Work Text:
Tony isn’t the foster dad type.
Ok, well, massive understatement, and widely accepted knowledge considering the reception the press release had gotten, but. Peter’s different. And the circumstances are unique ones.
Iron Man wasn’t in the cult-busting business, but when you land in upstate New York to destroy an arms-smuggling operation and discover roughly 100 brainwashed civilians… Well. You can’t call yourself a superhero and leave them there. Not the way they’d been living.
That wouldn’t have resulted in Tony as a legal guardian, not by itself. But there was something about a small, brown-eyed boy with deft hands and a quick mind, forced to use those assets to invent next-gen weaponry…
It struck a little too close to home.
Peter is special. He’s a sweet kid, so eager for approval and praise, with a brilliant untrained mind. The things he’s invented without a day of formal education…well, even Tony’s impressed. But Peter’s also a little sheltered, a little warped by his special upbringing, and even if he’d had family fit to be guardians, Tony’s not sure that would have been safe.
What Peter knows, what Peter can do…it’s too dangerous to just let him go. He’s barely fifteen and already on SHIELD’s threat list. Either Tony took Peter or SHIELD would, and Tony doesn’t trust SHIELD as far as he can throw them, even now that they’re more like a bush baby than an 800-pound gorilla.
So. Tony has a foster kid.
They’ve settled into somewhat of a routine. Tony’s days are no longer his own, because Peter’s pretty clingy. And as JARVIS constantly reminds him, children need structure, especially after their whole world implodes in a crash of red and gold metal.
He can still get work done, thank God, since Peter loves the lab. But they’re on a pretty strict meal plan to help Peter gain weight, and there’s tutoring to be done (thank you, JARVIS), and Tony is supposed to be modeling this whole “balanced life” thing, so the days of 20 hours straight inventing have gone the way of Tony’s sex life.
Their “free time” should probably consist of more than whatever movie is next on Peter’s pop culture education, but it’s not like Tony has a lot of kid-friendly activities in his repertoire, and Peter’s not so good at being in public yet, anyway.
They’ve got a rhythm, now, and Tony’s almost adjusted to all Peter’s odd quirks. He thinks they’ve hit all the biggest landmines: the weird diet issues, the endless parade of outrageous beliefs, the guilt over not being allowed to complete his mission….the snuggling.
Tony’s still a little embarrassed about the snuggling. At least he convinced Peter to save it for movie time, on the couch, and not to crawl into the master bed anymore, but still, it’s…awkward. The way Peter crawls into his lap like he’s five and not almost grown, clings to Tony like a baby monkey and fidgets in ways that are decidedly…
Well. Tony really needs to get laid, because his body misinterprets where all that lap-squirming is headed.
Still, it’s…innocent. And Peter needs it, touch-starved and lonely now that Tony’s the only one he has. Tony even thinks it’s kind of cool, when he has some distance from it. He’s not sure he was EVER allowed to be affectionate with Howard. For a weapons-hoarding doomsday cult, they didn’t seem to have the kind of toxic masculinity you’d expect.
Tony’s gotten used to the cuddling, and he really thinks they’ve hit all the biggest landmines, until the evening Peter grabs his hand and presses it against his very hard cock.
Tony tries to breathe, somewhat outside his body as his hand is casually used to stimulate a teenager’s cock without his permission. Peter’s eyes are on the movie (which is decidedly not playing a sex scene), but his hips are rocking up into the touch and his ass (which is not a lush, tasty handful, Tony hasn’t noticed) rubs coincidentally against Tony’s not-at-all interested dick.
Peter’s chewing on his bottom lip, eyes half-lidded, color high on his cheeks, and his breath has started to go ragged. It’s not until he starts to grunt a little that Tony suddenly snaps partway out of it.
It’s a struggle to keep his voice calm, because he knows - he just knows - this is one of those things Pete doesn’t realize is wrong. “Pete…what are we doing right now, kid?”
Big brown eyes turn away from The Empire Strikes Back and toward Tony. Then he answers, “Making it go away,” in a matter-of-fact way that says this answer is obvious and just a thing that one naturally does.
Tony’s not sure what his face does in response, but Peter’s no dummy. His entire body goes still (thank God), and he studies Tony’s face with a puzzled little frown.
Then the frown slowly drops into a devastated look. “I’m doing something wrong?”
Tony swallows hard at the sight of those eyes gone glassy with tears. It’s always painful to pull this rug out from under Peter a little bit at a time. “It’s…well, it’s. Not wrong, it’s normal to… Jesus, kid, I need to know what you think we’re doing, here.”
Peter’s hand releases Tony’s, but before Tony can sigh in relief, the kid is halfway off his lap, on the verge of fleeing in shame. Tony pulls him back down, shushing, well aware of what his next few days look like if he lets Peter go.
“Hey, you’re ok. It’s okay, we’ll deal with whatever it is, I just need more information. Help me run a diagnostic here, would you?”
“I thought it was normal.”
Peter’s used to knowing, understanding, and every time they have to rewrite the rules of the world as he knows them, it’s… Hard. And he beats himself up. “I know, Pete. It’s gonna be okay. Just tell me what you know. We’ll figure it out just like we always do.”
“It’s just… Someone’s always helped it go away.” Peter’s red-faced and avoiding Tony’s gaze now. Tony’s not even sure he understands it’s about sex - that’s an area where Peter is painfully naive. He’s probably just this mortified over realizing he’s somehow wrong.
“Helped what go away?” Tony asks, deliberately putting aside ‘someone always helped,’ because you can’t blow up cult leaders twice.
“The…swelling,” Peter mutters, like he’s lacking vocabulary for this thing someone ‘always helps with.’
“Your erection,” Tony tries to clarify, and Peter shrugs like he always does when Tony’s words are different than the ones that he knows. “Did they tell you what causes an erection, Pete?”
Peter finally looks up and makes eye contact, looking even more confused at the question. “It just…happens, right? Like a sneeze. I mean, it only started the last few years, but…” Peter’s eyes are keen on Tony’s face. “Why, what is it?”
“It’s…” Jesus, Tony is tired. The thought of trying to answer that question without sending Peter spiraling makes Tony want to lie down for a year. And, well, at fifteen, erections DO just happen. “You’re right, it’s a normal bodily function, it’s just one we take care of by ourselves, usually.”
“By myself?” Peter looks somewhat crestfallen, and Tony’s afraid he can see where this is going, but he has to try.
“Yeah, it’s private, like being naked is private.” Because that’s one they’ve conquered already, thank Christ. “Why don’t you duck into the bathroom and help it go away by yourself.”
“Okay. I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.”
“It’s okay, Peter. I’m not angry.”
The kid gets off his lap and slinks off to the bathroom and Tony lets his head fall back with a sigh. Jesus fucking Christ.
*
Twenty minutes later, Pete’s not back, and Tony just keeps telling himself ‘one more minute, one more minute before I check.’ When he can’t avoid it anymore, he pads quietly to the guest bathroom’s door and listens for a second, heart sinking when he hears Peter quietly crying.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. He was afraid of this.
Tony takes a deep breath and knocks. “Bud? Everything okay?”
There’s a frantic shuffle for five seconds, then the door opens, revealing Peter’s splotchy face. “No. I can’t…I’m not…I can just let it go away by itself. It will, eventually.”
Tony’s eyes fall to the tent pole in Peter’s pants and winces. “Is that what you’ve been doing since you got here? Letting it go away by itself?”
Peter shrugs, which is a yes.
“I’m guessing it’s pretty painful right now, though, yeah?”
Tony watches Peter clamp down on fresh tears. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” Tony sighs, and puts an arm around Pete’s shoulders. “Let’s go sit down and I’ll help.”
It takes some coaxing for Peter to relax in his lap, this time, and it’s a weird, fucked up funhouse mirror of responsible behavior to be soothing a teenage boy to just relax so Tony can rub him off.
“That’s it,” Tony murmurs when Peter starts to thrust against his hand. “That’s a good boy, just let me help.”
“I’m sorry,” Pete says miserably. Tony presses a kiss to his forehead.
“Don’t be sorry, nothing’s your fault. You’re a very good boy, and you’re doing the best that you can.” Peter’s chest gives a hitch, and of course, Tony thinks. Of course he has a fucking praise kink. “You make me so happy, Peter. I couldn’t ask for a sweeter, more brilliant boy in my life. You deserve to feel good, so just relax and let me help. I’m happy to help. There you go, you’re almost done, and you’re so very pretty like this - “
Peter’s fingers have been twisting in Tony’s shirt, kneading like a kitten as he pants, then suddenly they clench as he presses up against Tony’s hand and shudders hard. His jeans are too thick for Tony to even feel warmth, but the way the kid collapses in a euphoric puddle says all that he needs to know.
Tony reaches up and combs Peter’s hair back from his face, smiling when Peter nuzzles into his hand.
“Pete, why haven’t you asked me to ‘help’ before?”
Peter’s eyes blink sleepily open. “Well, I didn’t know you very well. You can’t just ask anyone, right?”
“Right,” Tony says, feeling dazed. “That makes sense.”
Well, it doesn’t. Not when the kid doesn’t know that it’s sex. Except it does; if he thinks it’s like a sneeze…you don’t ask strangers to help blow your nose. So, there’s that.
Jesus.
Pete’s rapidly falling asleep in Tony’s arms, so he doesn’t have time to figure out how to break the news that this is not a sneeze. Peter’s way too big to pick up when he’s dead weight, and hell to wake up once he’s passed out.
“Time for bed, kiddo. Go brush your teeth.”
There’s an adorable grumpy grumble, then the kid’s hauling himself off of Tony’s lap, and disappearing down the hall without so much as a thank you. Which is good, because Tony shouldn’t be thanked for what he did. Christ.
It’s okay. It was just once, and it’s not like the first time Tony’s done weird things for Peter. He’s not a creep, he doesn’t plan to do it again. Tomorrow, he’ll sit Peter down, and… Look, it won’t be a pleasant adjustment, but eventually Peter will have to learn to take care of himself.
Just like Tony. A cold shower ought to do the trick.