Tell Daddy’s what’s wrong.//

//Its over//

//What’s over, baby?//

//The last test.  Differential Equations.  I’m done.//

//That’s good, isn’t it?//

//I don’t know what’s wrong my hearts hammering and I//

Tony watched the words appear on the screen.  Then he watched Peter delete them.  He waited patiently as Peter struggled to put it all into words. 

//I can’t breath and I//

Deleted

//Concrete is hard to breathe//

Tony’s brow furrowed as he tried to translate the line even as Peter deleted it.  Finally Peter settled on a sentence that summed it up perfectly.

//I feel funny, Daddy.//

Tony took off the glasses.  He held them a few inches in front of his face, activating the camera.  He spoke.

“Peter, you’re having a panic attack,” he said calmly.  “Turn on your camera and talk to me.”

Silence.  

Tony took a deep breath and tried again.

“BABY, be a good boy and activate the camera now.  Don’t tell Daddy no.”

//You’ll be mad//

“Why would Daddy be mad?  Bambino, Daddy knows a lot more about panic attacks than you do. I promise I won’t get mad, but you're going to be a good boy now and do what Daddy says.  Activate your camera now.  Don’t make me count to three.

The audio came on before the visual.  Tony could hear Peter sniffle.  Then the image appeared. 

“Oh, angel,” Tony said softly, licking his lips automatically.  “Why do you have on your pretty clothes?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said in a tiny voice, sniffling again.  

He wore his pretty pink collar with the silver heart in the center.  His pale chest was bare except for the delicate white “harness” Tony had bought for him, made entirely of heart-shaped fabric.  He had his pink fan in one hand, but he was hugging it to himself.     

“I thought they would make me feel better.”

“Did it?”

“A little.  I was going to take a picture for you and save it for later, but I couldn’t…”

He sniffled again, and Tony knew all he needed to know.  Peter had tried to calm down and put on a cheerful face.  To make himself feel better.  But when he found he couldn’t calm himself down, it only made everything worse.  Until finally Peter had to call for help.

“Alright sweet angel, you’re with Daddy now,” Tony said calmly.  Firmly.  “I’m going to put my hand on your chest now - is this where it feels funny?”

“Yes sir.”

“Is your heart pounding?”

“It's been going on for hours now.”

“Oh baby, that sounds miserable.”

“I was suited up so I swung around the tower forever but I couldn't make it stop.  “I came inside and took a shower but it just keeps going.  And I thought… I thought…”

“You thought getting dressed in your pretty clothes might help?  It’s okay, angel.  Daddy’s going to rub your chest for a while and try to make you feel better.  Can you tell me what concrete breathing means?”

Tears formed in Peter’s eyes.

“It’s okay, bambino.  Daddy’s got you.  Just help me understand.”

“I told you…”

He sobbed and tried to catch his breath enough to speak.

“I told you about how Tooms dropped a building on me once…”

“Yes, but that was ages ago.  Way back when you were in high school.  Why are we talking about concrete now?”

“That’s what it feels like… I can’t…”  He demonstrated, trying to take a deep breath, panting and moaning when he failed.  “I try to breathe but nothing… it feels like I’m breathing concrete dust.  I can feel it in my throat.  I think I’ve been poisoned Tony…”

“Shhhhh angel, you haven’t been poisoned - mean you HAVE.  That’s adrenaline surging through your system - angel you're a superhero, and you have superhero adrenaline poisoning you right now.  That feels EXACTLY like breathing concrete dust.  Your throat hurts because every muscle in your body is tense.  You can't take a deep breath because your lungs are trying to take shallow breaths to send enough oxygen to your muscles.  You’re whole body is ready to run, but there’s no where to run to.  

“But Daddy’s got you.  Daddy’s going to hold you very close, cand rock you back and forth.  I’m even going to get a blanket.  And get you under it.  Daddy’s going to rub the back of your neck and see if that helps.  Maybe I'll get Baby some cold ice cream for your throat…”

There was silence for a moment.  Dammit this wasn’t working.  Tony needed to be there, on the other other side of the country.  Maybe if he…

“Will you feed it to me?”

Peter’s voice was so tiny it took a moment to understand what he had said.  Then Tony understood, and smiled.

“Of course I’m going to feed it to you.”

“With a spoon?”  

“Of course Daddy is… wait…”  Tony was all grins now.  “Ii thought baby didn’t like it when I spoon-fed him before bed.”

“I thin kI might like it noghit, Daddy.”

Okay then bambino, you’re th eboss.  Now tell Daddy what happened .  Did something go wrong with your final?

“No, it was so easy,” Peter said, his voice choking with emotion.  “And I was way over prepared, just like you said I was.  And it’s done.  And everything was going fine, and I had said goodbye to everybody, but then, just out of nowhere,

It hit yuou.  Youre done, Peter.  You have your first degree in  math from Columbia university.  You graduated in record time.  You didn’t bet MY record, obvious… but if you did you’d still be a minor and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

“But it should feel good!!”  Peter bleated out, sitting up for the first time, leaning into the holoscreen towards Tony’s face.  As if Tony were there (where he should be.)  As if Tony could hold him (as he should do.)  

“Shouldn’t it feel good!?  To graduate?!”

He broke out in fresh sobs, looking around him in terror, struggling to breathe.

Tony waited for the moment to pass.  Then, he spoke.

“Peter, look at me.”  He didn’t speak until he was obeyed.  “Come on, look at Daddy now.  You can do it…”

Finally, Peter’s eyes met his.

It wasn’t easy, looking into Peter’s tear-stained eyes, but he did it.  He leaned forward and he spoke.

“I don’t remember graduating, bambino.  I know there was a ceremony, because there are pictures.  Bu tI have no memory of it.  I went out with my friends that night and got black out drunk and woke up in rehab.”

He watched Peter blink and sat back in satisfaction.  “You didn’t read about that in your Tony Stark Research, did you bambi?  Obediah was pretty good at keeping things like that under wraps.  

“Now you listen to me, little mister.  You know I’ve always admired you, the way you just tackle life without benefit of alcohol or substances, just raw-dogging it through sheer force of will.  But right now, I’m going to send Friday a selection of wine from the rack and Dum-E is going to deliver it to the bathroom.  I want you to draw yourself a very hot bath…”

“But I can’t get drunk, Daddy.  You know it doesn’t take…”

“But it tastes good, baby.  That’s all you can do right now, is try to feel good in your body until your superhero adrenaline leaves you in peace.  Is there any ice cream left in the fridge?  I’d order you some chocolate-covered strawberries, but then someone would have to deliver it…”

“You could have the delivery person just put it in the special elevator, then push the button, and step out.  Or someone could stand in the elevator and then just hand it to Dum-E…”

“If I do that, will you be in the bathtub, baby?  I want you to make it really hot, with lots of bubbles.  Make it  just as hot as you can stand it.  You’re going to…”

He took a deep breath and tried to speak as calmly as possible.

“You’re going to crash, baby.  There’s no stopping it.  So now your job is to find the softest place to land possible…”

“I’m scared, Tony…” Peter said, his breath hitching again.

“Of what, baby?”

“Of crashing.  I don’t know what it feels like.”

“It feels like this, angel.  It feels just like this.  This is the worst of it, Peter.  Now all you have to do is wait it out.  Wait till it gets better.  And it does get better, Pete.  I promise.  

“Now, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to…”  

Peter took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.  He shook his head a little.

Then he looked down at himself.  He grinned a little, as if remembering, for the first time, what he was wearing.

He opened up his pink fan and held it over his chest.

“I’m going to ask what Daddy is going to do to me when he gets home.”

“That’s not what Daddy said to… oh…”  Tony grinned.  He had ordered Peter into a hot bubble  bath and, well?  Tony knew what Peter liked to think about when he was bathing alone.

“Okay, well, what do you want Daddy to do to you first?” “I want you to  - well not at first - but… I want you to put me up against the headboard.  On my knees.  Facing the wall.”

“Oh… oh that sounds very nice, baby.  But what is Daddy going to do first?”

“Oh, first you’re going to tell me to put on my pretty clothes.  And then you’re going to tell me to take off my pretty clothes…”  He touched the silver heart on his kitten collar, playing with it.  Tony’s heart swelled with pride.  THIS had been Peter’s plan from the beginning - to put on his special clothes and think of Tony.  Tony who would certainly take care of him in his hour of need… even if he shed some tears along the way. 

“All right then, angel.  So after the pretty clothes come off, and then you’re facing the wall right up against the headboard, with your hands on the wall?  Do you like it like that, baby?  And then what does Daddy do to you?”

“I like it when you kiss my face and scrape your chin against my neck and ear and… and I like it when you say ‘Daddy needs to be inside you.’  I like it when you’re so far gone you growl it…”

“You're a liar. Daddy never growls,” he said, his voice failing him.  He had to regain his composure, and soon.  He had to walk away from this conversation and walk back into a meeting.  There were millions of dollars on the line…

“You do growl it, Daddy.  And then your whole body shivers and you sink your teeth into my shoulder…”

Tony was speechless.  

“Will you say it when you get back, Daddy?”  Peter asked now in his perfect “kitten” voice.  He was wiping the tears from his eyes.  

“Say what, baby?” Tony managed.

“Say, ‘Daddy needs to be inside you?’”

Tony took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders.  He shook himself a little and then, staring straight into the camera, into Peter’s eyes, he spoke.

“This is what you’re going to do, angel.  You’re going to find the biggest mirror in the penthouse, and you're going to make a nice, soft pallet in front of it.  You’re going to be on your knees there, so use lots of blankets, and make it soft.”

“Why, Daddy?”

“Oh, because Daddy is going to be done with these meetings sooner than you think.  And when I get home, I’m going to put you right on that pallet, right in front of that mirror.  And do you know what I’m going to do to you then, baby?”

“Are you going to make me show you my pretty clothes?”  Peter asked.  He had his pink fan open and covering his chest.  He lowered it now, using the slender fingers of his other hand to play over the hearts that made up his soft harness. 

“Oh no, baby.  Daddy’s going to fuck you right in front of that mirror.

artwork by the tireless @mrstarksbaby​

Dedicated to all who struggle with Choice Paralysis. May your conclusions be a sweet as Peter’s.

Preface

Part 1 is here

Part 2 is here

Presenting Part 3:

Obedientiary

 Did Novice Peter jump at the chance to obey Doctor Strange the moment he rode back into the monastery with his new retinue?  Oh yes, he most certainly did.

Did he think “Obedientiary” meant that he would still be allowed to obey Stephen in his bed?  Yes he did.  Did he notice that the Obedientiary must needs sleep in a completely different cell in a completely different section of the monastery?  

Well, he noticed of course.  (But he hoped it would be temporary.)

Was the Novice Peter very disappointed to find out that an Obedientiary was JUST the Guestmaster?

And did his heart sink when he realized that “Guestmaster” just meant MORE fetching and carrying than ever before?  And that it was a full-time job, leaving him no time at all to serve Doctor Strange personally, in any capacity?  In fact Doctor Strange, who had left an Abbot and come back an Archemandrite, was now far too busy to pay any attention to Peter.  Except to assign him a new lofty position, of course.  Assign him a lofty position, and then get back to his very busy day.

Novice Peter did his best, of course.  This was “obeying,” after all.  And he wanted to be obedient.  Obedience was safety.  Obedience was shelter.  So he obeyed as best he could.  

And it wasn’t all bad.  He had always struggled to focus more on his prayers and less on the other handsome older men that moved about the monastery.  That took no effort when he had Brother Stephen to attend to every night.  But now that he slept in his (cold, empty) bed alone, Peter’s mind was wandering of its own accord.  Wandering to the questions he had shouted out that night at the window of the tower.  Was there another kind of bedplay than the kind Stephen had shown him?  There were certainly other members of the monastery, both holy men and lay workers, that shared beds together under the cover of night.  They made noises of their own, there.  Were they all laying together the way Peter had lay beneath Stephen?

Was it all demands and obedience?    

His questions went unanswered, of course.  There was no one to answer them now that Stephen was gone.  Not gone, exactly.  The Archimandrite was still at the monastery.  Somewhere.  Sometimes Peter would catch a glimpse of him as he hurried all over the grounds with his endless to-do list.  To and fro, fro and to.  It seemed Peter walked miles every day, without ever leaving the monastery grounds.  He was wearing out his shoes.  Fetching and carrying.  Checking and rechecking.  His title was on-par with the Almoner and Cellarer (only they seemed to do much of their work sitting at a table in the scriptorium.)  Only Peter, it seemed, was expected to travel from one end of the grounds to the other several times a day.

At least it kept him busy.

And he needed to keep busy.  He need to be distracted from the thoughts and questions, those thorny problems that had somehow escaped his nighttime musings and now followed him around all the day…

                      …leading him to temptation.

                        The Guestmaster

“To resist temptation, one should avoid temptation!”  Brother Strange had once told Peter.  Of course, that was the OLD Doctor Strange.  The one who still shared fevered prayer sessions with Peter, ones that ended in freverent lovemaking and long, lazy mornings laying about on clean soft sheets in the sunshine before the morning duties had to be attended...

But Brother Strange was right.  To resist temptation, Peter had to avoid temptation.  Which was why he dedicated his days to working in the kitchen whenever work was to be done.   Working steadfastly in the kitchen gardens might be safest, where surrounded by his other brethren that did not tempt him (the youngest of which was 71 years of age…)

He would be a GOOD Obdientary.  An excellent one.

And he would resist temptation.  He would resist temptation by avoiding temptation.

But then...

       ...oh but then...

                      ...but then...

...but then some of those visiting men were very distracting.  They came from places far and wide, from other villages, other churches, other monasteries.  And some of them were so very handsome...

Like James of the Winterlands, seeking out a holy ground to hide in, a place where he could heal from his grievous injuries.  Injuries both of his mind, and his body.  He had committed some terrible crime in those far away lands, and that young man (that beautiful, dark-eyed, scared and broken young man) seemed so very very willing to dedicate his life to simple living and to prayer.

And there was Brother Anthony... Brother Anthony who was anything but gentle... who had come to their monastery to atone for his heresies (but didn’t seem very willing to give up those heresies.  In fact Brother Anthony seemed ready to argue with anything that moved.  Or spoke.  Or looked at him…)

...two very different men.  One silent, one argumentative.  Both with powerful, hard muscles hidden behind their rough-hewn robes.  Both with very serious faces, but secret smiles for Peter.  Smiles that contained enticing secrets.

And both with eyes that conveyed so much invitation.  And a strange tenderness, both in their own way. 

Brother Strange had been anything but tender.  Brother Strange had been commanding.  Impressive.  Demanding (in a way that Novice Peter had certainly welcomed, once upon a time.  There had been a definite kind of comfort in meeting Brother Strange’s demands.  All of them.  Nightly.  But Peter was beginning to think he had outgrown that comfort, the way a boy might outgrow a pair of shoes.

And Brother Strange (excuse me, Archemandrite Strange) was no longer Peter’s to serve.  In fact, now it seemed that Brother Strange had completely forgotten that Little Peter even existed.  And that hurt. 

But it hurt in a very specific way.  And distractions might make it easier to ignore.

“To resist temptation, one should avoid temptation!” Brother Strange had said.  But now Brother Strange was gone.  And there was a dark, spiral staircase that caught Little Peter’s eye every time he passed it.  A staircase that would lead him down to the little, quiet rooms where the guests were staying.

Staying.  And praying.

Maybe Little Peter should continue to resist temptation.  

Then again...

...James from the Winterlands was a guest.

And Brother Anthony the Arguer, heretic though he was, was still a guest.

And BOTH OF THEM had invited Little Peter to their monks’ cells and...

                      …and Peter WAS THE GUESTMASTER after all.

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THE END

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