#I just got infinity war feelz again :))))))

[shipitup-blog1]

Daydreaming p.ii

I’ll Be Your Sinner (In Secret)

_______________________

This is the part, you've got to say all that you're feeling, feeling

Packing a bag, we're leaving tonight when everyone's sleeping, sleeping

Let's run away

I'll run away with you

'Cause you make me feel like

I could be driving you all night

And I'll find your lips in the street lights

I wanna be there with you..

•

•

•

The seventeen-year-old’s eyes droop the slightest bit as he tries to continue the focus aimed at his homework, listening to Mr. Stark’s soothing voice hum along to ACDC and somehow make the addictive rough beats sound gentle and sweet, unknowingly lulling his sleep-deprived Gen Z self. He cuddles deeper into the leather jacket his mentor had given him earlier, curling into himself and breathing in the home-y scent of hot coffee, despite the obvious fact it only adds to his sleepiness, and makes FRIDAY silently turn up the room’s heaters — bless her digital soul.

“Pete, you still functioning?” Comments Mr. Stark, amused when he turns from prepping their short dinner to find Peter slumping; nearly snoozing on the marble countertop.

He snorts in even more amusement as the younger practically jumps up, looking like a disgruntled puppy and whipping his fluffy head of wet brown curls back and forth. “I’m up, I’m up! Of course, sir!” Ever the fanboy trying to make a good impression, Peter even rips off the leather jacket, hastily folding it and setting it onto the seat beside him. “Do you want me to go home, now? That’s alright, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry for bothering you, I really was just on my way to Ned’s, but I- well, the spidey senses warned me not to jump into the puddle but I wanted to and yeah my common sense isn’t very sense-y, so I jumped and I slipped on the snap of something slippy in it, my clothes got drenched and I probably bothered you and Happy because you drove past, saw me, picked me up even if you didn’t have to, so I’m really thankful for that but now I’m all good and you’re offering dinner and I’m so sorry-“

Tony chuckles, freezing Peter instantly as the beautiful wheeze of breath washes over his whole body, ringing in his ears, heating him more than the leather jacket with inner cotton could ever. The chuckle eventually turns into sniggers, then laughter, until Peter’s beet red pouting at Mr. Stark gasping for air against the fridge, wondering what exactly was so hilarious.

“You,” Tony starts, “are fucking adorable,” he wipes away nonexistent tears of laughter, causing Peter to pout some more and contemplate whether he and Mr. Stark getting closer together was really a good thing or a bad thing.

(It was certainly giving him mental heart attacks, he could tell you that.)

The man turns up the heat for the pot of pasta, crossing what little space was between them to lean on the counter like Peter, but stood up, smiling at him. “You’ve been ranting a lot, these days, got lots on your mind, huh?”

Uh, yeah, I’m gay for you, his bothersome mind snorts unhelpfully. And I’d like it if you were gay for me too, as in, your dick in—

Alright, alright! Peter snaps at himself, I get it, now shut up, man.

“-asking if you’ve got any issues?” Tony questions, smile a little less ‘lol’ and a little more ‘¿¿¿???’ The confused grin has Peter grimancing, trying to come up with a sensible excuse for him loosing sleep.

You could tell him that you’re procrastinating with homework, staying up late to work on it because you watch funny videos on youtube! Brain Voice #2 supplies, he’d understand—

“I sneak out at night to do the do with MJ,” Peter blurts.

ABORT MISSION. ABORT THE FUCKING MISSION.

...Damn, sad to say I saw that coming.

Tony doesn’t hear the internal argument Peter’s having with his selves at the moment, instead smirking at the fact this teenage kid thinks he could out lie Tony with lying to Tony. “Yeah,” he drawls, “kid, pretty sure you’re not fucking Miss Michelle. Especially when you’re still calling sex ‘doing the do’.“

The man cocks his head to the side, eyes glittering. “But you could be material for sneaking out.”

“Huh?” Peter blinks, sipping the last of his coffee hurriedly so that he had nothing to spit out in case Mr. Stark surprised him.

He watches him shake his head, sighing but smiling. “Nevermind, you still do your best to follow May’s curfew, and that’s rare for kids your age, so I shouldn’t be bad influence.”

That rubs Peter the wrong way.

“Mr. Stark,” he rolls his eyes, “you’re hardly bad influence, I bet I’ve done things that would definitely shock you if you knew.”

Tony grunts, stirring the spagetthi sauce for them, eyebrows raised, “wow, sport, lemme guess, you came home a minute past curfew? Badass.”

Peter huffs at the mocking tone, standing to sway his way towards the elder, common sense definitely missing as he seductively trails his fingers up Tony’s exposed tan bicep, gently snuggling into him. Slowly, he whispers, “I could be worse for you, sir, I could.”

Tony growls, gripping Peter’s hips in a bruising hold that has the boy whining softly, niping his ear before the former remembers fuck- he’s just a kid what are you doing?

“I meant going on a short late night road trip, Pete,” he tries to clear the rumbling of his throat, nudging Peter back.

The younger simply grins with youthful rose cheeks and touseled locks, looking all too accomplished by the little stunt he pulled, rocking back n forth on his heels and toes. “That actually sounds really fun, Mr. Stark! We should try that after dinner.”

“...I knew you wouldn’t say no to my awesome cooking,” Tony awkwardly jokes, light atmosphere returning and sweeping away the previous heavy beginnings of ‘Sex Haze’ that totally screwed the inappropriate thoughts of his mentee he’d tried burrying ages ago.

[~]

“I don’t think I can take anymore pop,” Peter hiccups as he chugs down another can of cream soda, giggling with his head propped nearly out of the open shotgun window. His fluffy hair whips around in the wind, brushing his face and simply causing Tony to appreciate the adorable beau beside him. The man speeds up, on the empty, no-cameras highway, winking at Peter. “Time to be cliché, go ahead.”

Carly Rae Jepsen’s Runaway is bursting into the night air and Peter’s eardrums, especially because everything’s cranked to eleven, but the boy unbuckles his seatbelt and throws away the can at some rando tree, drunk on sugar, since everything needs to be cranked to twelve, now.

“I’m a fucking adult!” He whoops, hands on the glass of the topless car, standing dangerously on his sock-covered toes at the edge of his leather seat. There’s a few answering crows that have good enough timing that make him giggle deliriously, Tony laughing along because this was incredibly awesome. Really, how did he not come up with this before? The wind rushes past his ears, blushing his cheeks and cooling the previous resting heat in him.

He looks at Tony, who’s already staring back, grinning, and blows him a kiss which he takes in hand and presses to his cheek.

(Maybe Tony didn’t want nothing sexual yet, but Peter’d be damned if he didn’t try his chick-flick-flirting.)

“Let’s run away,” the older starts lowly, tilting his head back to focus on Peter’s dazzling smile.

“I’ll run away, with you,” Peter sings aloud, throwing his hands into the air repeatedly.

Baby, take me to the ceiling

I’ll be your sinner in secret

When the lights go out

Run away with me, run away with me!

The seveteen-year-old can’t stop the adrenaline rush in his veins and the pure joy; pure sappy love in his head, thanking everything and everyone he’s fallen for Tony Stark, because the man, try as he does to deny and hide it, has fallen for him too.

That’s magic, if Peter would ever admit.

Not too surprising though; every moment he spent with Tony was magic.

This your chance, Peter, a voice eerily close to Karen’s echoes to him alone, kiss him.

He studies Tony’s sharp brown hair, saliva-wet lips, handsome goatee and strong form. He stares thoughtfully at those comfy arms that held him steadily when needed, at the hands that could put him to bed with one simple brush, and dopily sighs, a little too whipped for a spider-mixed-teen.

Yeah.

He’s thanking Tony correctly.

Sat down and silent, Peter leans onto Tony’s shoulder, ignoring how he tenses, lowering the radio’s volume. “Thanks for this, Mr. Stark, it’s helped me blow off a bit of steam from the whole MIT and superhero-ing stress.” He sees the clenched muscles of Tony’s arm relax, and runs his palm over them, just to enjoy the sight of those hard ridges stiffening.

“No problem,” Tony answers quietly, probably over thinking the situation like he always did, questioning Peter’s actions for hormones instead of actual crushing-flirting-trying.

“Can I ask for something, right now?” He breathes softly, enraptured by the moonlight on Tony’s face, petting the soft bristles near his cheek and on his chin.

“More cream soda?” His soon-to-be boyfriend jokes, and Peter can’t stop the high giggle that escapes him, because this nervous 48-year-old acted so close to his age it was honestly endearing. “No,” he sits up, wondering if fate put on Carly Rae’s song on purpose, cupping Tony’s face. “Kiss me, please.”

The car stops.

Peter’s heart stops in anticipation.

Tony shakily exhales, closing his eyes, but not pulling away Peter’s lax hands. “Pete-“

“Hold onto me,” he pleads in tune to the song, pressing their foreheads together. Tony told him it was time to be cliché, and he was gonna be as cliché as he could be, right now. “I never wanna let you go,” the whispered truth pulls Tony’s arms to wrap around him, and Peter’s heart speeds again. He almost sobs in relief, that his fella doesn’t casually reject him as usual. For some reason, spidey senses were telling him this was the last chance he had to confess.

The man’s thumb brushes his exposed hipbone gently, breath smelling of coffee and mint in an oddly addictive mix, over taking all of Peter in a way that was so Tony he wanted it candled and burning in his room forever.

“You have to be sure you want this,” Tony mumbles, croaky with something just as pleading as the former, “I don’t know what I’d do if you pull away- Peter, fuck, this is so fucked up.. I’m ruining your life-“

“Ruin me,” Peter laughs, light and floaty, “you ruin me instead, I love it, I love you.”

The kiss that follows is so innocent Peter wants to giggle and cry at the same time, brief and gentle but so, so worth every painful awkward moment between them. It has him shuddering and begging internally for more, yet he just beams at the moment, the first peaks of sunlight poking at his closed lids, Tony’s laughter stuck on replay.

“I love you shouldn’t be said before the first date, kiddo,” he chuckles, sounding high as well, almost glowing. “I think we did this whole thing backwards.”

Peter snorts, pecking him shortly on the cheek, cuddling him like he’s always wanted to, “not really, it’s not completely backwards until you fuck me before we get to the first date.”

“You little shit,” Tony chokes, flicking his ear, only earning a playful kiss to his finger.

It’s the happiest Peter’s felt himself be in weeks, and that’s amazing; Tony’s amazing.

(What he doesn’t know is that this wouldn’t just be the first, but also the last time he’d get to run away from the world with Tony.)

•

•

•

(With their packed schedules, and brief meetings, Peter doesn’t get to drive freely with his lover even once after their sole time, and the last time he sees the savior of his childhood — his Tony — is on an alien planet, when the world turns to gold.

“I’m sorry, I love you,” he wanted to sob.

“I’m sorry,” is all he gets to say.)

_______________________

:)