#tshc

Warnings and tags: incest/incest kink, daddy kink, prostitution, mafia au, violence, murder, torture, hurt/comfort, angst but with an eventual happy ending

It was raining. He had been standing there, in the alley, for so long that the rain had soaked through his clothes, but that wasn't the reason he trembled.

Peter Stark, first and only son of The Tony Stark, had run away. Now it was time to face him.

He'd only been gone a few days. He had taken a couple hundred in cash and grabbed a hotel room under a fake name. It had been surprisingly difficult to find someone who was willing to take a bribe over the ID he didn't have. He was only twelve after all. Not old enough to get a hotel room. Even if everyone told him he looked older. Uncle Obediah said they were just flattering him. He said he looked like a baby chipmunk.

The back door to his father's 'totally legitimate' club swung open. Peter quickly turned away and looked for somewhere to hide. He wasn't ready after all.

"Peter," Obediah said. His voice sounded sad.

Peter slowly turned around.

Obediah sighed. "I hoped you wouldn't come home."

Peter shivered. "What... what do you mean?"

Obediah looked at him with pity. "Come see for yourself."

Peter let his uncle guide him into the building. He followed him through the halls which seemed to thump and throb in time with the house music on the other side. They stopped at the open door to the back room where Tony played cards with his friends. His heart fluttered at the sight of his father. He'd missed him so much. All he wanted was to be wrapped in his arms. He needed to hear his voice. He needed to hear him say that it was alright and he forgave him.

That's not what happened.

A boy about Peter's age with neat blond hair stood in front of Tony. He was smiling. Something no one but Peter ever did when they talked to the man. No one had the balls to look at that unforgiving smirk and smile.

Then Tony laughed. Head tossed back, eyes squeezed shut, laughed. Peter's stomach hurt.

Obediah squeezed his shoulder. "He's replaced you, kiddo. The minute you were gone he had another boy already lined up. They just got back from the shooting range."

"You mean-" Peter swallowed. His eyes burned and he ground his teeth to fight back the tears. "He wasn't looking for me?"

Obediah shrugged. "He sent Miller out after you."

Peter swayed, unsteady on his feet. Miller wasn't even a member yet. He wasn't one of the family. He wasn't ever going to be judging by how incompetent he was. Obediah righted him with both hands on his shoulders. "I didn't want you to have to see this. I understand now why you left. Some part of you must have known..."

"Known what?" He was cracking. So close to breaking as he watched his father stand and pat the other boy on the shoulder.

"Your father- well he likes your attention, Peter, but you're as replaceable as the partners he takes to bed. He can't help it really. It's just who he is. I know it must be hard, being his son, but the way he talks about you..." Obediah tisked. "You shouldn't have come back."

Peter took a step back. He couldn't catch his breath. How could have gotten it so wrong? He thought for sure if he ran away his father would go crazy with worry. He'd hunt him down non stop. He wouldn't sleep. All he wanted was his attention. Proof that Tony cared about him despite always being so busy with work. Peter had thought maybe he'd just hidden himself too well, but the truth was that Tony had never tried to find him. He had come home afraid of his anger, but certain he would be relieved to see him. He clearly didn't care that he was gone. He was happy that he was gone.

"What do I do?" Peter sobbed.

Obediah looked down at him as one might a dead frog on their doorstep. "Here, kid. This was for poker night, but you need it more than I do. Just don't come back this time. My heart can't bare it." He handed Peter an unsealed envelope. It was stuffed full of cash.

Peter held it in his hands. He looked at his father. He had his arm around the boy's shoulders and was leading him from the room. Peter turned away and ran.

...

The small of freshly roasted coffee greeted Peter as he entered the cafe. He threw his wallet and keys in the locker and grabbed his apron off the hook. He yawned and stretched his arms high above his head. His back cracked and he couldn't help but smile. Finally. He'd been trying to get that spot to pop for days.

Gwen greeted him with a grumpy scowl as he came out from the back.

"Good morning, sunshine," he laughed.

"Shut your whore mouth," she grumbled.

"Careful. You'll upset Mrs. Brown." Peter smiled and waved at the gray-haired old widow who sat in her usual spot by the window. She had her coffee, but she only liked the omelets the way Peter made them so he got to work making her breakfast.

"I don't get why you're always so happy."

Peter shrugged. "When I'm not here I'm under seven blankets, reliving my childhood trauma."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Yeah well, I was promised I wouldn't have to work on weekends but your bestie took off with her boyfriend to get smashed on spring break."

"Ned isn't MJ's boyfriend, they grew up together."

"And if she was smart she would bag him before he gets that Oscorp job." Gwen pouted again. "I wanted that job."

"It's a minority position, Gwen."

"I know, I know. I'm not against it. They wouldn't hire me because of my record anyway."

Peter sighed. The criminal record that was his fault and that also haunted him as he hid underneath seven blankets. "I'm really sorry, Gwen."

She shrugged, but she wouldn't look at him. "It was worth it to get you out of trouble."

"And I'll keep trying to make it up to you."

She softened. "You don't have to."

"But I'm gonna." Peter grabbed Mrs. Brown's still steaming omelet and carried it over to the table. It seemed to take her a second too long to realize he was there. "Here you are. How's the coffee this morning, ma'am?"

She smiled. "Peter. It's lovely, thank you. And you're always so fast with my breakfast. Looks delicious, dear."

"Let me know if I can do anything else for you."

"Well I was looking for someone to help me rearrange my furniture this evening."

Peter grimaced. "Sorry, Mrs. Brown. I actually work a second job on Saturday nights. How about on Monday?"

"Alright. Monday then. Thank you, Peter." She smiled sweetly and patted the back of his hand where it rested on the table.

"You're too nice," Gwen scolded as he returned. "Stop letting people walk all over you."

"I know how to set a boundary when I need to," he shrugged. "It's just that Mrs. Brown doesn't have anyone. She's all alone."

Gwen frowned.

"What?"

"Is that how you feel, Peter?"

He wondered if she was right as he finished his shift. Loneliness was something he didn't think about. It hurt too much. Besides, how could he be lonely when he was never alone? His days were spent at the coffee shop among coworkers and their many customers. Evenings were spent at the only club in town that wasn't owned by the mafia: The Penthouse.

Despite its name, The Penthouse was a one-story building, if you didn't count the basement. The back door was guarded during business hours. Flash Thompson of all people was on the door today. Peter ignored whatever insult Flash threw at him as he let himself in. He was feeling down after what Gwen said and he wasn't going to let Flash make it worse. Despite Flash's bullying he'd have his back if someone tried to kidnap him on his way out the door. He'd already chased a guy off for him once. He was a jerk, but he had a good heart and Peter figured that was what really mattered.

In the dressing room the gossip was abuzz. Peter laughed and nodded as was expected of him, but his heart wasn't in it. He was lonely. He was.

He looked at his face in the mirror. He'd covered it in silver dust that would sparkle under the stage lights. There was no time to cry about it. He had rent to pay. He couldn't bear living with a roommate and in this city that meant work two jobs or starve. Sometimes three.

Peter covered the rest of his bare skin in glitter. Then he went out to take the stage.

The Penthouse was the regarded as the best gay strip club in town. Or at least Peter regarded it that way. The boss wasn't too sleazy and he kept the pimps and drug dealers out. The one time a trafficker showed up Bruce chased him off with a Glock. They were kept safe and the pay was fair. Plus they got to pick their own music and that was way better than dancing to the Pussycat Dolls every night of the week.

Peter recognized his regulars in the crowd. He spent some time on stage getting them warmed up before he hopped down to work the crowd. A dozen laps and a whole lot of sweat later, he didn't have enough money for the month. Peter sighed as he counted it out. He'd been trying to start a savings account for so long and he still didn't have anything to put in it.The Penthouse was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It was how he made ends meet. Even if that meant his whole weekend would be spent bone tired and grinding on married men. So long as the music made it impossible to think, he was golden.

The next night, The Penthouse was unusually packed. The boys in the dressing room all whispered rumors wondering what it was about. A CEO's birthday, the mafia come to take their club, a bachelor party? No one knew. Even the boss hadn't expected them. But when the music started and they started passing out big bills no one had any more complaints. It was amazing what a thong full of fifties could do.

Peter worked the pole, grinding and twisting. The men around his stage seemed to like his innocent coy act so he put it on. He looked just over his shoulder, fluttering his eyes, and when he came to take their cash he tucked his head down shyly. He took a water break and came back out to the floor. The lights were dimmer today. It was hard to see faces, but even low light caught the glimmer of jewelry and one man was decked out. His watch alone looked worth what Peter made in a month and he had a ring on every finger except the one that mattered. Peter licked his lips and crossed the floor to make his move.

"Lookin' for a dance, handsome?"

The man smiled. His eyes were all shadow, but Peter could see the gray flecks in an otherwise dark beard. He couldn't help it if it tickled his daddy issues.

The man held up a hundred dollar bill. "Show daddy what you got, sweetheart."

Peter's stomach fluttered. That had to be the hardest lap dance of his life. He was too turned on and it made him clumsy, but the man didn't seem to care. When Peter sat full on his lap and started grinding on his dick he passed him a bound stack of cash.

His deep voice purred against his neck. "Why don't you show me to the basement, beautiful? I have three more of those for you."

Peter almost moaned. This man had insane money and was hot as hell and he wanted to fuck him. He didn't think twice.

"Yes, sir." Peter slipped off of his lap and took his hand. It was hard not to pull him along at a sprint, but he had to keep the tension up, keep it sultry and enticing.

He pushed open one magenta painted door. The lighting was just as terrible here. The lights in the ceiling were all pink and they cast deep shadows everywhere. Perfect for privacy and setting the mood, but Peter did want to see this man's face. Then again, there was no way that he was as gorgeous as Peter was imagining.

A lot of clients preferred not to kiss him, but this guy took no issue with it. His mouth was on his the moment he turned around, kissing him so deeply that his legs felt weak, but a strong arm held him up.

His legs hit the bed and he was laid back onto it. The client leaned over him. Peter's head was hazy with the press of his lips and the smell of his cologne. All he could do was moan and arch into his touch. He kept telling himself that he needed to focus. He needed to take care of the client, but those hands felt so good on his bare skin, spreading apart his thighs, touching his hard cock through his g-string.

"Look at you melting," he purred with amusement. Peter licked his lips as he pulled back. His hand palmed his cock and Peter whimpered. "You're perfect."

Peter gasped, the words hitting just a little too hard. He needed it. He needed to be perfect for him. He'd do anything for it.

"What's your name?" Peter asked.

"Just call me daddy."

Peter bit down on his lip. This guy was gonna make him cum way too fast. He pulled him into a lingering kiss before crawling out from under him. He went to the nightstand where a basket of lube and condoms waited. As he turned back he caught sight of "Daddy" sliding off his jacket. He watched intently as he rolled up both of his sleeves.

"Bring that here, sweetheart," he called. Peter shivered. He wasn't supposed to get this affected by the clients. He didn't hate the sex typically, but it was more just part of the job. In all fairness, the guy was practically romancing him with how he pressed him into the bed and kissed him as he slipped the condom on.

Peter's legs were spread, wide, begging. His g-string tossed aside. Daddy took the invitation to squeeze himself inside. He was big too. Not so bad it hurt, but just the right size that Peter was helpless to put on any sort of performance.

"You're such a pretty little thing aren't you?" Daddy purred. "Listen to you whimpering."

Peter blushed. He usually toned down his whining. Sometimes clients complained. Daddy kissed his neck and he gasped. He reached up and put his hands on his shoulders.

"Daddy," he moaned.

"Is that the spot, baby?" He rolled his hips, nudging at that spot Peter barely remembered existed at this point. Was he really getting paid for something that felt this good?

"Yes, daddy please."

Daddy kissed him again. "You're so sweet. I'll have to come back for more of this. A man could get addicted to a pretty thing like you."

Peter whined and daddy pushed in deeper, filling him up until he groaned and his nails dug into his back. He was so big and when he moved, oh god, when he fucked him- he never wanted it to end. All he could was hang on and stare up at that shadowy face. He could make out a beard, dark eyes maybe, some gray in his hair. He could have been his father. It made him feel guilty, but the thought of being fucked as if his dad actually wanted him, as if he cared about him.

"Can you cum for me, sweetheart? I want to hear you."

Peter slid his hand down between them. He was pretty close already. He wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked it while daddy fucked him stupid.

"That's it. You sound so pretty, baby. Cum for me."

Nails biting into his shoulder, screaming up at the ceiling, Peter came. Daddy kissed his neck and a moment later he was cumming too.

He would have gotten himself a condom if he'd known he was going to end up cumming like that. He'd made a mess of the poor guy's shirt, and after he'd fucked him so good too. He tried to apologize but daddy just laughed.

"It's a compliment, baby. Don't worry about it." He cleaned himself up with a towel and came back with another one for Peter. He took it from him quickly before he could make this encounter any more intimate.

Daddy picked up his discarded jacket from the end of the bed. Peter caught the gleam of a gun in the low light. Then he took out another three big bands of cash as promised. He set the money on the bed next to Peter. Then he bent down for a last kiss that made his stomach flutter.

"Thank you," he said.

"Any time," Peter stuttered. This guy was unreal. It almost made him jealous to think he was this sweet to the other guys, but he snapped himself out of it real quick. One good fuck was no reason to go getting all heart-eyed.

Peter picked up the money as daddy left the room. Each was a full band of hundred dollar bills. He flipped through the bills searching for some kind of trick, but no. They were all hundreds. He grabbed his g-string and all but ran back out to the floor. He ran around the bar and grabbed the pen beside the cash register.

"Everything okay, Peter?" said the bartender who's name was also Peter, but he was older and taller with a sort of goofy smile.

"Yeah, yeah just uh-" Peter swiped the pen across the bills. He twisted and turned them in his hand checking over every inch. He couldn't find a single fake. Not one. They were either legit or really well made. He looked up at the room. A couple of guys at the bar were staring, but daddy was long gone. He looked at the other Peter. The other Peter looked at the four full bands in Peter's hands.