#this is glib but I forget how much I need to go on my silly little walk

[voiceshearingyouloud]

Felt gross as hell but then I cried about it and prayed and went for a walk and now I feel better 👍

#selfcare

[sesamestreep]

Chirrut/Baze, 35

35. It’s brighter now (from this prompt list)

“It needs more lights.”

Baze grunts in both acknowledgement and frustration from his precarious spot at the top of a very tall ladder. “Can you let me get down first before we critique?”

“Sorry, Professor,” Chirrut says, with a smile, clearly unrepentant.

Baze grumbles again, at the glib nickname and at his knees, which are registering their complaint over going up and down a ladder repeatedly. He doesn’t know how he ended up here—well, that’s not entirely true. He knows how he ended up here today in a literal sense. Chirrut had asked him this morning, as they were both getting dressed for work, if he could stop by the community center after he was done with his classes for the day and help him set up the Christmas tree in the lobby. The kids who attend programming at the center will make ornaments and garlands and all that during their art classes and decorate it to their hearts’ content, but someone needed to assemble to enormous fake tree and add the lights. Somehow, this person ended up being Baze.

“What did you used to do about assembling the tree?” Baze had asked earlier, as he moved papers around on his desk looking for his keys. The back half of that question—before you met me—is left unsaid, though Chirrut clearly heard it anyway.

“Grindr,” Chirrut had replied, straight-faced.

Baze had tripped over his own feet and knocked a small hard drive off the desk for good measure. “What?!”

“Idiot,” Chirrut said, lovingly. “Bodhi normally helps me, but it needs to get done this week and he’s busy.”

“Bodhi is busy with something that isn’t catering to your every whim and eccentricity?” he asked. Chirrut’s assistant is, as far as Baze is concerned, an actual saint for the amount of nonsense Chirrut puts him through. He’s convinced Chirrut would forget to eat without Bodhi to remind him. “I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Chirrut said. “Just between you and me: I think he’s dating someone.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He suddenly has plans outside of work.”

“That’s not that strange.”

“It is for Bodhi,” Chirrut replied. “I’m not complaining. I think it’s good for him.”

“But now you’re realizing how much unpaid overtime you ask of him.”

“I’m a terrible manager,” he said, with a bright grin. “And an even worse boyfriend.”

“I’ll help you with your tree,” Baze had said with a heavy sigh. It’s always pointless to argue with Chirrut. “Just don’t introduce me to people as your boyfriend. It makes us sound like teenagers.”

“We’re not teenagers?” Chirrut had asked, as he slipped his arms around Baze’s waist from behind and kissed him on the shoulder. Against the shell of his ear a moment later, he’d added, “Could have fooled me.”

In the end, they’d both been a little late to work this morning.

Now, safely back on the ground, Baze steps back to survey his work. Chirrut is perched atop the front desk in the lobby, feet swinging like a little kid and gaze fixed on the tree.

“It looks good,” Baze says, but not quite firmly enough. He does think the tree looks good, but the statement still went up at the end like a question. He, stupid man that he is, wants Chirrut’s approval.

“It needs more lights,” Chirrut says, in the exact same tone as before. Pleasant, but brooking no argument.

“You can’t even see it!”

“And still I know it needs more lights.”

“How?”

“I can feel it,” he says. “The tree is too dim.”

“Chirrut…”

“I know, I know. I’m very taxing. But we have more lights. We might as well use them.”

“Fine, but if I fall and die because you insisted on the tree needing more lights on it, when it looked fine already…”

“I’ll feel very silly indeed. They’ll all chuckle at the eulogy I give.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near my eulogy,” Baze grumbles.

“Who else would do it?”

“Leave it to Jyn,” he says, crossing over to the desk, where the extra sets of lights are sitting next to Chirrut. “The service will last five minutes, tops.”

“You would want an expedient funeral.”

“No point in dithering. I’m already dead.”

“Jyn won’t be your graduate student forever, you know…”

“No, but I’ve made the mistake of getting emotionally attached to her, so she’s a permanent fixture, I’m afraid.”

“I like Jyn,” Chirrut says, pleasantly. “Why should you be afraid of admitting that?”

Baze waves a hand, dismissively, even though such a thing is useless around Chirrut. “You know how I am about feelings.”

“You’d just as soon not be burdened by them?”

“Yes,” he replies, pulling out another strand of lights to test at the nearby outlet.

Chirrut snorts. “You know, it’s that kind of attitude that kept you single well into your fifties.”

“‘Well into my fifties!’ I’m fifty-three! And you, if all people, should be happy I stayed single as long as I did.”

“I’m not prone to jealousy,” Chirrut says. “As long as you were single when we met, I would have been happy.”

Baze unplugs the lights rather more savagely than necessary. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Chirrut’s hand darts out suddenly to grasp him by the wrist. His thumb moves gently over Baze’s pulse point. It’s enough to stall him in his plan to retreat in a huff, and he covers Chirrut’s hand with his own.

“I sometimes feel guilty that I didn’t find you sooner,” Chirrut says, earnestly. “I know that’s foolish, but it is how I feel.”

Baze doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s almost too big of an offering to understand, let alone accept. “You found me,” he says, after a moment. “That’s what matters.”

“Still, we could have had a life together…”

“We have a life together now.”

“You think I’m a silly old man.”

“Yes,” Baze says, squeezing his hand. “And I love you for it.”

“You hear that?” Chirrut asks the empty lobby. “He loves me!”

“A very silly old man,” Baze says, as he feels his own face warm in equally foolish embarrassment.

“More lights!” he chirps, happily, his former earnestness now pleasantly forgotten.

“Is this why you wish we’d met sooner? So tormenting me about the Christmas tree could be a yearly tradition?”

“It still can be! Life is what we make of it!”

Baze groans, but dutifully returns to the tree to add the next strand of lights. He repeats this process until they’ve used every last strand that Chirrut had the staff at the center pull out of storage, and then steps back to admire his handiwork.

“See?” Chirrut asks, even though he himself cannot.

“You were right,” Baze admits, begrudgingly. The tree is bright enough to light the entire lobby now. “It looks better.”

“I’m always right. When will you learn?”

Baze returns to Chirrut’s side. “I’m getting used to the idea.”

“Does this mean I’ll be able to convince you to buy a tree for your place?”

Baze sighs, and turns to face him, letting his head tip forward until their foreheads touch. His hands come to rest on Chirrut’s hips. He doesn’t normally decorate for the holiday, partially because he doesn’t really celebrate Christmas but mostly because he’s just never seen the point. He’d just have to take everything back down in January! That’s far too much effort for his taste. Still, he can already feel himself wavering on that conviction. This compulsive need to make Chirrut happy is really interfering with his reputation as a miserable old bastard.

“I’m fairly certain you could convince me to do almost anything,” he says, and Chirrut’s answering smile is even brighter than the damn tree.

✨

[superman86to99]

Superman #85 (January 1994)

Cat Grant in... "DARK RETRIBUTION"! Which is like normal retribution, but somehow darker. On the receiving end of Cat's darktribution is Winslow Schott, the Toyman, who suddenly changed his MO from "pestering Superman with wacky robots" to "murdering children" back on Superman #84, with one of his victims being Cat's young son Adam. Now Cat has a gun and intends to sneak it into prison to use it on Toyman. She's also pretty pissed at Superman for taking so long to find Toyman after Adam’s death (to be fair, Superman did lose several days being frozen in time by an S&M demon, as seen in Man of Steel #29).

So how did Superman find Toyman anyway? Basically, by spying on like 25% of Metropolis. After finding out from Inspector Turpin that the kids were killed near the docks, Superman goes there and focuses all of his super-senses to get "a quick glimpse of every person" until he sees a bald, robed man sitting on a giant crib, and goes "hmmm, yeah, that looks like someone who murders children." At first, Superman doesn't understand why Toyman would do such a horrible thing, but then Schott starts talking to his mommy in his head and the answer becomes clear: he watched Psycho too many times (or Dan Jurgens did, anyway).

Immediately after wondering why no one buys his toys, Toyman makes some machine guns spring out of his giant crib. I don't know, man, maybe it's because they're all full of explosives and stuff? Anyway, Toyman throws a bunch of exploding toys at Superman, including a robot duplicate of himself, but of course they do nothing. Superman takes him to jail so he can get the help he needs -- which, according to Cat, is a bullet to the face. Or so it seems, until she gets in front of him, pulls the trigger, and...

PSYCHE! It was one of those classic joke guns I’ve only ever seen in comics! Cat says she DID plan to bring a real gun, but then she saw one of these at a toy store and just couldn't resist. Superman, who was watching the whole thing, tells Cat she could get in trouble for this stunt, but he won't tell anyone because she's already been through enough. Then he asks her if she needs help getting home and she says no, because she wants to be more self-sufficient.

I think that's supposed to be an inspiring ending, but I don't know... Adam's eerie face floating in the background there makes me think she's gonna shave her head and climb into a giant crib any day, too. THE END!

Character-Watch:

Cat did become more self-sufficient after this, though. Up to now, all of her storylines seemed to revolve around other people: her ex-husband, Morgan Edge, José Delgado, Vinnie Edge, and finally Toyman. After this, I feel like there was a clear effort to turn her into a character that works by herself. I actually like what they did with Cat in the coming years, though I still don’t think they had to kill her poor kid to do that -- they could have sent him off to boarding school, or maybe to live with his dad. Or with José Delgado, over at Power of Shazam! I bet Jerry Ordway would have taken good care of him.

Plotline-Watch:

Wait, so can Superman just find anyone in Metropolis any time he wants? Not really: this is part of the ongoing storyline about his powers getting boosted after he came back from the dead, which sounds pretty useful now but is about to get very inconvenient.

Don Sparrow points out: "It is interesting that as Superman tries to capture Schott, he at one point instead captures a robot decoy, particularly knowing what Geoff Johns will retroactively do to this storyline in years to come, in Action Comics #865, as we mentioned in our review of Superman #84." Johns also explained that the robot thought he was hearing his mother's voice due to the real Toyman trying to contact him via radio, which I prefer to the "psycho talks to his dead mom" cliche.

Superman says "I never thought he'd get to the point where he'd KILL anyone -- especially children!" Agreed about the children part but, uh, did Superman already forget that Toyman murdered a whole bunch people on his very first appearance, in Superman #13? Or does Superman not count greedy toy company owners as people? Understandable, I guess.

There's a sequence about Cat starting a fire in a paper basket at the prison to sneak past the metal detector, but why do that if she had a toy gun all long? Other than to prevent smartass readers like us from saying "How did she get the gun into the prison?!" before the plot twist, that is.

Patreon-Watch:

Shout out to our patient Patreon patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Dave Shevlin, and Kit! The latest Patreon-only article was about another episode of the 1988 Superman cartoon written by Marv Wolfman, this one co-starring Wonder Woman (to Lois' frustration).

Another Patreon perk is getting to read Don Sparrow's section early, because he usually finishes his side of these posts long before I do (he ALREADY finished the next one, for instance). But now this one can be posted in public! Take it away, Don:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

We begin with the cover, and it’s a good one— an ultra tight close up for Cat Grant firing a .38 calibre gun, with the titular Superman soaring in, perhaps too late.  An interesting thing to notice in this issue (and especially on the cover) is that the paper stock that DC used for their comics changed, so slightly more realistic shading was possible.  While it’s nowhere near the sophistication or gloss of the Image Comics stock of the time, there is an attempt at more realistic, airbrushy type shading in the colour.  It works well in places, like the muzzle flash, on on Cat Grant’s cheeks and knuckles, but less so in her hair, where the shadow looks a browny green on my copy.

The interior pages open with a pretty good bit of near-silent storytelling.  We are deftly shown, and not told the story—there are condolence cards and headlines, and the looming presence of a liquor bottle, until we are shown on the next page splash the real heart of the story, a revolver held aloft by Catherine Grant, bereaved mother, with her targeting in her mind the grim visage of the Toyman.

While their first few issues together meshed pretty well, it’s around  this issue that the pencil/inks team of Jurgens and Rubinstein starts to look a little rushed in places.  A few inkers who worked with Jurgens that I’ve spoken to have hinted that his pencils can vary in their level of detail, from very finished  to pretty loose, and in the latter case, it’s up to the inker to embellish where there’s a lack of detail.  Some inkers, like Brett Breeding, really lay down a heavier hand, where there’s quite a bit of actual drawing work in addition to adding value and weight to the lines.  I suspect some of the looseness in the figures, as well as empty  backgrounds reveals that these pencils were less detailed than we often  see from Jurgens.

There’s some weird body language in the tense exchange between Superman and Cat as she angrily confronts him about his lack of progress in capturing her son’s killer—Superman  looks a little too dynamic and pleased with himself for someone ostensibly apologizing. Superman taking flight to hunt down Toyman is classic Jurgens, though.

Another example of art weirdness comes on page 7, where Superman gets filled in on the progress of the Adam Morgan investigation.  Apparently Suicide Slum has some San Francisco-like hills, as that is one very steep sidewalk separating Superman and Turpin from some central-casting looking punks.

The  sequence of Superman concentrating his sight and hearing on the  waterfront area is well-drawn, and it’s always nice to see novel uses of his powers.  Tyler Hoechlin’s Superman does a similar trick quite often on the excellent first season of Superman & Lois.  The full-bleed splash of Superman breaking through the wall to capture Toyman is definitely panel-of-the-week material, as we really feel Superman’s rage and desperation to catch this child-killer.

Pretty much all the pages with Cat Grant confronting Winslow Schott are  well-done and tensely paced.  While sometimes I think the pupil-less  flare of the eye-glasses is a cop-out, it does lend an opaqueness and mystery to what Toyman is thinking.  Speaking of cop-outs, the gag gun twist ending really didn’t work for me.  I was glad that Cat didn’t lower herself to Schott’s level and become a killer, even for revenge, but the prank gun just felt too silly of a tonal shift for a storyline with this much gravitas.  The breakneck denouement that Cat is now depending only on herself didn’t get quite enough breathing room either.

While I appreciated that the ending of this issue avoided an overly simplistic, Death Wish style of justice, this issue extends this troubling but brief era of Superman comics. The casual chalk outlines of  yet two more dead children continues the high body count of the  previous handful of issues, and the tone remains jarring to me.  The issue is also self-aware enough to point out, again, that Schott is  generally an ally of children, and not someone who historically wishes  them harm, but that doesn’t stop the story from going there, in the most  violent of terms. In addition to being a radical change to the Toyman  character, it’s handled in a fashion more glib than we’re used to seeing  in these pages.  The mental health cliché of a matriarchal obsession, a la Norman Bates doesn’t elevate it either.  So, another rare misstep  from Jurgens the writer, in my opinion.   STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I  had thought for sure that Romanove Vodka was a sly reference to a certain Russian Spy turned Marvel superhero, but it turns out there  actually is a Russian Vodka called that, minus the “E”, produced not in Russia, as one might think from the Czarist name, but rather, India.

While it made for an awkward exchange, I was glad that Cat pointed out how  her tragedy more or less sat on the shelf while Superman dealt with the "Spilled Blood" storyline.  A lesser book might not have acknowledged any  time had passed. Though I did find it odd for Superman to opine that he  wanted to find her son’s murderer even more than she wanted him to.  Huh?  How so?

I love the detail that Toyman hears the noise of Superman soaring to capture him, likening it to a train coming.

I  quibble, but there’s so much I don’t understand about the “new” Toyman.  If he’s truly regressing mentally, to an infant-like state, why does he wear this phantom of the opera style long cloak while he sits in his baby crib?  Why not go all the way, and wear footie pajamas, like the lost souls on TLC specials about “adult babies”?

I get that Cat Grant is in steely determination mode, but it seemed a little out of place that she had almost no reaction to the taunting she faced from her child’s killer.  She doesn’t shed a single tear in the entire issue, and no matter how focused she is on vengeance, that doesn’t seem realistic to me. [Max: That's because this is not just retribution, Don. It's dark retribution. We’ve been over this!]

[intothestarkerverse]

Time of Our Lives (Part Four)

Based on a prompt from @geekymarvel  

Peter is tasked with an important mission that requires him to go back in time.   Finding himself at a gala for Stark industries in the 1990’s, he comes face to face with a young and incorrigible Tony Stark who considers Peter’s attempts to deny his advances a challenge.  Now, dogged by a horny young CEO who won’t take no for an answer, Peter’s task has become much more difficult….

(STORY CONTAINS ENDGAME SPOILERS)

Read on AO3

Despite Tony’s warning, Peter had dissolved into a stuttering mess of unintelligible syllables that when strung together made little to no sense in any earthly language.  It was only the sharp feeling of a slap against his cheek that drew Peter’s garbled babbling to a stop.  “Ouch!” He forgot to be flustered and afraid in the wake of his indignation.  Which…had probably been Tony’s plan all along, come to think of it.

“Snap out of it, Peter, I’d rather lock you in my room than in a jail cell, so spit it out already!”

Peter could hear the sound of footsteps, several of them, the static of a radio, the sound of guns being drawn from holsters.  It was too late, they were only yards away.  “You saved the world but now there’s a complication and I’m the only one you trusted to come back here and stop it and I need a machine you were going to destroy in that incinerator and I was supposed to get it but they stole it and I need to get it back or the whole universe is going to cease to exist in 2023.”  Peter’s run-on sentence came out in a rush of words with barely a pause between them, but Tony was able to follow the declaration without much trouble…or so it seemed.  

“Suit off, kid.”  He tapped the armor of Peter’s suit with his index finger and Peter deactivated it, the armor melting back into the watch as Tony reached out, loosening Peter’s bow tie expertly with one hand while he ripped Peter’s dress shirt open with the other.  Buttons popped and flew in every direction and Peter let out a little squeak of disapproval.  “Play along, baby.”  Tony hissed, “You too, Hogan, if you want to keep that promotion.”

“Yes, Sir.”

As the agents burst into the room with orders to freeze, put hands up, and every other cliche Peter had ever heard or seen on a procedural on network  television, Tony Stark pushed him back several steps until his back collided with a wall.  One hand was skimming the skin of Peter’s now exposed chest, fingers tracing every muscle, finger nails leaving faint white tracks over his pecs and down his abs as Tony’s other hand got a firm grasp on his chestnut curls and pulled his head roughly to the side.  Peter clawed at Tony’s back, hands fisting around handfuls of his bespoke tuxedo jacket.  Tony’s lips pressed a warm wet trail over his throat, teeth and tongue pinching and lapping and sucking at the skin until Peter was whimpering and forgetting that there were probably a couple dozen people in the room.

Silence.

It would have been possible to hear a pin drop, though with the lack of pins in the room at the moment it was more the sound of Tony’s mouth on Peter’s skin that was the only noise breaking the awkward hush in the room.  That was, of course, until someone cleared their throat rather loudly.

Tony paused, hovering over Peter’s throat so that his warm breath was drying the sloppy trail of kisses and bruises he’d left behind. Slowly, he drew back, turning around to face the agents who were wearing a combination of expressions.  Some were amused, some were turned on, most were baffled and a couple looked incredibly annoyed.

Peter was trying to make his brain work again.  All of the blood had rushed from one head to another and he wasn’t sure he was even capable of speech at the moment, but Tony was still holding onto him, an arm sliding around his waist and pulling him in close as they faced the agents.  Peter looked up at Tony with hooded eyes, pupils blown wide by arousal.  What the fuck was he planning, and did it involve more of that?  Please say it involved more of that.

“We got a call that you were being robbed.”  One of the agents stepped forward, speaking with an authoritative tone and with a no nonsense demeanor that Peter could tell was setting Tony’s nerves on edge.  Just the way the man’s jaw set at the statement told Peter that the poor agent was in for it now.  Looking back at the government agent, Peter squinted and frowned.  Did he look familiar too?  Maybe.  Maybe but he couldn’t quite place him…there was something different about him and he just couldn’t put a finger on it…Oh!

Oh, oh!  

Not a finger.  

An eye!

Well, two eyes, actually.  

Huh, weird.

Tony raised an eyebrow, “You did?”

“You tellin’ me you didn’t send your security guard to call us in over some covert, armored foreign operative stealing weapons from Stark Industries in the middle of your fancy dress ball upstairs?”

Tony laughed.  He laughed so hard that his whole body shook and he pulled Peter closer, nuzzling into his hair and nipping at his ear.  Peter’s eyes flickered closed for a moment, his whole body leaning into the man before Tony spoke again, so close to his ear that it was almost jarring.  It was a stage whisper, meant to sound like something private between the two of them but clearly for everyone to hear nonetheless.  “Do you hear that, Baby?  Happy thought our little role play was real?  Isn’t he silly, Sweetheart?”

“Happy’s so, so silly.”  Peter had no idea what was happening, but he’d been told to play along and playing along with whatever Tony’s plan happened to be felt better than just about anything else he’d ever felt in his whole damn life.  He’d say just about anything Tony wanted him to say in that moment.

“Role play?”  The agent did not sound remotely as pleased as Peter was at the moment.

“Yeah, you know…when you and your lover play pretend to make things a bit more fun.  Peter here wanted me to catch him in the act of stealing from the company and punish him…”

“Tony forgot the handcuffs, though.”  With a little burst of inspiration now that Peter understood where this was going, he attempted to add his own flare to the tale they were telling and put on a petulant little pout for the agents.  He caught the look of amusement Tony shot him and felt the hand still draped around his waist drop to give his ass a squeeze that made him squirm.

“I’m sorry, Baby.  I blew it.  And I promised to blow you to make up for it.  But maybe we can borrow one of the agents’ cuffs…now that they’re here…”  Tony seemed only too happy to encourage Peter to play along.

“Wasting government resources isn’t a joke, Stark.”

“Never said it was.  Didn’t waste ‘em, either, if you recall…that’s all my security guard’s fault.”  Tony was so glib.  Peter loved it.  God, he’d missed Tony’s sass.  He’d missed so damn much about the man, and the longer he spent with this younger version of Tony, the more of his own Tony he could see in him.

“In my defense, the kid is a very good actor and what I overheard sounded very convincing.”  Was Happy trying to save face?  Peter almost felt sorry for him.  Almost.  He kinda had it coming though, what with the May situation…

“Even though this happens to be the help’s fault, I’m willing to accept responsibility for my lover’s superior acting skills.  Send me a bill for whatever money you wasted showing up here…but give me a set of those handcuffs before you go and do go…sooner the better…we were in the middle of something pretty sexy before you showed up.  Unless you want to stay and watch.  I’m not opposed to an audience, are you, Sweetheart?”

Peter could feel himself blushing again, but he angled his face away from the agents and hid it by leaning into Tony’s shirt.  Emboldened by Tony’s encouragement, Peter was willing to go a step further.  “I think we could put on a show for them…”  He felt Tony suck in a sharp breath as Peter bit down one of the buttons of his shirt and snapped the threads holding it in place just like he’d seen women do in movies when they were trying to be seductive.  He spit it out over Tony’s shoulder and looked up in time to hear the older man growl deep in his throat.

There was a lot of murmuring behind them and Peter could hear most of the agents retreating.  Most, but not all.

“Look here, Stark, if you’re playin’ some kind of game with us…I’m goin’ to find out.  You may think you’re some kind of genius but it’s going to take a lot more than you got to pull one over on me.”

“I accept the challenge, Agent…”

“Fury.”

“But you’re so cuddly!  Ironic.”  Tony chuckled, “Now, either pull up a chair and shut the fuck up or get the fuck out because I’ve got some fucking to do and you’re killing the mood, Agent Furry.”

“Fury.”

“Isn’t that what I said?  Seriously though…Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“I’ve got my eye on you, Stark.”

Fury’s parting words had Peter dissolving into fits of hysterical laughter against Tony’s chest.

“Fuck kid, I don’t know what’s so funny, but you better be very happy that I’ve got such a bad reputation or that would have never worked.”  Tony’s words were spoken in a whisper, no doubt uncertain if they were still being observed.

His laughter over Fury’s unintended joke had managed to bring Peter out of his aroused stupor enough to remember what he needed to be doing at that moment, and unfortunately it was not fucking Tony Stark.  “But it did work, so I can track down that machine now and…”

“Nope.  Not tonight you’re not.  Did you not hear him, Peter?  He’s got his eye on us.”  Tony paused as Peter burst out laughing again.  “He’s going to have someone watching us at least for the rest of the night if not longer.  You do anything suspicious tonight and the jig is up.  So, you’re going to come back to my place and we’re going to make Fury think that we are doing exactly what we told him we’re doing and we’ll worry about this machine of yours in the morning when he’s hopefully lost interest in us.”

Peter wanted to argue, he really did.  He kept telling himself how much he needed to argue with Tony’s reasoning right up until the moment Tony was leading him into his home.  Then, Peter had to admit that maybe, just maybe, he was pleased that the night was theirs and they needed to convince federal agents that they were lovers.  He was kind of hoping that they were going to go to extreme lengths to make S.H.I.E.L.D buy into that story…

—

Tony saw his butler enter from the corridor.  The man was always too perspicacious for his own good and had likely been awaiting Tony’s return from the gala for quite some time.  The young CEO was both notorious for blowing off such stodgy functions early…and for bringing home unexpected guests.  Only the butler’s eyes gave away his lack of surprise and overabundance of disapproval at the party favor Tony had with him tonight.  He was maybe a little close to being too young for Tony, but four years was hardly scandalous.  If Tony had actually finished high school at a normal age, they could have even been in the institution at the same time, if only for a year.  Peter was hardly a child and most people who knew Tony Stark would argue that he was a far cry from an adult.  Himself included.  “Jarvis can take your jacket if you’d like, Sweetheart.”

Peter did an obvious double take, his mouth parted in an adorable little ‘o’ of disbelief.  “Jarvis?  For real?  You’re a person?”

“The last time I check, Sir.”  Jarvis’s tone was as dry as a good martini and Tony had to smile.

“Excuse the kid.  He’s a time traveler on a mission to the save the universe and apparently the future is weird.”

“Indeed, I anticipated nothing less.  Is the Tardis parked in the garage, then, Sir?”  One eyebrow arced questioningly as he looked to the young man at Tony’s side.  Tony heard the boy snicker.

“Delorean actually.”

“Yes, you do have more of a ‘Marty McFly’ aura about you.  Apologies, my mistake.”

“I really like him!”  Tony looked down, amused by Peter’s excited tone and the way he’d just grabbed Tony’s arm.  His impossible large doe eyes darted to Tony’s face as he no doubt realized what he had done and let go of Tony’s arm.

“The feeling is mutual, Sir.”  The simple phrase from the butler brought a rosy glow to Peter’s cheeks that made Tony want to trace the flush with his fingers.

“I’m glad my butler meets with your approval, Beautiful.”  Tony did not fail to catch the look on Jarvis’s face as he disappeared back into the corridor.  Tony knew when he’d been had.  Peter might not be able to read the affection in his eyes, but if there was anyone who knew the intricacies of Tony’s body language and the often labyrinthine nature of his personality, it was Edwin Jarvis.  It had not taken Peter long to charm the man who had been more of a father to Tony than Howard Stark had ever been, no doubt because Jarvis could see how utterly captivated Tony was with the kid.  Tony would never admit to anyone that he was pleased Peter had managed to turn distaste to approval in such record time, even if it was going to give Jarvis fodder to tease Tony for weeks or even months to come.

“Umm…”  Peter was fidgeting with the sides of his shirt which no longer sported buttons and had been hanging open since their encounter with S.H.I.E.L.D.  He seemed to be trying to find a way to pull it closed and keep it that way, though his efforts were failing.

“I would apologize for that if I were actually sorry I’d done it.  I don’t think you’re really sorry about it either.”

Peter gave up with a little shrug and turned around to examine the entryway, only turning when Tony offered to lead him to the living room.  Peter looked relieved to be somewhere with a seat and immediately took up residence on the sofa without waiting for an invitation from Tony.  The man had to chuckle to himself as he took the seat right next to the boy, making very little effort to keep any space open between them.  “So, I saw you plant something on that crate, didn’t I?  I assume it was a tracking device of some sort?”

“Yeah, oh yeah.”  Peter was nodding furiously, chestnut curls bouncing with the movement as he pulled down his sleeve to reveal his watch and tapped the face several times.  Tony found himself leaning forward with immense interest at the holographic display of the city that blinked to life in the air above the watch face.  Sadly, there was no indication of any tracking device and after several moments, an error message began to scroll across the display.  “Huh?  I don’t…”

“GPS uses satellite for positioning, Peter.  The satellite that your tracking device likely uses is not in orbit at the present time.”

“Shit.  I didn’t think of that.”

“Obviously.”  Tony held his hand out.  “Give me the watch, Sweetheart.  I’m working on A.I.  It’s a long way from being anything nearly as prolific as I’d like it to be, but I think I can put it work on your tracking device.  If the AI can ascertain the details about your nonexistent satellite, it can probably clone them and apply them to a Defense Department satellite we can commandeer long enough to find out where those men went.”

“Really?  You can access Defense Department satellites?”

“Baby, I hacked the Defense Department at 16 on a fucking dare.  They’ve yet to find a way to keep me out and they can’t put me in prison if they want new, shiny weapons of mass destruction to blow up our enemies with, now can they?”

“Guess not.”  Peter hesitantly removed the watch and held it out to Tony.  “Can you…just be careful?  I need it for the suit and other important stuff.”

“You’re really telling me to handle this thing with care, huh?  That’s where we’re at?”  He could only shake his head at the absurdity of that.  “Yeah, Peter, It’ll be fine.  I’m going to run down to the lab to get the  A.I. set up to find the solution to our little problem.  Just…make yourself at home.”

Tony told himself that he wasn’t in a hurry.  He certainly didn’t almost jog to the lab and back or tap his foot impatiently as the A.I. booted and set about preparing the tasks he had assigned.  When he returned to the living room, however, he was certainly man enough to admit that he skidded to a halt and stared in appreciation at what awaited him.

Jarvis had apparently seen fit to bring Peter a change of clothes after noting the disarray of his tuxedo.  Peter was now standing in the middle of the living room in nothing but a pair of red and gold boxer shorts with some sort of robot emblazoned on them.  He was clutching a pair of Tony’s sweat pants in his hands, a t-shirt thrown across the arm of the sofa waiting for Peter to put it on, but now he was just frozen…staring at Tony as Tony stared at him and delighted in the way Peter’s blush spread to his chest.  “I…uh…Mister Jarvis said you wouldn’t mind if I…”

“I mind.”  Tony was making no attempt to look away or alleviate the kid’s embarrassment.  “I’d much rather you not be wearing anything at all, but I guess if you have to wear clothes…my clothes sound like a decent compromise.”

Peter grimaced but finally tugged the sweat pants over his legs, tied the drawstring in a double knotted bow to keep the pants up over his more slender frame, and then sat down to roll the cuffs of the legs up once or twice.  Tony was pleased to see that he wasn’t in as big a hurry to don the shirt.  Good.  

“So..”  Tony let the word hang between them for a minute.  “You a super soldier or something?  They get that formula working again in the future or what?”

Peter let out a nervous giggle.  “Noooo…No, I’m no Captain America.  I was…um…bitten by a radioactive spider.”

Tony’s look was dubious and Peter apparently found the need to defend that statement.

“I know it sounds crazy but that’s really what happened.  I got really sick and then I got better and I could just do a lot of crazy things.  I know it sounds nuts right now, but trust me…you’ll meet people who’ve had way weirder stuff happen to them over radiation than just me.  I promise.”  He was quiet again for a moment, staring at Tony and seemingly at war with himself.  “Can I ask you something, Tony?”

“I’m clean.  No STDs.”

“Uh…no that’s not…I mean, good for you?  I guess.  I mean that’s good to know.  Not that…I need to know that…right now…or probably ever. Um, no, what I really wanted to know…”  Damn, the kid was reaching for the shirt and tugging it down over his head.  With as graceful and fluid as the boy was when he was fighting, there was something ridiculously awkward about the way he got dressed.  “I was actually wondering how you figured out about the time travel and stuff…”  His voice was muffled by the fabric of the shirt as he contorted to get it over his head and settle properly.

“Your watch.  I noticed it in the bathroom when were making out, something I’d very much like to revisit tonight.  There’s a Stark Industries logo on it.  It’s not a model I recognized.  At first I thought it might be a terrible knock off…and then you used it in the elevator.  See, that kind of technology, it’s a couple decades out from anything I have in the pipeline and since I think SI’s intergalactic sales are a little lax at the moment, you can’t be an alien.  That leaves the future.  Plus you said you couldn’t let me die ‘again’, and that’s a can of worms I’m not touching because no one needs to know how or when they die.  So that’s now I know you’re from the future.  As for how I know who sent you…Since I’m the only person in the world smart enough to crack time travel, it means that I had to be the one who got you here.”

“Hank Pym…”

“Hank Pym!  The guy’s a hack.  One discovery does not a genius make.  And if that bastard lucked into time travel, he sure as shit wouldn’t have sent you to me, Baby.”  Peter was just nodding slowly now that he was fully clothed once more, watching Tony with his head angled downward in a mock display of innocence that Tony found both endearing and obnoxious.  “Seriously, kid, you keep that coy act up and I’m going to give you something to be bashful about.”

“Promises, promises.”  Peter said it under his breath, dripping with that sarcasm that had only really come out when he was wearing his mask, and his cheeks flared a brilliant shade of rose the moment he realized Tony heard him.

“So…you just always this shy, Baby, or can I take this to mean that we’re not lovers back where you come from?”

Peter’s eyes widened considerably and he coughed nervously into his hand as he shook his head vigorously.  “Um, no, we’re not.  I mean you’re kind of old…er…than me.  By a lot.  And I don’t think you see me that way.  You treat me like a kid…it’s nice because you’re like the only father figure I have but also weird because I’ve been crushing on you for like…years…and there’s just…no spark on your end, you know?  I mean I’ve watched.  Pretty hard.  I really wanted there to be, but nope.  Sparkless.”

Tony stared at him in disbelief for a moment before rising from his seat to cross to the bar on the far side of the living room and pour himself several fingers of whiskey.  He held the bottle up questioningly to Peter who just shook his head again.  With a shrug, he retrieved a can of ginger ale from the mini-fridge beneath the bar that he sometimes used with bourbon and handed it over to the kid as he returned to his seat.  “So, what I’m going to take from this little revelation of yours is that I’m actually going to learn self control and grow a considerable set of morals in my…old age, was it?  Really didn’t think I had that in me.  Actually, I don’t think anyone thinks I have that in me.  So cheers to Old Man Stark and keepin’ it in his pants, hm?  I’m adequately impressed by my self control, cause Baby, unless I’m impotent in this future of yours, I gotta say that I’ve thought about you ‘that way’.  Don’t care how old I am.  How moral.  My sexual preferences are not going to change that much.  I’ve just…learned to be a better man than I am now.  Won’t the whole damn world be surprised by that one!  The question we’re faced with at this point is whether you have a daddy complex and you’re only interested in me when we’re flirting with this Lolita vibe you had going…or if you’re willing to take advantage of Tony Stark while he’s still…young, virile, and happy being a sinner.”

Tony watched Peter carefully, noting the way the boy opened his mouth to speak several times and then closed it again before uttering a single syllable.  It was adorable how conflicted he was, but Tony wasn’t sure he was going to be content to play with his food much longer.  He was literally getting gray hairs waiting for the kid to scream ‘Fuck Me’ and jump on him like a cat in heat which was more what he wanted than what he expected.  Finally, blushing again in the most comely way possible, Peter found his voice.  “It’s not…it’s not a daddy complex.  I…definitely still think you’re…really hot…now.”

“Not old, you mean.”

“Yeah, not old…”  Peter rubbed at the back of his neck swallowing hard and suddenly looking everywhere in the room but at Tony directly.

“Good, because I think we’ve established that I think you’re one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.  And since we have to convince the government that we’re fucking, it’s only right that we actually do.”  He drained the rest of his whiskey and reached out with his free hand to trace the line of Peter’s thigh.  “You ever…done anything like this before?”

“Not really?”  Peter’s voice came out an octave higher than usual and was trembling ever so slightly.  “I mean…not with someone else?  I’ve read stuff and watched stuff…so I know how to do it and what to expect and…”

“Baby, oh baby, if you think a little porn and erotica has prepared you for a night with me, you’ve got another thing coming.  I’m going to help you get in touch with a side of yourself you’ve never experienced before.  I saw a glimpse of it tonight, biting off buttons, teasing me about handcuffs.  There’s a whole wide world of things you’ve never even dreamed of, and introducing you to that…oh baby, that is going to be a supreme fucking pleasure in every sense of the term.”