2. For the first time in a decade, Tony has a sex tape leak. This one was filmed without his knowledge. As awful as it is having a non-consensual sex tape of oneself go viral, Tony never really cared whether the internet saw the full monty before—until now. This time he definitely cares. Because this time, the guy in the video with Tony—well, he looks undeniably like Tony’s 18-yo mentee. How do people react? What does the media do with the story? And most importantly, how does Peter react?
ahhh this was such a good prompt and it instantly caught my attention and inspired me!! sorry it’s a little longer than I initially planned for just random prompt fills but I had a lot of feelings~
tags: starker, mature, angst with a happy ending
The image quality is a little blurry, not quite in focus, but the bodies are clear enough, Tony’s fucking face clear enough as he stares at the man above him, runs his hands over toned skin and down to grip at the man’s ass, pull him to sink down onto him. The audio quality is great, though, picks up the man’s breathy sigh and the groan that gets punched out of Tony as he bottoms out, the slap of skin on skin as the man starts riding him, thin, lithe body twisting and grinding, the sound of Tony murmuring “that’s it, kid, yeah, just like that”, the little sigh the man makes when Tony reaches up to run a hand through chestnut curls and tug, and—
The video pauses, Tony pulling the man’s head back, exposing his undeniably younger face, toned body arching over Tony’s more solid one, the moment frozen in time as Pepper’s picture appears over the holoscreen image.
Tony picks up even though he doesn’t want to, wincing in anticipation.
“At least tell me he’s legal, Tony.”
She sounds more angry than he’d expected, though if she thinks she has to ask whether the man was legal Tony supposes it’s a reasonable anger.
“Christ, Pep, no—I mean—fuck, of course he’s legal.”
He hears her exhale of relief.
“You couldn’t have given PR even the slightest heads up? I know it’s been awhile, but you used to have a protocol for this, Tony.”
Tony winces—at the reprimand, at the reminder of a past when he’d had so many escapades that he’d tell some poor sap in the marketing department when he’d let someone film or take pictures of him in bed so they could be prepared for damage control, at the reminder that that protocol had fallen by the wayside long ago, when he’d first gotten together with Pepper (he hoped the poor marketing sap still had a job, just a better one), and, even worse, at the reminder that despite that, here he was back again, in his fifties with a sex tape leak.
“I didn’t know.” His voice is barely a croak, but he knows that Pepper hears him, even if she follows it up by repeating him incredulously.
“You didn’t know? You—Tony Stark—didn’t realize you were being filmed? What the hell happened, Tony? You used to be careful about this.”
“I know, Pepper, I—” he trails off, instinctively turning for where the bar used to be and then clenching his fist when he’s reminded of the fact he hasn’t had a drink in years. He takes a deep breath, hopes it’ll steady him, tries not to be disappointed when it doesn’t. “How bad did I fuck up, Pep?”
He hears her sigh, hears the shift in her from Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, to Pepper Potts, his ex-wife, one of his best friends, in spite of it all.
“With the company? It won’t be too bad. We’re past the days when the stock rose and fell on your latest news story, and you’ve got a long track record of being able to perform no matter how much of a shitshow your personal life is. With the media? Not great—you know how they love a breakdown story, and you didn’t do yourself any favors with how young he looks. But it’ll pass as soon as the next scandal comes along, probably sometime in the next forty-eight hours.”
Tony waits for the tightness in his chest to release somewhat, but it doesn’t.
Pepper hesitates and he thinks she’s going to hang up, but then she says, “With… him?” And Tony freezes, because he knows who she means, and it’s not the man in the video, and he hadn’t thought she’d know, hadn’t thought anyone knew, that was kind of the whole point of the man in the video, but he supposes that it’s not subtle to anyone who really knows him, not after this leak at least. “I… I don’t know, Tony. I really don’t know.”
The tightness in his chest is now a death grip, and he chokes out a “Thanks, Pep,” before he hangs up the call with a swipe of his hand and collapses back against his worktable. He finds his way over to a back corner, where his old car collection still sits, desperate to get his hands in the guts of his ’32 Ford Flathead Roadster, something old and finicky that he can get lost in for days, until all of this blows over and he can work on getting his life set back to rights. He’s only barely gotten his hands on the engine when he hears the sound of the doors to the lab opening and closing behind someone. He drops the wrench, which lands on a piece of the engine with an accusing clang, because the list of people with automatic access to his lab is short and—at this particular moment—terrifying.
He turns around with his heart already halfway in his throat, because those footsteps are familiar, and he’s greeted by the sight of the one person he’d been most hoping not to see right now. Peter Parker is standing in his lab, at 2 in the morning, peeling off the Spider-Man suit because of course the kid webbed over here, and—fuck, with dark circles and eyes red at the corners as if he’s been crying, and he looks nearly as bad as Tony must look. Tony tries to speak—he does, he really does—tries to say something comforting, or mentor-like, or even just honest, but it catches in his throat and twists and boils and all that comes out is a fucking joke.
“Come to deliver my mentor of the year award?”
Peter makes a strangled noise, and Tony flinches at just how abysmally he’s managed to handle this.
“Fuck, kid, I’m sorry—” he starts, but Peter makes a high-pitched noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob and Tony suddenly wishes he had the wrench back in his hand, because hitting himself with it as hard as he could would have been less painful than hearing Peter make that sound.
Guilt rips through Tony so fiercely that he actually staggers back to lean against the car, quietly cursing. “Fuck, Peter, I’m sorry, he—I promise, he wasn’t a kid, he was young but he was an adult, he was a consenting adult who was free to do what he wanted, I—”
“And I’m not?” Peter’s cut him off, voice suddenly raised, and in it Tony can hear anger and pain and he it looks like Peter’s fighting back tears, and Tony wants desperately to know what to do, but all he says is “what?”, dumbly confused.
“He—so he’s young but he can be an adult and make his own choices but I’m just a kid, —‘m always just some kid,” Peter says, but Tony finally notices that Peter’s slurring his words slightly, and when he’s done talking he tries to take an angry step towards Tony but ends up swaying, needs to reach out and grab onto a workstation.
“Peter, are you… drunk?” Tony doesn’t bother to conceal the horror in his voice, not because Peter’s drinking—because sure he’s not 21, but no one waits until they’re 21 to start drinking, and Peter deserves as much normalcy as he can possibly get—but because this is Tony’s fault, he’s not drinking for fun with his friends, but Tony’s somehow driven Peter to get drunk, to drown himself in alcohol, and fuck he’s making all of the mistakes he’d never wanted to.
“So what if I am?” Peter says, “ ’s not like you care.”
“Christ, Pete, of course I—I always care, but—shit, how much did you even drink to get drunk, with your metabolism?”
Peter shrugs. “Dunno. Stopped counting. Doesn’t last long, anyway, but I just needed to—just needed to be drunk to come here and say—and say—” Peter slumps forward, as if all of the anger has been drained out of him.
Tony takes a tentative step forward, afraid that Peter’s drinking is actually catching up, suddenly terrified of what could be happening.
“Say what, Peter?” Tony asks gently, taking another step forward, but then Peter looks up and there are tears on his face.
“I don’t—I don’t know, I just—I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Mr. Stark.”
Tony’s stomach drops, to the floor, through the floor, through the center of the goddamn earth, because he has apparently messed this one up badly, terribly badly, and Tony would trade every dollar he has to make this up to Peter, but that’s not how this works, and he wishes he could say the right thing, but he’s Tony Stark, and so even though as he takes a step towards Peter he realizes his own hands are shaking, all that he can say is, “Peter? Pete?”
Peter doesn’t seem to notice or care about his slow approach, just wipes at his eyes with the back of his hands and keeps talking.
“It’s stupid, but I just… I saw it and I told myself not to watch it, but then of course I did, because I’m stupid, and then I got jealous, and that felt even stupider so I started trying to get drunk, and it didn’t really work and all it did was make me realize that I—I mean, the way things were was fine, I could tell myself at first that you had Pepper, and then after that that you didn’t like men like that, or that you would never look at someone as young as me like that, but then there was that guy and—I just—I guess it’s just that’s that it’s me, that’s what I realized, that it’s not my age or my gender, it’s just me that you’ll never see that way, and it’s one thing to be half in love with someone and spend all your time with them when you know you can’t ever have them, and it’s another thing to—to—it just feels like rejection? Even though it’s not?”
Peter pauses to draw in a shaky breath, suppressing a sob, and Tony is aware that he’s trembling now. “Peter, Pete—what are you saying, Pete?” he whispers, mind stuck somewhere between overdrive and frozen, like a part that’s gotten jammed, trying desperately to whir through his thoughts but somehow just—stuck.
“I don’t—you’re right, Mr. Stark, I’m drunk, I’m not—I probably won’t quit in the morning or anything, I couldn’t—but I just—this was dumb, I should just—”
And Peter’s turning away, and heading for the lab doors, and Tony’s desperately trying to send the signals from his brain to his limbs to go after him, to take just one fucking step forward, but it’s not working, and all he can do is yell after him.
But Peter’s not stopping, just says, “It’s okay Mr. Stark, it was a mistake to come here, I’m really sorry, maybe we can just—pretend this didn’t happen, okay?”
And he’s almost at the door and Tony’s finally started to move, but not nearly fast enough, so he says, “FRIDAY, lock the doors!” And he knows his voice sounds a little throaty, a little desperate, but it works, because he hears the smooth click of the lab door sealing shut, sees Peter reach it and push uselessly before turning back around.
“C’mon Mr. Stark, seriously, I don’t wanna—just, please?”
“Pete—you were… jealous?”
And maybe it’s not the best place to start, but it’s the thing that Tony’s brain is stuck on, because it feels so laughable—that Peter could ever be jealous of someone who was only ever meant to be a cheap imitation of Peter. Peter just turns away, trying to hide his face again.
“Mr. Stark, I don’t wanna—I already said I was, I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Tony’s close enough to touch him now, rocks forward as if he might and then thinks better of it, his brain trying to catch up. “Pete, I—I just—god, we were both supposed to be smarter than this. I mean—you honestly think it was a coincidence he looked like that?”
At this, Peter starts to turn around, eyes wide with a mix of confusion and hope, but Tony just keeps going.
“You don’t think every time I called him kid it was because I was picturing you? Shit, I’m sorry, but—you don’t know how hard it was not to give in and call him Peter.”
“Mr. Stark, what are you—are you saying—”
“Stop me if I’m—if you don’t want—” Tony murmurs, closing the distance between them to lean close and press his lips against Peter’s, so gently, tentative, a question. There’s a long moment, and just when Tony’s starting to pull away, resigned to his error, Peter answers, leans forward and wraps a hand around the back of Tony’s neck, pulls him close and opens his mouth in a shuddering gasp, kisses Tony back like he wants to drown in it, and Tony meets him with everything he’s got, finally wraps a hand in those perfect curls, drinks in the soft gasps from Peter until he’s weak in the knees and has to pull away to draw in great gulps of air.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter whispers against his neck, where he’s pressed himself tight to Tony, wrapped in a hug like he’s as afraid of this moment dissipating as Tony is.
“Come to bed, Pete,” Tony says into the top of Peter’s head, feels him nod. And as FRIDAY unlocks the lab and they walk, intertwined, constantly touching, towards Tony’s bedroom, Tony’s mind is for once quiet, content in the knowledge that in a few minutes he can tuck Peter into bed beside him, for now just hold him while they sleep, and in the morning—everything will be better.
