ABO-No Chapter 16
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Turning tables
It wasn’t dignified, rummaging around in another man's laundry, but Peter was past the point of dignity, or apparently simple etiquette. Sniffing every shirt until he finds the one Tony had worn on a particularly long lab binger earlier in the week. He shoves it to his face with a deep inhale like some creepy hentai panty sniffer, then pulls the black Alice in Chains shirt over his damp hair. It hangs loose on him but it feels like a perfect fit, every vibrating atom in his body lulled to a semi-tolerable rate.
This unsettling feeling became noticeable during the ride home, while Nat was applauding Peter’s impressive performance.
“Damn, I don’t know how you did it, especially in the face of that orangutan-”
“Hey, don’t insult orangutans,” Peter quipped, though his heart wasn’t in it. Nat gleamed with amusement, her spirits high even in the presence of Peter’s gruff fatigue. For someone accustomed to being up late he felt like he hadn’t slept in days.
“I have to admit, for a minute I was worried Fisk wasn’t going to stop.”
Peter was too tired to imagine how that would’ve played out, finding it easier to channel his brash Spider-man persona. “Eh, I had it under control.”
“Seriously Peter, manipulating your scent like that…it isn’t easy.” Her demeanor dropped to a more sobering octave. “And I know it wasn’t Fisk turning you on.” Peter looked away, tracking the ebb and flow of the passing street lights, not in the mood to relive the encounter. If Nat picked up on the hint she didn’t bother to grasp it. “Where did you go? When Fisk was-“
“You know where,” Peter cut her off, turning his neck to face her. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be asking.”
“If that’s true, then why aren’t you with him?”
It was a fair question, albeit none of her business. Still, Peter had been unable to form an answer in the moment, temporarily confused himself as to why he wasn’t with Tony. That’s when he first noticed it, the brain haze. It faded within seconds, but left behind a feeling of disorder that was impossible to ignore. He forwent trying to answer Nat’s question, instead leaning his head on the cool, tinted glass and spending the rest of the ride in blissful silence.
“Peter, are you okay?” Nat’s hand settled on his arm.
“Huh?” His head popped away from the cool window, refocusing and feeling like he missed something she said. “I’m fine, are we here?”
She nods. “You just…your scent-”
Peter was already out the car door, not waiting for whatever she was going to say, too eager to get upstairs, to wash the acrid filth of sweaty palms and rye breath from his pores. Nat’s hand halted the elevator doors before he could escape, joining him without an invitation.
“Did you think I was just going to drop you off?”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Nat,” he felt punchy. What he needed was a scalding hot shower and Tony’s pillow, or better yet: Tony’s bed.
“What you need is aftercare, Peter.”
“Aftercare? What are you on about? There wasn’t any sex.”
“But there were many transactions, all of which put you in an emotionally and physically vulnerable position.”
“Pfft,” Peter blew her off, stepping out of the lift into the penthouse. It didn’t stop her from harassing him throughout the apartment.
“You need time to come down. Jarvis, tell him.”
“Aftercare is an important part of dominant/submissive play and is essential in ensuring no lasting harm-”
“I know what aftercare is!” Peter pulled a sports drink from the fridge, handing one to Nat as he passed by her. “You’re acting like I came from a dominatrix dungeon.”
“The surge of adrenaline and endorphins can leave your body temporarily imbalanced.” She followed Peter to the bathroom where he turned on the shower and stripped off his shirt; she’d seen it all anyway. Nat reached past him and turned off the water, stepping over to the large, separate tub to instead draw a bath. “The rush of these chemicals leaving your body can be just as disconcerting.”
“Okay, okay. Christ.” Peter let some air out of his defenses, he was tired. “You’re being way more maternal than last time. You know, that one time when my face got pulverized?”
“This is a different kind of trauma, and this time Tony’s not here.”
“And this time I have zero injuries. Nat, you’re a few floors away.”
“Actually I’m not, I have to meet Clint at the airfield in a few hours.”
“Good, cuz I don’t need you coddling me.”
She dumped two of his shower bombs into the tub. Peter hoped they weren’t the aphrodisiac ones, not that he believed in that nonsense.
“Get in, I’ll be back in a few.” Nat turned on her heel and left the bathroom with the command of a woman not to be trifled with. Peter childishly muttered ‘but what if I drown?’ as he stripped the rest of the way down.
He melted into the steamy water, flicking away the nagging voice telling him Nat was right, a bath was a much better idea. He might have even groaned out loud, the tile echoing his undeniable contentment back at him.
It’s possible he drifted, Peter’s not exactly sure, only becoming aware again when Nat sat on a dressing stool at his side, pulling his arm from the water telling him to give her his hand as if she wasn’t already holding it.
Peter recognized the blood sample kit on her lap, already expecting the finger poke from the lancet- the daily test of his fermastrogen levels now a morning and evening ritual. Nat squeezed a few drops on the strip then left again saying she’d be right back.
Unwelcome snippets of the evening flashed behind his eyelids, twisted personages of greed and lust, objectifying conversations like he wasn’t in the room. The final unsavory taste test from his impromptu nightcap.
Nova’s countenance especially haunted him. The stoic vacancy in his expression, the despondent set of his mouth, the utter resignation of his being as he secretly slipped Peter the only solace he could offer, his own form of heroism.
Peter sank lower into the water until his head was submerged, simultaneously thanking and damning rich people and their fancy-ass tubs. When he reemerged, Nat was on the stool behind him, her suit jacket removed and pouring shampoo into her hand. Before Peter could utter a word of protest his body was relenting under the kneading pressure of her expert fingertips.
“Jarvis is scanning the sample,” she said.
“My levels have been fairly stable over the past three days,” Peter mumbled, leaning back with his eyes closed and feeling dopey.
“Mmhm, I know. You’ve been hovering at typical Omega numbers. It’s a good sign.”
In actuality, they still couldn’t make any definitive conclusions, but Peter also saw it as a positive. At least maybe this meant he could get back on the suppressants.
Nat switched on the hand sprayer and began rinsing his hair, the entire production a surreal enactment of domestic roleplay. He couldn’t recall the last time he took a bath, let alone in front of someone.
Nat pushed him forward, guiding him to lean over so she could scrub his back. Peter wrapped his arms around his knees and laid his head on his forearms.
“What happens next?”
“You scrub the scent of those pigs off and I get you some food.”
Peter half-heartedly chuckled. “I mean the mission. The auction.”
Nat’s hand paused, then resumed at a lethargic pace over his shoulders and down his spine. “Now we wait for an invitation to the final event. Tonight’s guests will need time to report back to potential buyers. But let’s not worry about that tonight, yeah?”
“Yeah. Okay.” Nat dropped the body scrubber into the water then stood up. “I’ll have some food ready when you come out.”
Peter didn’t stay in the bath long, worried he’d fall asleep before he could dry off and make it to the bed. He was wrapping a towel around his waist when Nat called out from the bedroom. “Your blood test shows lowered levels of fermastrogen, and heightened cortisol levels.”
Peter exited to find Nat waiting in the lounge chair looking at her phone, a tray of food on the nightstand.
“The cortisol makes sense,” Peter said, stepping into the privacy of the closet.
“Both changes are negligible,” Nat’s voice bounced into the smaller space. “But they track with the stress of tonight’s event.”
Peter slipped into a pair of cashmere sleep shorts that he had once thought ridiculous, only to discover no one should ever live without them.
“Sounds like the all clear to me,” Peter declared. Nat’s eyes tracked his crawl onto the bed til his back was flush with the headboard. She pushed the plate of fruit, cheese, and crackers a few inches towards him, he slowly blinked at her in return.
“Listen, I appreciate you looking after me, really I do. But all I want is to sleep.”
“At least some fruit,” she insisted, plucking a grape from the stem and holding it out. With a reluctant sigh, Peter stuffed it in his mouth. “When you’re done, I can lie down with you, the oxytocin will help-”
“Nat, I’ve been sniffed, groped, and licked by no less than a dozen people tonight, the last thing I need is more touching.”
She stood, her frown bearing down at him while she debated her next move, ultimately sitting next to him on the bed. The mismatched pillow caught her attention.
“This your pillow?” Lifting it up, her knowing grin revealed she knew it was Tony’s.
“Shut up.” Peter grabbed it out of her hands and flopped face first into the comforting cloud. He stifled a moan, it smelled heavenly.
“You’re a lost cause,” she muttered.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” his voice smothered into the pillow. He felt her hands tucking the comforter around him, forming a fluffy, contoured cocoon.
“Sleep, but hydrate every time you wake.” Her bare feet softly padded toward the door. “Jarvis-“
“Yes, Miss Romanoff.”
She flipped off the light switch. “Don’t let him be stubborn.”
“A common trait in this household,” the AI snarked. “I will endeavor to succeed where I have so often failed.”
Physically drained, Peter primed himself for a quick descent into dreamland, anticipating the long awaited escape. He waited for exhaustion to take him…at any moment…so tired…and waited some more. Any minute now.
He sat up throwing off the covers. “Fuck.”
“May I be of assistance, Peter?”
“No, J.” He rubbed his hands down his face. “Thanks.”
That’s how he’s come to find himself standing in Tony’s closet, rifling through his dirty laundry without a care as to whether it was rude or an unwelcome intrusion, it was exactly what he needed. Returning to his own bed didn’t even cross Peter’s mind as he sank into Tony’s large California King, grateful that the sheets still held his scent.
This time, sleep overtook him quickly, but rest was elusive. Peter dreamed. Flashes of red and gold, blasts of blue light, and larger than life titans split with crazed inter-dimensional travelers. Broken snippets of past failures- scenes of almost, not quite, and too late.
When Peter arouses from his fitful rest the sun is on the high side of morning. He groans at the fuzzy ache in his head, reminiscent of the time he let Wade convince him he was immune to the effects of alcohol. Of course, Wade had left out one tiny detail: he’d stolen Asguardian ale. Peter rolls onto his back, smiling at the memory despite the pain.
“Jarvis?” The rasp in his voice has him reaching for the water Nat left him, only to recall he’d left it back in his own room.
“Yes, Peter?”
“Got a headache, can you point me to painkillers?”
When he stands, there’s a sudden cramping in his side- definitely dehydrated- and it takes a few steps to shake off the unexpected wobbliness in his knees. Peter shuffles to the bathroom under Jarvis’ direction. As with all things, he takes double the dose of meds to break through the barrier of his system’s metabolism.
A shiver runs through his body and Peter realizes he’s cold, a rare occurrence. He drags a blanket from the bed, draping it over his shoulders and heads to the kitchen for water. The clacking of a keyboard signals the presence of another person in the penthouse, Peter rounds the hallway to find Pepper at the dining table sipping tea and working on her laptop.
“Peter.” She looks up, her tone warmer than any previous encounters.
“Ms. Potts.” Peter greets. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Natasha asked me to look in on you.” She eyes Peter’s t-shirt, (well Tony’s t-shirt), but doesn’t comment on it. Peter pulls the blanket tighter around him, feeling exposed; ironic in the wake of last night’s mission. He grabs a glass from the cupboard, focuses on keeping his shaky hand steady as he presses it to the fridge’s water dispenser.
“Tony also wouldn’t mind an update, he’s worried about you going off the suppressants.”
The sound of water pouring fills the next ten seconds of silence, then another ten as Peter drains the entire glass.
“An update?” Peter scoffs, ungracefully pressing his glass back against the dispenser and spilling a little. “Then maybe he shouldn’t have suggested it.”
Ugh, that sounded dramatic. “Sorry, ignore me. I’m tired. Late night.”
“So Nat said.”
“Oh, yeah?” Apprehension swirls in his chest, Peter glances up but her expression gives nothing away. “What else did she say?”
“Not much. Just that the interest levels were high as anticipated, making it a long night.”
Peter tries to decide if she’s holding back, sugar coating it; unsure why he cares. Logically he knows he didn’t do anything wrong, yet an oily layer of shame coats him like a second skin. A small voice in his head whispers he should keep it secret, hide the extent of the liberties taken with him last night- particularly from Tony.
It was a mission, Peter reminds himself.
“I brought you some separation supplements,” she holds up a small bottle of liquid, tips it side to side. “It doesn’t hurt to take it as a precaution, sometimes there’s separation anxiety. But since you and Tony aren’t a bonded pair, you shouldn’t be experiencing anything too intense.” There’s a question in her voice and Peter realizes she’s waiting for him to answer.
“No, nothing noticeable.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, so what if he was wearing Tony’s shirt, Peter had dove into Tony’s laundry less than a week ago when he was on the suppressants. “Thanks,” he pulls up a chair at an angle to Pepper. “Is this proximity okay?”
“Yes,” she softly smiles, sliding the bottle of liquid to Peter. “I can scent you, but it doesn’t have an effect on me.”
“That’s right, sorry. My default state seems to assume everyone’s an Alpha. This is nice.” Peter genuinely means it, he loosely sinks into his seat with the knowledge he can let his guard down.
“How is Tony?”
“He’s through the worst of it.” She peers at him over the rim of her cup. “He misses you.”
“I’m sure his bed’s warm.” Peter tries to make it sound lighthearted, a joke. Pepper’s strained smile generously indulges his effort, but the downturn of her eyes tells a more somber story.
“I’m often the one warming it,” she says, resting her chin on her palm, remarkably casual for someone who just declared to be Tony Stark’s fuck-buddy. “When he’s not in a relationship, that is.”
“So every time?” Peter jokes, it wins him a small laugh. Peter can’t tell if Pepper’s disappointed that Tony didn’t ask her to go with him, and he can’t help himself from digging further into the topic knowing damn well it’s none of his business. “But you’re not with him… for this rut? Nat said there are services?”
“There are,” the knowing grin on Pepper's face tells Peter she sees through his inquiry. “Tony’s never been keen on such services, that’s not to say he hasn’t ever used one. But right now…in the current situation,” she sits back in her chair, pauses to consider Peter with a look that feels as if she’s finally seeing him as not a threat. “Well, it wouldn’t sit well with Tony… Being with someone while unable to stop thinking about someone else.”
Peter doesn’t need her pointed look to know who that someone else is, the revelation makes his chest constrict, his throat tight against the lump forming in it. He takes another shaky sip of water, wipes away the drop that slops onto his chin. He shouldn’t be so relieved to hear Tony hadn’t been with anyone else. It wasn’t just selfish, it was downright embarrassing, this dependency he’s developed.
Peter pulls the blanket tighter around him, at a loss for a response.
Pepper tilts her head, her eyes bare a familiar empathy, reminiscent of the way she looked at Morgan the day of Mr. Stark’s memorial. “Peter. I owe you an apology, I-“
“Ms. Potts-“
“Pepper,” she corrects.
“Pepper,” he repeats, trying it on. “Please don’t. In our line of work, there’s no such thing as too much caution, always trust your instincts.”
She nods in understanding, but not total agreement. “I was hard on you, but I’m glad I was wrong. I haven’t seen Tony this happy since Steve.”
Peter squints. Uh, what. “Steve?”
They look at each for a second of shared confusion.
“Right,” she purses her lips, hesitating. “I forget, you might not know. It’s common knowledge here.”
She swivels her gaze to the living room windows, probably debating whether she wants to elaborate. She looks back at Peter, mouth set in a hard line, until she eventually says, “Well, I guess it’s no secret: Steve and Tony were a mated pair.”
“What?” Peter’s not only shocked at the revelation, but unprepared for the sinking rock of jealousy that settles in his gut. It’s illogical and feels out of place, but there it is. Weighted down in the muck with the heft of a concrete block. As if the cramping wasn’t bad enough. “When?”
“It ended almost two years ago.”
Peter finally connects the bite mark on Tony’s neck. Nat had explained the different bonds to him, though he’d found it a little confusing. “I didn’t know romantic bonds could be ended.”
“All bonds can be broken. It’s not totally uncommon for romantic bonds to be, but it’s extremely unpleasant for both mates, and sometimes dangerous.”
Peter takes a minute to process the blindsiding revelation. He’d only been with Steve and Tony in the same room a few times, but the first night they met flashes to the surface. Thinking back to the tension he picked up on the initial encounter, it’s pretty damn obvious what broke the bond.
“Bucky?”
Pepper nods, her mouth set in a hard line. “Steve and Tony had been bonded for over a year when Bucky suddenly reappeared from the grave. It wasn’t public knowledge, but Bucky and Steve had been a mated pair back during the war. As far as anyone knew, James Buchanan died on a mission. Not long after, Steve died in a plane crash in the arctic.” Peter simply nods, their deaths aligned with the narrative of his world. “Upon death, mating bonds naturally break.”
Peter feels an unease in the pit of his stomach. “But neither actually died.”
“Indeed.” Pepper crosses her legs, folding her hands over her knee. “As things typically go around here, an ex-partner returning from the dead wasn’t dramatic enough.” Peter mirrors her biting smirk, he can relate to the sentiment- nothing was ever simple. “When Bucky returned, he had been reprogrammed, mind control if you will, as an assassin.”
“Yeah, same for the Bucky in my verse.”
“Can you guess who Bucky had been sent to assassinate?”
“Oh, fuck me.” Peter drops his head, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his closed eyes before looking back up. “You can’t be serious.”
Pepper looks at him with a twisted grimace. “Could you imagine it any other way?”
“So Bucky tries to kill Tony. Steve stops Bucky, realizes it’s his Bucky.”
Sadness clouds Peppers features. “Tony’s bond with Steve wasn’t anything that could stand up to the history he had with his childhood sweetheart. They’d literally been through hell together.”
Peter had assumed the tension he picked up on was similar to the constant head-butting Cap and Mr. Stark seemed endlessly caught up in. Now, thinking back on that relationship in his verse, their tension suddenly made a lot more sense.
“It wasn’t easy for either of them,” Pepper says. “I truly believe Steve loved, and still loves, Tony. But in the end-”
“Steve ended up with a mate.”
“And Tony didn’t.” Pepper sighs, resting her chin on her propped up fist. “Tony took it hard, he was in a dark place for a while. He hasn’t been with an Omega since.”
Peter’s not sure if he should be flattered by Tony’s interest or panicked that he’s willing to try again with Peter.
“These bonds, they seem like more pain than they’re worth.”
“As a Beta, I’m often inclined to agree, we don’t experience them like Alphas and Omegas. But, sometimes…”
“You wish you could?” Peter finishes.
“Every romance-for-the-ages are Alpha and Omega stories.” Pepper sounds wistful in a way that makes Peter sorry for her, he can see how Betas would feel like they’re missing out. “Bonds entwine two people both physically and emotionally, they get stronger the longer two people are together. But they’re not without risk.”
“Is that why Tony never stays with anyone long?”
“Well,” Pepper’s mouth twitches. “Tony was never a long term relationship kind of guy before Steve. But I think being with Steve made him realize he did want something more permanent, something deeper. Something built to last.”
“And you and Tony aren’t…” Shit, Peter snaps his big mouth closed.
“Aren’t what?” She tilts her head. “Built to last?”
“Sorry. That’s so none of my business.”
Pepper doesn’t seem put off by the subject, though Peter senses a yearning in her voice. “There was a time, very brief, where I thought we might. But Tony…well. I’m not sure anyone but an Omega can satisfy Tony’s fastidious nature.” She tips her chin at Peter. “An Omega, like you.”
His heart spins like a pinwheel, flipping between gooey warmth and the cool fear of apprehension at what Pepper’s implying.
“I can’t stay here Mis- Pepper. This isn’t my world.”
“But it could be, couldn’t it?” God, she looks hopeful. Like her happiness depends on Tony’s happiness. And she thinks Peter’s the one who can give it to them both.
“I’ve never seen Tony quite like this,” she presses. “Not even with Steve. You challenge him in a way no one ever has. And I’m not talking about him being an Alpha, I’m talking about no one being capable of keeping up with him. No one, until you.
“Steve made him want to be a better person, but it was always shadowed by the need for approval, like Tony never thought he’d be good enough. You bring out the best in him, but not because of some unattainable standard he’s trying to live up to, but because you inspire him.
“With you I’m seeing Tony’s best self. Someone I always knew was in there. Isn’t that worth staying for?”
Peter swallows the dry lump in his throat before remembering the glass of water in front of him. He hates to hit Pepper with the harsh reality of what happens to people Peter gets close to, especially after that speech, but facts are facts.
“Pepper. If I thought that were true, if I thought for a second there was a chance I was what’s best for Tony, I’d consider staying.” Peter's own words surprise him, thrown off by the fact that he actually means it. It’s a moot point, there’s a million reasons it’s a bad idea. Peter sighs. “All I’ve ever brought anyone is suffering and danger, you’ve seen this first hand.”
“I’ve learned over the years that what’s best for Tony isn’t necessarily what’s ideal for most people.” Pepper reaches over the table to grab his hand, her fingers are soft and warm. “Just think about it, that’s all I’m asking.”
Peter nods, squeezing her fingers in return. “The Pepper in my world loves Tony, too.”
Pepper looks back at him with a gentle smile, pulling her hand back. “Did they make it work?”
“They were touch and go for several years, always a field day for the press. Then our world was confronted by a… a formidable event, and I think everything tilted into perspective. The challenge solidified their bond and they came out stronger in the end.”
A glimmer of longing lines her voice. “So they’re happy then, in your world?”
Peter's heart breaks, he decides to spare hers. "Yes. Very happy."
*
“ Peter? Pee-terr. Pete.”
“Nnngh.” Peter groans, struggling to open his eyes. A warm hand squeezes his shoulder, it feels familiar. It feels good. “Tony?” Peter’s voice is raspy and comes out near whisper quiet. He sits up on the lab stool, immediately regretting having fallen asleep in such a horrible, bent over position. The movement rocks his balance and he nearly tips backwards off his perch. Tony’s strong frame is there to catch him, gripping Peter’s biceps and acting as a wall for him to lean back on.
“Hey.” Tony’s feathery voice floats down from above. “Are you sick?”
Eyes closed, Peter sucks in a deep breath, the scent a temporary respite from the grogginess of his brain. His vision swirls and he starts to drift off again.
“Peter.” Tony’s voice, a bit heavier this time.
“Hrm?” Peter’s hands rest on his lap, one jerks with a small spasm.
Tony feels his forehead, then slides his hand to the back of Peter’s neck where he flips his hand over like May used to do when she was checking for a fever. “Your scent is off, but you don’t feel feverish. If anything, you feel cooler than usual. Jarvis, what’s Peter’s temperature?”
“ 96.3 degrees, sir.”
“Yeah, that’s especially cool for you,” Tony mutters.
“ Sir if I may, ” Jarvis’s voice sounds murky to Peter’s ears. “ Mister Parker has shown a gradual increase of severity in his headaches, body shakes, and muscle aches today. We also had a few, shall we say, disagreements.”
“What are you saying, J?”
“ I believe him to be experiencing a dry heat.”
“Fuck.” Tony maintains a grip on Peter’s shoulder, stepping around to his front side where he suddenly pulls Peter to his chest. The remedial effect is instantaneous. Soothing ripples ebb from where his face presses to the familiar warm scent and flows down every nerve. “I thought Pep checked up on him this morning.”
“ Yes sir, she did. Mister Parker's condition changed dramatically over the last few hours.”
“Why the hell didn’t you update me?” Peter presses further into Tony’s embrace, it feels so much better than a cold lab table, like a warm fire after walking home in the rain. Jarvis makes an excuse about having only now formed the diagnoses and unclear override protocols.
“How about empathy protocols, got any of those?” Tony bites out, not hiding his frustration.
Tony pushes Peter back, just far enough to lean closer and thread his arms around Peter’s torso. “I got you, Pete.” Tony’s breath grazes hot against his ear as strong arms lift him off the ground. Peter wraps his legs and arms around Tony, winding around him until finding comfort in the crook of his neck.
The embrace has a reminiscent familiarity to it. Mr. Stark hugged him long and close like this once, though the metal of the armor wasn’t warm and inviting like this feels, but the tenderness was synonymous. Peter mutters something about it, unable to decipher his own incoherent babbling.
He’s vaguely aware of moving- floating- towards the exit, feels Cape drape itself over his back as they step into the elevator. A sudden cramp twinges in Peter’s gut, causing him to let out a thin moan. “Sorry kid, I’ll have you in bed real soon.”
Kid . That’s familiar too, though once the word bed processes it overrides all other thoughts. Bed sounds amazing right about now, as long as Tony’s in it with him. “With you,” he mumbles, almost too tired to register the muscles in Tony’s body tensing up.
The wide palm on his upper back presses deeper. “Yeah, kid. With me.”
“Mmm.” Peter agrees, another shake wracking his shoulders.
The next time Peter opens his eyes is when Tony is laying him horizontal across his bed. He doesn’t need to look around to know it’s Tony’s bed, the smell of it is heavenly. With half-open lids he watches Tony remove his shoes, his pants, then straddles his waist to lean forward and pull his shirt (Tony’s shirt) over his head. Peter almost grabs at it, not wanting to let it go until he remembers the real thing is in front of him.
Gripping Peter’s calves, Tony swings his legs up onto the mattress, tucking him under the covers. It’s nice but it’s not as nice as when Tony was holding him. Slowly his awareness levels begin to spike until Peter suddenly realizes he’s alone. He searches the dim room, Tony’s gone.
“Tony?” Peter feels a pinch of panic.
“In the bathroom honey,” Tony sticks his head out. “I’ll be right there.”
Honey. He’d said it before, the term of endearment had never made Peter's insides react like they were now.
Peter’s anxiously awake when Tony, as promised, returns a few minutes later and sets a few items on the side table. Wearing only his boxers, Peter notices the bandage, though smaller, covering Tony’s still healing shoulder- was that only five days ago?
Tony manhandles Peter into an upright position until he’s able to scoot behind, acting as a backrest. Peter leans against the support without hesitation, head dropping back onto Tony’s broader chest. The skin to skin sensation is like what Peter imagines being consumed by a marshmallow might feel like, surrounded by an all encompassing comfort.
“You were supposed to drink this.” Tony holds up the bottle of supplements Pepper had brought from him earlier.
Peter grunts, he hadn't thought he needed it. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to need it. Wherever the truth lies, Peter was in no position to be stubborn about it now. With a shaky hand, he downs the vial in one swallow, unprepared for the pleasantness of the flavor. He wouldn’t say no to another. Instead, Tony hands him an energy drink.
“Your blood sugar is probably low.” Peter takes it but his hand shakes to a point near spilling, Tony’s quick to wrap his hand over Peter’s to steady it. It takes a few minutes to get through it with Tony setting a cautious pace.
“Another?” Tony holds up a second bottle. Peter shakes his head, all he wants is to rest. “Okay, let’s slide down.”
It hurts to move but Tony handles most of it by sliding out from under Peter to the side and pulling Peter into his arms to roll him on top. Peter lays draped over Tony, one leg crooked over his hips.
Chest to chest, there’s even more coveted skin contact. Tony’s arms wrapped around him, hands massaging up and down his back. Peter nuzzles into the hollow of the broader man’s neck where he can freely inhale the mysteriously calming aroma, some instinct guiding him toward a natural remedy for the sporadic body jerks that shoot along his muscles.
“Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Shh, you’re okay. Nothing to be sorry for.”
A therapeutic purr rumbles from Tony’s chest, so soothing Peter would crawl under his skin and curl up inside of Tony’s rib cage if he could. But he can’t, so he instead circles his arms around Tony’s neck and burrows his face deeper. The tempo of Tony’s rising and falling chest levels out his own ragged breaths.
Peter suddenly recalls Tony’s words in the lab, about his scent being off. “Do I smell gross?”
Peter feels the rumble from Tony’s hushed chuckle. “No, you smell like you’re in distress. Which triggers my cardinal need to take care of you.”
“Oh.” Peter hates the longing the answer creates, how it makes Peter wish Tony’s need to take care of him was by choice, not biological obligation. But he’s run out of pride and will take what he can get. “Wasn’t expecting you back so soon, Pepper said you just got past the worst of it.”
“I missed you.”
This time it is the answer Peter wants to hear.
“I missed you too. Missed your voice.” Fingertips trail up the back of his neck to knead Peter’s scalp. “Will you talk to me?”
“What about?”
“Hmm… Tell me about high school? Like I told you.” Peter anticipates the answer, knowing Tony is enough like Mr. Stark to avoid the subject.
“Not a topic I revel in.”
“College then?”
Tony makes a sound that implies the option’s no more appealing.
Peter yawns. “How about Colonel Rhodes?”
“Rhodey? What about him?”
“Tell me how you met Rhodes. It was MIT, right?”
“Yeah, you know that huh?”
“Was a guess, it was the same for Mr. Stark.”
In truth, Peter never got the story from Mr. Stark. It was Colonel Rhodes, (after a few too many at his best friend's memorial service), who told the story to a tearfully captive audience. “Come on,” Peter encourages. “I already know you were a shit starter.”
“ Was ?” Tony jokes. “Yeah, I suppose I escalated the situation that brought us together. I was too young and too smart for my own good, my peers often mistook my attempts to help as showing off.”
“You weren’t?”
“Not back then,” Tony says, picking up Peter’s implication that Tony is by definition: a showoff. “In my defense, it was another student’s inflated ego that was to blame for instigating the incident.”
“I’m listening,” Peter murmurs.
Tony’s chest jerks with a small laugh, but he obliges, beginning a story of a lab encounter when Tony was a mere 15 year old college freshman. How he offered unsolicited advice to an unappreciative upperclassman who happened to be in the same fraternity as Rhodes.
Peter feels the vibrations of the story roll through him and vaguely wonders if this is why people talk to plants, him being the plant. Energy ebbs back into him from the light in Tony’s voice, comforted by the radiating warmth of his skin, the calming timber of his words.
Tony gets to a part about a prank gone wrong, something about Rhodes getting caught looking like an accomplice, and the last thing that runs through Peter’s mind as he drifts off, is what a troublemaker Tony is in any universe. Though he thinks he might have said it out loud, because Tony quietly laughs beneath him.
*
It’s barely dawn the next time Peter opens his eyes, and it takes a second to orient himself. Both lying on their sides and turned toward each other, Peter curls into the alluring body heat, head resting just above Tony’s armpit, his arms wrap possessively around Peter- it’s a wonder either of them slept at all. Sleeping in another person’s arms only happens in fairy tales, it just wasn’t comfortable. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. But somehow this is obviously working for him.
He has no idea what time Tony dragged him up here, so disoriented the whole episode is a little hazy. A haze that seems to have cleared immensely and he suddenly recalls wrapping himself around Tony like a spider monkey, and that’s a little embarrassing.
He has to pee but extracting himself without waking Tony seems impossible; he makes his best effort. Tony’s arms pull him tighter and Peter makes a small defeated huff, though can’t help the smile that plays across his mouth.
“Where you goin’, trouble?”
“Just to the bathroom, Tony.”
“Need help?”
Peter gives himself a quick self analysis and detects no sign of shakes or muscle cramping, though his body aches a little. Peter tries pulling away again and the embrace loosens, allowed to sit up and meet Tony’s eyes. Groggy and only half alert, Tony looks, dare he say, cute?
“No thanks, I think I got it.”
“Okay.” Tony caresses his cheek, it’s quick and casual, gone before Peter can turn into it. “Come back, though.”
Peter nods and rolls away, testing his footing as he stands. A momentary sway has him grabbing the side table, the head rush clears as quick as it came and Peter shuffles to the bathroom. In the few minutes it takes to piss, wash up, and steal Tony’s toothbrush, Peter’s already feeling a little woozy. He grabs the doorframe to steady himself, opening the bathroom door. Tony stands there, ready to escort him back like he knew Peter would need it.
Without a word, Tony wraps an arm around his waist. Worried Tony’s on the verge of picking him like a damsel in distress, Peter musters all his strength to walk a straight line the short distance to the bed where Tony gets him back under the covers and tells him he’ll be right back.
The flat position is better and the smell of the sheets and plush down comforter creates a cushy den Peter’s sure he can burrow further into. So he does. Pulling the bedding over his head, stealing Tony’s pillow to tuck under his arm like a childhood stuffy. Peter begins to drift off again.
“You somewhere in there?” Tony’s voice floats warm and amused outside of his cocoon.
“Hrm,” Peter signals. The bed dips with Tony’s weight and searching hands start digging under the mountain he’s made. Peter’s about to complain but then Tony’s bare skin is there, within reach, and damn, that’s so much better than a pillow.
“Here,” an encouraging hand at his back guides him to sit up. “You need to hydrate.”
Peter takes the offered glass and downs it like he did yesterday morning. Head tipped back, he spies the bandage on Tony’s shoulder, once again reminded of the injury. “How’s your shoulder?”
Tony takes the glass and sets it on his side table. “Superficial.” Then, as if he just gave himself a complete diagnosis, Tony rearranges the covers and slides back in next to Peter. Lying on his back, Tony extends a welcoming arm, expecting Peter to resume their nestled position.
Peter looks down at him, apprehensive. Now that his mind is more alert, he feels a bit silly about snuggling up to Tony. It seems needy and weak, two adjectives he doesn’t associate with himself.
“What’s wrong?” Tony asks, worried, and Peter doesn’t want to cause more trouble than he already has.
“Nothing.” Peter rolls into the embrace, tries not to put too much consideration into why everything feels immediately better. He breaths a long sigh of relief, eyes already heavy, his muscles thawing into jelly.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Tony asks.
“Don’t remember,” he murmurs.
Jarvis’s voice chimes at a low volume. “ Mr, Parker has not eaten since yesterday morning.”
“Tattletale.”
Tony grunts unhappily. “J, order Balthazar’s to be here in-“
“Three hours,” Peter murmurs.
Tony’s arm tightens around him, leaning to speak near Peter’s ear. “Two hours, it’s important you eat.” Peter makes a grumpy sound of acknowledgment. “Got it, J?”
“ On it, sir.”
Firm fingers knead at the base of Peter’s neck, Tony’s intoxicating effect eases him back to a blissful slumber.
*
“You expect me to stay in bed all day while you baby me?”
“It’s not babying, it’s healing,” Tony exits the wardrobe holding a gray t-shirt. “A dry heat can be serious, in extreme cases people have died.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“It’s what happens when a stressed out Omega lacks any pack bonds or a mate to support him.” Tony throws the Stark logo’d t-shirt over his head. “I believe exposure to that many Alphas caused your body to anticipate the inevitable follow through, only to be left abandoned.”
“Abandoned.” Peter spits the word. “Hardly.”
“I’m not saying you felt that way, but your body was tricked into expecting a particular outcome, and when it got something different, or in this case: nothing , it reacted.”
“Oh Jesus,” Peter rolls his eyes. “Next thing I know I’ll have grown a uterus.”
Tony chuckles, dropping onto the edge of the bed next to the food tray that straddles Peter’s lap, trapping him in place. “I don’t think you grew a uterus overnight. In fact, I doubt that’s even possible.”
“Hrm…” Peter also doubts it, but he’s learned to worry about the impossible. Speaking of the impossible… “Why is it that you seem unaffected by my scent, especially with me being off the suppressants?”
“I’m affected, it’s just a different kind of effect when you’re unwell.”
Right, Tony had mentioned he could sense Peter’s distress. “So, it overrides the mating urges?”
“That’s a simple way of putting it, but yes. I can already tell from your scent you’re better than last night, it’s a good sign. I also saw your blood samples appear to be leveling out, another good sign. Still, I’ve asked Pepper to come by to drop off more supplements. I’m going to make some coffee- None for you,'' Tony amends when he sees Peter’s face light up. “The last thing you need is a diarrhetic.”
Peter sticks his tongue out at him as Tony stands up to leave. “Clearly you’re feeling better. I’ll consider coffee if you eat all your food.”
“No one could eat all this food!” Peter waves his hand at the rolling cart that has enough to feed four people.
“Try,” he orders and exits the room. The loss of Tony’s presence is immediately noticeable. Peter’s shoulders slump at the renewed exhaustion, he feels like an emotional yo-yo, his mood stretching and contracting like a rubber band congruent to Tony’s proximity.
Peter picks at the food on his tray, it really was delicious, but his appetite had yet to re-emerge, and if that wasn’t a telling sign of his true wellbeing, then what was?
A few minutes later he hears another voice from the living room, but it’s not Pepper’s. It’s Nat. Tony’s agitated questioning easily cuts the distance down the hallway to Peter’s enhanced ears.
“How many Alphas touched him!”
“Tony, I already told you what happened-“
“But you never tell me everything, do you?”
“Because I know you’ll be like this.”
“I swear to God, Widow-“
“Look, I told you the important mission details, anything more you should ask Peter.”
It’s easy to imagine the staring contest happening in the extended silence that follows, and Peter’s a little surprised when Nat’s the one to finally break it. “There was one thing, but it wasn’t vital to the mission report-“
“Oh here we go,” Tony says with curt sarcasm.
“And it’s not my place to tell you, it’s Peter’s.”
“Tell me what, exactly?”
Nat huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Fisk…he got more handsy than the other Alphas.”
“ How handsy,” Tony’s voice drops low, dangerous.
“Not enough for Peter to give me the red hand signal.”
“No shit! Of course he didn’t! Have you even met this kid? You think Peter knows when to back down?” Jesus, Tony sounds just like Mr. Stark. “I want to know, exactly how handsy?”
At this point in the heated exchange Peter has made his way down the hallway, leaning on the wall for support. “That’s enough,” he interrupts.
Tony sharply turns to face him. “Peter, you shouldn’t be up.” He rushes over, throws a hand around Peter’s blanket cloaked form and escorts him to the couch.
Nat watches the procession from the wall monitor near the kitchen, the same one on which he’d first met Clint.
“Hey, Nat,” Peter weakly smiles.
“You should be in bed,” she greets in return, critical but not unkind.
“Sounded like you could use a rescue.”
“Pfft. Stark’s bark is worse than his bite.”
Tony ruffles. “We can put that theory to the test when you return.”
“Happy to throw you to the mat anytime,” she sings, her voice so pleasant she might have just been asked to dinner.
“Okay, okay,” Peter interjects, turning to Tony who sits next to him. “She’s right, it is my business,” and not anything he’s keen on sharing. They stare at one another. Tony’s anger flickers out until it’s a mix of sad concern, a look that reminds him Tony is also still recovering, the dark circles under his eyes and the still visible scratches on his face signs of his recent struggles. Peter reaches out to stroke Tony’s cheek with his thumb, an attempt to diffuse the situation. Tony tilts into the touch but his eyes stay laser focused on Peter’s.
Nat uses the interaction as permission to excuse herself. “Peter, call me if you need anything,” she says as a way of parting and hangs up.
Peter pulls his hand away, and they sit in thick silence, each tenuously considering the other.
“You could’ve just asked me… instead of raking Nat over the coals.”
“I didn’t know how,” Tony quietly admits. It was a fair answer, how does one broach the subject of non-consensual groping?
Peter lets out a long breath and leans back on the couch cushion, his eyes drop closed. The tiny encounter drained him more than expected. The invisible lure of Tony’s proximity pulls at him, he inches closer to Tony’s soothing heat, their elbows pressed together.
The touch snaps a sharp inhale from Tony causing Peter to wonder if his other scent is starting to resurface.
“I just… “ Tony doesn’t finish the thought, the unspoken words choked back down with a rough swallow. Peter cracks open his eyes to find Tony also leaning back against the couch cushion with his eyes closed, and he’s struck by a pang of guilt for everything he’s inadvertently put this man through in the last month. He owes him… a lot. What else is new?
“I’m not proud of it, you know,” Peter’s voice is strained, every instinct telling him not to go there- not to bring it up.
“I know,” Tony doesn’t sound much more balanced than Peter does. “I shouldn’t be so… so…”
“Jealous?”
Tony opens his eyes, their lolled heads turned towards one another. The tendon in Tony’s neck flexes against the strain of getting his words out. “Angry.”
Peter nods with the slightest tilt of his head. “Actually, I think anger is appropriate, as long as it’s aimed in the right direction.”
Tony’s eyes close again, his hand captures Peter’s wrist and he bends their arms together to lift the inside of Peter’s forearm to his nose. Tony breathes long and deep- meditative- for a good minute. The warm breath rolls in tingling waves over his sensitive skin and Peter feels himself starting to drift off again.
“You were supposed to eat,” Tony says, quiet yet instructive.
“And you were supposed to make coffee.” Even as Peter says it he’s leaning away from Tony, bone tired, and falls onto the throw pillow at the end of the couch. His eyes start to close but he fights them back open when he realizes Tony is sitting frozen in place, not only looking exhausted, but forlorn. Peter’s not sure what to do, too tired himself to process everything that could be going on in his overclocked brain.
“Tony, you’re tired too, can’t we just rest for a while?”
He feels more than meets Tony’s gaze staring down at him, stone still against some internal debate, like there’s something gnawing at him. Maybe he’s feeling different about Peter, knowing someone else touched him? The idea feels out of character though, so Peter holds his hand out in invitation and scoots closer to the cushion edge to create space for Tony to lie down behind him. The offer does the trick, and within moments Tony is under the blanket too, spooning Peter from behind, arm securely wrapped around his stomach. There’s not as much skin as before, but it’s enough to surround Peter’s body with whatever it’s seeking. He drifts off to the sensation of Tony’s nose pressed to his hair and the whispered warmth of safety on his neck.
*
The aroma of fresh brewed coffee tickles Peter's senses, his eyes flutter open expecting to find Tony gone until he realizes his head is resting on the man’s arm. At some point Peter rolled onto his back, and now Tony is looking down at him as if he’d been watching him sleep. Which should be super creepy, but instead it’s oddly endearing.
“How did you escape to make coffee?” Peter asks.
“I didn’t. Pep came by to drop off the supplements and put a pot on for us.”
“Us?” Peter raises his brows and it makes Tony smile, but only by a few degrees. Something’s still bugging him, Peter’s sure of it, and he can guess what it is. Alphas really need to learn to get over their egos. “Did you even sleep?”
Tony teeters his head side to side. “I dozed a little.”
Peter frowns, but he’s not surprised. “Tony. I know you’re upset about the mission, but none of the touching went as far as-“
“No, it’s not... I mean, yeah,” he shakes his head. “I hate the thought of anyone touching you, but I know you can take care of yourself. And as much as we might argue, I trust Nat.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Tony averts his eyes, his head pivots to look out the window, avoiding the question.
“Tony.” Peter touches his jaw to get his attention, and Tony briefly looks down at him before deciding to pull his arm out from under Peter and sit up straight on the middle cushion. Peter follows suit, legs pulled up and crossed under the blanket, the small of his back pressed against the arm of the couch.
Peter waits, he can feel the brewing storm of thoughts coalescing into a single bolt of lightning. Finally, Tony turns to look at him, his mental footing now steadied upon some final resolution.
“Do you remember last night?” Peter just blinks, there was a lot to remember about last night. “What you said, on the way up from the lab?”
The start of the evening is muddled, Peter couldn’t even hold himself upright. He shakes his head, not wanting to guess at wrong answers.
“You called me Mr. Stark.”
Oh.
Peter only recalls the familiarity he felt when Tony showed up, suddenly there fixing him like Mr. Stark always did. “I don’t remember saying it… is that… bad?”
“It was a reminder… that I’m not him. I’m not the Tony Stark you want.”
Wow , was Tony miles off course. “I already told you, it’s not like that between us.”
“That doesn’t change that he’s where you want to be, he’s who you want to be with.” Peter stares dumbly at Tony and this revelation he’s conjured up. Then Tony looks up at the ceiling and says, “I tend to forget that I wasn’t first... a bad habit of mine, I suppose- Assuming to be the priority.” He drops his conflicted gaze back to Peter. “It’s difficult knowing someone else beat me to it, especially when that someone else is… well, me.”
Peter’s chest lifts with a long, deep breath, using the cycle to quickly debate whether to slap Tony out of his self-absorbed fantasy, or gently pour some reassurances on this man who's gone out of his way to care for him in two universes. He lands somewhere in the middle.
“It’s an interesting narrative, Tony. In truth, if there’s a single reason I would stay in this verse, it’s you. But I also know that this ,” Peter points back and forth between them, “is out of my control in a way I don’t understand… or trust.”
“Is it so hard to believe we’d be good together?”
Peter shakes his head. “Even if I did, there’s an inescapable suffering that comes with getting close to me. Eventually, inevitably, someone always pays the price.”
“And if I think it’s a price worth pay-”
“It’s not.” Peter cuts him off, he’s been here too many times and the sting of every loss flares like a firework blooming between his eyes. “Trust me. I’ve fucked up too often to ignore the lessons; to not learn from my countless mistakes.”
“Making a mistake doesn’t make you unworthy,” Tony hedges. “It doesn't make you any less incredible.”
Peter’s sure that in his case, it does. Tony can’t comprehend the magnitude of almost ripping the multiverse apart. Sort of a doozy. But Tony’s looking at him with that trademark confidence that Peter’s admired for as long as he can remember, and for a fraction of a second, he thinks maybe .
“In my universe, there’s no one more incredible than you.”
“But I’m not him?”
“You are,” Peter’s quick to reassure. “… and you aren’t.”
“But different enough that you want to go home. Back to your Tony?”
Peter’s split hiccup of a laugh surprises himself, it’s bitter and defeated in a way he rarely allows.
“Mr. Stark was never my Tony.”
Tony blinks, freezes like someone shoved an ice cube down his back, and Peter knows he caught the single most important word in the sentence. Tony repeats it: “ Was ?”
Within that single word is a bursting dam of relief, three letters setting the past free, but it’s coupled with a burden so heavy Peter thinks it might suffocate him.
“Mr. Stark… “ Peter’s voice is strained, the truth too jagged to say it out loud. He can feel tears pooling in his eyes, and makes a concentrated effort to relax the muscles in his jaw and throat, coercing the grief to slide away.
It turns out, Peter doesn’t need to say anything. Tony intuits what he can’t say out loud.
“He’s gone, isn’t he? Your Mr. Stark?”
Peter squeezes his eyes shut, head dropping towards his chest to hide the single tear that escapes. Tony leans over to sweep it under his thumb, lifting Peter’s chin in the same motion he withdraws his hand. Tony looks back at him with a sincerity that cuts through the haze of Peter’s blurred vision.
“Will you tell me?”
Peter clears his throat, a wet, cracked open sound, like his guts might spill forth and reveal every dark secret hidden within. Unsure of his ability to speak under the warmth of Tony’s earnest expression, Peter looks to the side, watches a passing bird in an attempt to mentally distance himself.
“It’s not a happy story, Tony.”
“But it’s your story.”
It’s a story Peter’s never told, at least not beyond the pieces that he personally relives on a continual rotation. Some days it’s turning to dust in Tony's arms, others it’s May dying in his. Some days it’s watching the light fade from Tony’s eyes, and others it’s watching the recognition fade from MJ’s.
“I want to hear it all, Peter.” Tony lifts Peter’s chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, forcing Peter’s eyes to his. “Don’t you think it’s time?”
In the depth of Tony’s flickering stare, Peter can see his own history, like a story he set on a shelf intentionally abandoned. Left to collect dust. A lost tale that will never get a chance to be passed from generation to generation, forgotten before anyone could tell it.
“I- “ Peter clears his throat, seeks stability in the hand that drops from Peter’s chin and takes a hold of his own. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“How about the beginning?”
Peter thinks back to the field trip, the bite, Ben’s death shortly after, then realizes- No, that’s not the beginning. The beginning was aliens invading New York, and oh shit, there’s actually aliens and oh shit they’re actually bad . But then no, that’s not right either…
“At the beginning?” Peter tilts further into Tony’s expectant gaze. “I suppose it all began with you.”
