Chapter Text
Peter swallowed hard, clutching his backpack straps like a shield. "Hi, Mr. Stark."
"Hey, underoos" Tony responded, his voice surprisingoy soft.
Then, Tony turned on his heel and started walking down the workshop corridor, not even checking to see if Peter was following—he knew he would.
"So," Tony began, his hands resting in his pockets. "Your heart rate spikes around Osborn, huh?" He didn't actually need an answer, but he paused just long enough to let the silence push Peter to confess.
"Y-Yeah," Peter stammered, his eyes glued to the floor. "That's right."
"So," Tony continued, stepping around a robotic arm. "Is it racing because you're terrified of the guy" He paused, turning his head slightly. "...or have you moved on from MJ?"
"It's out of fear!" Peter blurted out, his voice cracking on the top note as heat rushed up his neck.
They both froze. The quiet hum of the workshop filled the silence as they stood there, staring awkwardly at each other for a long, painful moment.
Tony's eyes narrowed slightly, taking in Peter's bright red face.
"It's a crush, isn't it?" Again, he didn't need to ask—the suit's telemetry and Peter's total lack of a poker face made it obvious. But he wanted to hear him say it.
"Um..." Peter's eyes darted wildly to the side, looking anywhere but at Tony. "I mean... I guess." He gave a vague, miserable half-shrug.
Tony let out a slow sigh, turning to keep moving. "Walk with me," he said, explicitly giving the order this time, fully aware Peter looked ready to bolt for the elevator.
Peter fell into step beside him, his hands gripping his backpack straps tightly.
After a few excruciating seconds of silence, Peter cleared his throat. "So—"
"You don't have to explain it right now," Tony cut in smoothly. He reached out, giving Peter a brief, slightly stiff pat on the shoulder—his hand lingering just a second longer than necessary. "But you're telling me the whole story after we finish up in the lab."
"O-kay," Peter nodded quickly, his brain already wildly searching for a plausible excuse.
"Good," Tony said, stepping up to the main hologram display. "Now, setting the Osborn kid aside"
"I have ideas for new upgrades," Peter blurted out, interrupting Tony mid-sentence.
He desperately needed to hijack the conversation, to flood the air with enough frantic technical jargon that Tony would forget all about Harry, chemistry class, and heart-rate spikes.
If he could just act normal—hyperactive, science-nerd normal—maybe Tony would cut him some slack and drop the whole interrogation.
Tony stopped at the main display, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Really? Have at it, Underoos."
"Um, so I was thinking..."
And finally, for the first time since MJ had opened her big mouth on Friday, Peter was blabbering like normal.
"Okay, so you know how the web-shooters rely on micro-pumps for fluid compression?" Peter started, stepping up to the glass workbench and dumping his backpack on the floor. He began pacing back and forth, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Right now, the pressure output is capped at about three hundred PSI per burst, which is fine for basic urban transport, but when I'm trying to catch heavy debris mid-air.. like, say, a falling SUV—the reaction time on the pressure valve lags by like, point-four seconds! So I was thinking, what if we integrated a dual-chamber piezoelectric actuator right behind the solenoid?"
(I was bullshitting here like i haven't studied science since 6th grade cut me some slack pls)
Tony didn't say a word. He just leaned against the workbench, resting his chin on his fist.
"And—and not just that!" Peter continued, his words practically tripping over each other as he pointed toward a holographic schematic floating near the wall. "If we reroute the thermal insulation layers in the suit's forearm weave, we can use the heat generated from the suit's internal battery to pre-warm the fluid before deployment. That way, the web formula doesn't get brittle in sub-zero temperatures, like if I'm hanging off a high-rise in December! It improves tensile strength by at least fourteen percent, maybe fifteen if we use a carbon-nanotube lining!"
Peter finally stopped to breathe, his chest heaving as he stared at the hologram, his face burning. He took a quick glance sideways at Tony, praying his rapid-fire lecture had successfully derailed the conversation.
Tony remained still for a long moment, tapping a single finger against his arm.
"Impressive," Tony said smoothly, pushing himself off the counter and taking two slow steps toward Peter. "Fourteen percent increase in tensile strength, rapid thermal pre-heating, zero lag." He stopped right in front of Peter, leaning down slightly to look him dead in the eye. "You came up with all of that on the ride up, didn't you?"
Peter froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I—no! I was thinking about it... in class!"
"In class," Tony repeated quietly, a subtle edge of warmth creeping into his voice as he reached out and casually adjusted the collar of Peter's shirt, his thumb brushing against Peter's neck for a second longer than necessary. "So.. while Osborn was keeping your heart rate at 140, you were sitting there calculating fluid dynamics?"
"Mr. Stark, please," Peter whined, dropping his head in total defeat.
"Nice try, kid," Tony murmured, his voice low and amused. "The upgrades are brilliant. We're building them. But you're still answering my questions when we're done."
"But before we do that," Tony added, sliding his phone out of his pocket and turning the screen toward Peter. A crisp, high-resolution photo of an absurdly expensive designer watch glinted on the display. "What do you think of this?"
Peter blinked. Tony never asked for his opinion on purchases—buying high-end tech, luxury cars, or rare antiques was just background noise to a guy like Tony Stark.
"I mean... sure. It looks fine," Peter said, tilting his head as he stared at the polished chronograph. "A little shiny, maybe? The one you're wearing right now is way better."
Tony shook his head, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, it's not for me."
Peter’s stomach did an instant, unpleasant flip. A sudden, unexpected sting of jealousy flared in his chest. A girl, his brain immediately supplied.
Of course. Tony might be pushing fifty with gray at his temples, but he was still Tony Stark. It was only a matter of time before he started seeing someone, wasn't it?
"Then who's it for?" Peter asked. The words came out sharper and far more bitter than he intended. Catching himself instantly, he flinched and looked away, rubbing his neck. "S-sorry. Didn't mean to sound like that."
Tony’s smirk widened into a deliberate, knowing grin that made Peter's pulse spike all over again.
He reached into the top drawer of the workbench and pulled out a heavy, dark velvet box, setting it down between them on the glass.
"For you, Pete," Tony said softly, opening the lid to reveal the exact watch from the photo. "Who else would it be?"
Peter froze, staring at the glittering piece of engineering sitting in the velvet casing.
Then, like a freight train, reality hit him square in the chest.
He looked down at himself. The high-end designer sneakers on his feet were a 'random gift' Harry had dropped off at his apartment last month. The ultra-soft leather jacket hanging on the hook near the door had been billed as 'standard Stark Industries gear' by Tony two weeks ago. And now, an eight-thousand-dollar watch sitting on the desk waiting for his wrist.
Oh, God.
MJ was right. The terrifying, observant demon was completely, 100% right.
He was trapped in an absurd, wealthy double-orbit, passively letting two competing billionaires shower him with luxury items just to mark their territory.
I am a sugar baby, Peter realized in absolute horror, his soul practically leaving his body. Holy shit.
"Go on," Tony urged, tapping the edge of the box gently, his eyes tracking Peter’s utterly shell-shocked expression. "Try it on."
"Oh... oh, no," Peter squeaked, taking a fast step backward and waving his hands frantically. "No, Mr. Stark, really! I—I couldn't! It's way too much. I don't even need a watch, I have my phone, and—thank you, but no!"
Tony raised an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing slightly. "Why? You don't like it?"
"No! Of course I like it!" Peter blurted out, terrified of sounding ungrateful. "It's incredible! It's just... it's absurdly expensive!"
"Take it" Tony said dryly, picking the watch out of the box and stepping closer.
Peter bit his lip, his face burning so hot he was convinced Tony could feel the heat radiating off him.
Hesitantly, he held out his left wrist. Tony took his hand, his touch warm and steady as he clasped the heavy metal band around Peter's wrist.
His fingers lingered over Peter's pulse point for a beat longer than necessary before he finally let go.
Peter looked down at his arm. The watch fit perfectly, resting against his skin like a heavy, gilded leash. He had to admit, it looked ridiculously good on him.
"See? I knew it'd look good on you," Tony murmured, giving him a small, surprisingly gentle smile. He patted Peter's shoulder, turning back toward the holographic schematics hovering over the main table. "Now, setting the timepiece aside—let's talk about those web-shooter upgrades."
And just like that, the suffocating tension in the room eased back into the familiar, easy rhythm of the workshop.
For the first time since MJ had opened her big, terrifyingly accurate mouth on Friday, Peter actually felt somewhat normal—even if he was currently wearing a fortune on his wrist.
An hour flew by in a rare streak of brilliant productivity. The project was running smoothly, the diagnostic simulations were returning green across the board, and Tony hadn't held back on the praise—clapping Peter on the back and calling his micro-valve design a stroke of pure engineering genius.
For the first time all day, Peter felt grounded, his mind entirely wrapped up in equations and code.
It was only when he excused himself to the private bathroom down the hall that the afternoon completely imploded.
After finishing up, Peter stepped up to the marble sink to wash his hands. Hesitating over the faucet, he looked down at the heavy, gleaming chronograph around his left wrist, wondering if he should slip it off so it wouldn't get splashed.
He unclasped the band, turning the heavy metal casing over in his hand—and froze.
Engraved in crisp, precise cursive across the polished steel backplate were five distinct words:
Property of A. Stark
Peter stared at the metal, his breath catching clean in his throat.
Oh.
A sudden, overwhelming wave of heat flushed through his entire body, pooling almost instantly in his lower half.
His pulse slammed against his ribs like a sledgehammer, and his heart rate—which had finally settled—shot right back up into dangerous territory.
It doesn't mean anything, Peter tried to tell himself frantically, his hands trembling as his brain went into a complete tailspin. It’s just... Stark Industries branding! He probably engraves all his tech! It’s standard security!
Except it wasn't a piece of Stark tech. It was a luxury wristwatch. A personal gift. Fitted specifically to Peter's wrist.
The sheer, overwhelming weight of the implication—of having Tony's name physically strapped to his skin, marking him as something belonging to him—sent another sharp, treacherous jolt straight down his spine.
Stop it, stop it, stop it, Peter begged himself, gripping the edge of the sink as his face burned a brilliant, agonizing scarlet. He refused to go down that rabbit hole.
He wasn't MJ; he didn't need to dissect the terrifyingly specific, deeply humiliating reasons why being claimed by an older man was currently making his jeans feel entirely too tight.
Closing his eyes, Peter took a long, shaky breath, desperately trying to force the heat back down.
Think about something disgusting, he repeated like a mantra, squeezing his eyes shut. Think about sewer water. Think about garbage barges. Think about Mr. Harrington in a tank top.
Gradually—painfully slowly—his heartbeat began to level out, and the heat in his lower body finally started to recede.
Shaking his head in sheer self-loathing, Peter hastily strapped the watch back on, quickly washed his hands, and dried them on a towel.
He checked his reflection in the mirror one last time, prayed his flushed cheeks wouldn't give him away, and pushed open the bathroom door.
"What took you so long?" Tony asked the second Peter stepped back into the workshop, not even looking up from the holographic display he was tweaking.
"I..." Peter swallowed hard. He couldn't do this. He couldn't stay in this room, surrounded by the smell of expensive cologne and ozone, with Tony’s name cold and heavy against his wrist. He needed to get out before his self-control disintegrated completely. "I have to go. Right now. I'm sorry."
Peter didn't wait for permission. He turned on his heel and made a bee-line for the elevator, his backpack slung over one shoulder. For a fleeting, hopeful second, he thought Tony was actually going to let him escape.
Then, a firm, heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, halting him right at the elevator doors.
Peter's entire body went rigid. He had to force himself to turn around and face him, praying his face wasn't as blazing red as it felt.
Tony was staring down at him, his eyebrows pulled together in a tight, analytical scowl. "Your heart rate is spiking again, Pete. It's practically off the charts."
"Oh..." Peter squeaked. Normally, he'd blabber out a dozen panicked excuses, but his brain was short-circuiting as he actively fought to keep his lower body from betraying him.
Tony’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening into a hard line. "Did Osborn text you while you were in the bathroom?"
The sharp edge in Tony's voice was unmistakable. Was he jealous? The thought of that went straight to his dick.
"Look," Tony sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he released Peter's shoulder, though he didn't step back. "If you really don't want to explain whatever's going on right now... fine. You can go. But I'm seriously starting to think this Osborn kid is becoming a threat to your focus. Or your life."
You're the threat to my life right now, Peter wanted to shout. Instead, he just bit his lip and nodded frantically.
"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter stammered, ducking his head to hide his flushed neck. "I promise I'll explain... next time. When I'm here."
Tony looked at him for a long, quiet moment before his expression softened just a fraction. He reached out, his hand sliding up to give Peter’s curls a quick, familiar ruffle—his fingers lingering against the nape of Peter's neck for a second too long.
"Great. Thanks, kid," Tony murmured, giving him a firm nod. "And stay away from Osborn. That's an order."
Hearing Tony casually issue an order, standing so close Peter could feel the heat radiating off him, was the absolute last thing his body needed.
"Right. Got it. Bye!" Peter blurted out, frantically slapping the elevator button. The doors slid open, and he practically dove inside, pressing the garage button three times in rapid succession.
As the heavy metal doors sealed shut, cutting off Tony's intense, lingering gaze, Peter slouched against the glass wall of the elevator and let out a long, miserable groan.
MJ was evil.. And worst of all, she was completely right.