#thotticusmaxximus

Ahhh thanks for this prompt! I know basically nothing about dance or ballet, and such a fun time researching for this. I completely fell in love with this story as I wrote it. I would absolutely love more prompts!

The song I reference is Billie Eilish and Khalid’s “Lovely”

@thotticusmaxximus  @readysetstarker

Fluffy Starker Ballet AU: 1,831 words

Peter’s hands shook a little as he went through his regular warm up stretches. 

Mr. Stark hadn’t arrived yet, though apparently that wasn’t uncommon for him.

The Shield Ballet Company was incredibly strict about being ready and on time, but they seemed to make an exception for Tony Stark. After all, he was their principal dancer and they were lucky to have such a talented soloist in their group, people would whisper reverently.

Peter was pretty sure Mr. Stark could get away with murdering half the company if he wanted to. 

That’s just how good he was.

Peter knew this was an incredible opportunity. He’d not only made it into his dream job by the age of 20, but now he was being offered a solo in their biggest fall production. 

Which meant he had to spend extra time practicing with Mr. Stark as his teacher to make sure he was ready for it.

He fell into the monotony of the stretches. Peter let his hips shift, opening them wide as he put pressure on his knees and toes with his bent wrists, noting how the burn of his muscles settled into a dull ache. 

You can do this, he told himself. Just go through the warm up routine until he shows up.

He eased his loosened body up, standing and grasping onto the barre, rolling his feet and neck, shifting his hips back and forth. This was easy. The same stretches he did everyday.

The only difference was pretty soon he’d be dancing for Mr. Stark, and the thought of trying to impress him left Peter with an uneasy feeling in his gut.

He glanced at the clock mounted high on the wall across from him. 4:47 pm. 

He’d been here for nearly an hour. 

Maybe Tony got the time wrong?

Peter knew he was supposed to be here because Natasha had shown him in to the practice space, assuring him Mr. Stark would be arriving shortly.

It was becoming more and more clear that he wouldn’t be coming.

Oh well, Peter sighed. 

Might as well make use of the private practice space since he had it for a couple more hours. He still needed to hone his routine for Prokofiev’s Cinderella, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun first. A little extended warm-up, he told himself.

He grabbed his phone from his bag, selecting his song of choice, and cranking up the volume. 

Thank God for soundproof practice rooms. I doubt Director Fury would approve, he smiled broadly as the song started up.

The dulcet tones echoed in the empty space and Peter found himself getting caught up in the music.

“Thought I found a way, thought I found a way, yeah.”

Peter took a deep breath and began moving, focusing on the gentle piano notes to guide his rhythm.

“Oh, I hope someday I’ll make it out of here, even if it takes all night or a hundred years.” 

The two voices wove in and out of each other, building and building. 

He knew the words by heart, had spent hours listening to it on the floor of MJ’s bedroom, eyes closed and imagining how he’d dance to it. He’d spent so long thinking about it but hadn’t worked up the courage to try it out until now.

But there was no one here to judge him, and the space was so large. Much larger than the little area of his tiny studio apartment that he’d cleared for home practice. This was the perfect time to bring his ideas to fruition. His eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into the sensation of it, felt it in his bones.

“Tear me to pieces, skin and bone, hello, welcome home.” 

The words were so sad, only made more so by the soft but driving piano and gorgeous harmonies.

He squeezed his eyes closed even tighter and listened, really listened as he experimented with the steps, making adjustments, spreading his arms wider, bringing his knee in a little tighter. 

The words washed over him, enveloping him like a hug goodbye. 

“Isn’t it lovely, all alone?”

He danced harder, increasing his speed as the strings soared, the harmonies coursing through his veins, it felt like.

He landed a perfect jump on the last note, and stood there, panting for a moment. 

Clapping. 

Someone behind him was clapping.

There was someone else here.

His eyes darted open, and he turned to find Tony Stark standing there, sunglasses on and gym bag draped over his shoulder, clapping and grinning.

Holy fuck.

How long had he been there?

How much of Peter’s improvised routine had he seen?

Peter knew he’d started out like he’d planned. But halfway through it felt forced and stiff, so he’d let himself make changes, adjusting to what felt right. 

And Tony Stark had been standing there long enough to know that, he was sure.

His face went hot, flushing red with embarrassment. Tony Stark had seen him dancing when he didn’t know anyone was watching. 

It made his stomach do little flips of anxiety and hope all tangled up.

He tried to say hello but his words stuttered out into broken syllables, and Tony cocked an eyebrow in response. He looked good when he did that. Sexy as hell, in fact.

“That was excellent, kid. A little stiff and trite in the beginning, but once you let yourself get into it you really had something there. Me, I’m a classics guy. Give me Giselle or La Sylphide and I’m a happy camper. But that was breathtaking at the end, kiddo. How long you been working on that?” Tony spoke with an easy grace, a sincere smile on his handsome face as he set his bag down and began unpacking.

“Since now,” Peter said frantically. “Uhm I mean, that’s the first time I’ve danced to it. Not that it’s the first time I thought about dancing to it. No, I spent a lot of time planning it out, but when the time came, none of it was quite right. So I uhm, I improvised.” He could feel the heat practically steaming off his ears. 

He was mortified that Mr. Stark had caught him dancing a modern routine that he hadn’t even practiced before. 

Tony nodded, beginning his own stretches as he replied. “That bit at the end, do you remember what you did?”

Peter thought for a moment, then nodded shyly.

“Good, Think you can teach it to me?” Tony asked, popping his neck and giving Peter a confident grin. 

“I can try,” Peter mumbled, still in awe at this gorgeous, talented man.

-----------

7 weeks later they were waiting for their cue.

The concert hall had been dimmed to near darkness, and Peter could only just make out the lines of Tony’s muscular body. They’d start out in near darkness, across the massive stage from each other.

As the song went on, the lights would grow brighter and brighter, and they’d work their way towards each other. The closer and closer they came, the more they were pulled back, fighting against invisible forces with all their might to meet in the middle.

The stage lights would brighten to the point of being uncomfortable, heat radiating down on their exposed skin, the blinding glare so intense that the audience could hardly stand it.

And the moment they met in the center of the stage, hands finally touching for the first time at the very last note of the song, the lights would turn off, descending them back into darkness, the contrast leaving the audience, as well as Tony and Peter near-blinded by the sudden pitch black.

It was Tony who had first suggested it.

They’d spent nearly every day since that first day developing it, honing each graceful move until Peter could do it blindfolded, or without the music, or sometimes both, and hit every step perfectly.

And Tony had insisted they do it that way for some rehearsals.

He was relentless in his quest for absolute perfection. It was exhausting and infuriating. But it had been worth every frustrating moment, because Peter had never loved a routine so much. 

Had never loved a dance partner quite so much.

Tony had asked Peter to show him what he remembered that very first day, and they’d built off of it, refining the awkward beginning, letting themselves loosen as the song continued. Their movements shifted from tight and calculated at the start of the routine into something wild and passionate, needy even, by the end.

Tony had asked for Peter’s input, and it was still kind of dazzling to Peter that he cared so much about his ideas and opinions. 

“Well of course, kiddo,” Tony had replied with a half-cocked grin. “You’re the one who started this. I’m just helping you finish it.”

Peter had learned to not stutter when Tony looked at him like that, but he couldn’t help the way his heart would clench, hanging onto every word the older man said.

And now here they were, standing on stage for the first truly modern performance Tony Stark had ever done in his professional career. 

It had been advertised like crazy. 

Tony was right when he said he was a classical-only kind of guy. Tonight’s performance was a huge deal for both of them.

As the orchestra cued up, Peter stilled his breathing, focusing on the vague outline of Tony he could make out across the stage.

And as the lights grew more brilliant, he kept his focus on Tony, reaching out for him, never quite close enough to touch, letting himself imagine he really was getting yanked back, away from the love of his life. 

Well, the unseen hands were the only thing he had to imagine.

The love part was real.

He hadn’t told Tony, had been so careful in all their practices to keep it professional even when Tony teased him and cuddled close to him while they rested in between sets.

But tonight, Peter couldn’t hold it back, couldn’t deny what he’d been feeling for quite some time.

He loved Tony. 

Loved the gentle curls of his dark hair, loved his lean muscles that were earned from years of hard work and dedication. Loved the way he ruffled Peter’s hair when he made a bad joke, and loved the encouragement Tony gave him even through the worst of their rehearsals. 

He loved Tony.

And as they drew nearer and nearer, finally beginning to break free of the unseen bonds keeping them apart, a thought flashed through his mind.

What should have been a fleeting one, but it took root in his mind and heart.

for sure winterspider.  idk why it’s such an easy pick, maybe because the Russos succeeded in assassinating Steve’s character so well that I can hardly look at him these days  :| 

assbirth??? is that what i think it is