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Tony, by all means, does not have a weak heart; running a multi-million dollar company, embracing his role as society’s most renowned philanthropist, fighting against alien lifeforms, defeating enemies of Earth’s own kin, and living under the constant threat of having shrapnel pierce one of his most vital organs for years at a time tends to toughen up a man. So, no, Tony does not have a weak heart.
But, really, walking by his son’s room at three o’clock in the morning to hear the unmistakable noises of hushed voices furiously whispering back and forth behind the wooden door does something to that old rough and tough muscle of his.
It’s not that Tony doesn’t trust Peter. His son is an angel. In particular, a very innocent, naive and trusting one. So, it is his duty, his role, his responsibility as the head of the house to protect his pure, fair child.
So when he hears another voice in his son’s room- a distinctly older, deeper, and insane one- he kindly freaks the fuck out.
The exact conversation that his timing allows him to pick up on doesn’t really help matters much either:
“Wade-” Peter gasps, “I-it hurts, please.”
Tony’s stomach drops.
“Baby boy, you know I can’t, it’ll hurt even more if I do.” There’re shuffling noises and then the thwap of a cap being flipped open.
“Wade, I think I’ll be worse off if you don’t take it out, please. Just take it out.” Peter moans softly, and Oh Dear God, this experience is going to scar all of them.
“Okay, okay.” Wade hushes the younger boy, “I’ll have to ease it out, Petey. You’re going to have to hold still for me, okay.”
Tony isn’t really sure why he’s still standing on the other side of the door when Wade is clearly deflowering his son on the inside of it, “Jarvis, you unlock this door right now.” Tony whisper-commands; he doesn’t want to be waking up the hubby just yet, Steve would definitely resolve to wrapping Peter up in bubble-wrap and throwing him in a padded dungeon somewhere if he heard about this. Tony, on the other hand, could surely be the rational one in this situation.
A most unwelcome response immediately greets his ears, “I’m sorry, sir. The young master has denied all access to his room from the outside.”
“What?!” Tony whisper-shouts.
Peter hasn’t locked his room from his parents in... Well, since they adopted him at age four. That’s just not something Peter does. He was as level headed throughout the years of his adolescence as no other teenager ever would or could be, so there really was never a need. That is, until Wade Winston Wilson came into his life.
Tony swore to dispatch all of his Mark Suits after the man if he ever got in a twenty foot radius of his son ever again.
“Baby boy, hold still! It’s going to bleed more if you’re squirming like that!”
Oh for the love of God, “Jarvis! Override Peter’s command!”
“Are you sure, sir? There is a ninety-three percent chance that you might lose Young Master’s trust shall you choose to override his code.”
Tony stares up at the ceiling in disbelief, “Jarvis! I don’t need your spiel on morality right now, okay? My son is inside there and I really don’t want to be acquainted with the reason behind why they call Wade the Merc with a mouth, alright, now you open up this door or I'll open up your code and cut off your access to the house's surround sound music system!”
There's a moment of silence and then Tony hears the satisfying click of a lock. He tests the handle and then bursts into the room, “Wade Winston Wilson! Take your grimy hands off of my son, you immoral immortal-”
The scene that he is met with isn’t so frustrating as it is shocking. Wade and Peter are on the bed, yes, but neither of them have so much as a hair out of place. In fact, it would seem like they weren’t getting up to anything much at all were it not for the first aid kit laid out neatly on the table stand next to them and the white bandage and blood-coated cotton balls strewn across the sheets. Wade has Peter’s leg carefully placed in the cradle of his arm and is oh so gently rubbing cream around what Tony supposes is a wound.
“W-what are you doing?” Tony asks, confusion taking the edge off of his anger.
Peter frowns, “Dad? What are you doing up? It’s three in the morning?”
Tony huffs and crosses his arms, “I should be asking you the same, son. And what is Mr. Wilson doing here?”
Wade has his eyebrows raised past his nonexistent hairline and throws silent, hesitant glances back and forth between parent and son.
Peter mirrors his Dad and crosses his own arms, defensively, “He’s here being a good boyfriend, Dad. That’s what he’s doing.”
Tony narrows his eyes with all intent to extract the truth and focuses his laser sharp glare on Wade, “Well?”
Wade yelps and turns so that he’s facing Tony, back ramrod straight, “Well, Mr. Tony Stark, sir. Peter, over here, called me a couple hours ago to ask me to hang out. And by hang out I don’t mean to refer to any sort of sexual innuendo or euphemism for sex, no sir. I mean strict no-body-contact-at-all hanging out in which Peter and I shared minimal personal space and even less exchange of relationship induced niceties. Peter and I were leisurely spending our time together with zero trade of bodily fluids when-” Peter slaps a hand over his boyfriend’s mouth to preserve the peace and flashes a sheepish grin at his dad.
“Um, and then I went to use the bathroom and then slipped on some water and broke the little side mirror and got shards of glass stuck in my calf.”
Tony’s face turns into a twisted grimace, “I can see that.”
Tony hates to admit it, but there really doesn’t seem to be anything happening right now that isn’t innocent.
Begrudgingly, he says, “Fine. He stays, but he only until he cleans you up. I’m walking him straight out of the door after this, you hear me?”
Peter sighs and nods and Tony doesn’t think Wade has stopped nodding since he’d started talking. Tony rolls his eyes, but turns to leave them to themselves anyways.
And who’s to say that the small smile that sneaks onto his face as he closes the door behind him isn’t because of the way that Wade treats Peter like he’s the last glimpse of hope before certain darkness?
Nobody, that’s who.
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“That was a close one, baby boy. Good thing he didn’t find out how we broke the mirror in the first place, right?”
Peter growls and swats away Wade’s hand that’s roaming beneath the hem of his shirt, “I told you that was a bad idea! You just couldn’t keep your hands off for five minutes, could you?”
Wade smirks, leaning in closer to cage Peter into the mattress beneath them, “Could you blame me, Petey? You were standing there washing your hands with nothing but my shirt on, and it wasn’t covering anything.”
Peter rolls his eyes in a daunting resemblance of his Dad and says, “Well resist harder next time. There’s only so many times we’ll get away with just close calls.”
Wade chuckles and kisses his way down Peter’s neck, “Well, I’m willing to take that risk, baby boy.”
Peter sighs but doesn’t resist it when his shirt gets peeled off. There’s still a hint of fondness to his voice when he asks, “I’m stuck with you, aren’t I?”
Wade slides back up his body and plants a soft kiss to his cheek, “Yeah, baby boy-” A gentle smile graces his lips, “You’re stuck with me.”
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