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Peter is screwed, and not in a fun way. He’s finally cracked the truth serum he’s been developing, which he knows because his body is currently on fire with a desire to dish his deepest secrets. Apparently the key is to absorb it via the skin, which would’ve been great to realize before he spilled it on himself.
The worst part is he’s stuck in the compound lab with Mr. Stark, who is exactly the last person he wants to be around if he’s about to start saying things he doesn’t mean to say. His first thought is to sneak out to “grab a snack” and then spend the rest of the day locked in his room, except it turns out he’s shaking too hard to get anywhere. He tries to stand and immediately slumps onto the desk, knocking over a beaker with a loud clatter.
In a second, Mr. Stark is at his side, pulling him back onto his stool. “You okay, kid?” he asks, hand landing on Peter’s forehead. “You look a bit flushed.”
I’m fine, Peter wants to say. No big deal. But as soon as he thinks the words, pain clutches at his heart, and instead he gasps out, “No. Accidently touched the truth serum.” The pain eases. Huh. “The good news is, I think it works. The bad news is…I think it works.”
Mr. Stark immediately bursts into a concerned flurry, scanning Peter with his watch, yelping at F.R.I.D.A.Y. to monitor his vitals.
“Don’t worry, kid,” he says as he paces around him, waving his arm across various parts of his body to, presumably, get better readings. “I’ll make sure you’re okay.”
“Um, if it’s okay with you, I’d really rather just go wait this out in my room,” Peter says, because it’s true, and therefore he has to. But also it’s what he would say anyway. This is a very weird feeling.
Mr. Stark gives him a look like he’s lost his mind. “You just ingested a highly experimental, potentially toxic chemical substance, and you want to wait it out in your room? Yeah, don’t think so.”
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. could still monitor my vitals there!” Peter protests. Which is actually a very good point, but Mr. Stark looks unconvinced. “Besides, I made it, and I’m sure it won’t kill me.” That fiery hand around his chest tightens again. “Well, pretty sure,” he corrects. “It’s not supposed to kill anyone, anyway.”
That argument earns a derisive snort. “Yeah, wunderkind, don’t think so. This is an experiment.” Mr. Stark whips a needle out of nowhere and, without warning, jabs it into Peter’s arm. He somehow manages to land it perfectly to draw blood. “Experiments belong in labs. Besides, don’t you want to take the opportunity to test how well it works?”
“Not with you I don’t,” Peter says, and then immediately wants to die. He hadn’t even had time to try to think about not saying that: it just came flowing out of him, raw honesty.
Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow, setting the blood sample to the side. “Oh? Why’s that?”
Peter anticipated that follow-up, so this time he’s prepared to try to control it, attempting to shape the truth into something that he’s at least a little bit willing to say. “Because you’re you. Tony Stark. Genius billionaire superhero. Coolest person to ever want to talk to me. I don’t need you knowing my stupidest secrets.”
That seems to have worked; it’s not exactly the whole truth, but it’s enough that his body doesn’t immediately rebel. He sighs in relief.
“I’m pretty sure you, Peter Parker, don’t have any secrets that can shock me,” Mr. Stark tells him with an amused smile. “Do you know who I am? We could trade. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, that kind of thing.”
That’s almost tempting. He could probably get some good stories out of Mr. Stark. But the longer they talk, the more likely it is Peter says something he seriously can’t take back. It’s not worth the risk. “No thanks. If you insist on monitoring my vitals in person, we can sit here in silence, I guess.”
Mr. Stark looks like he wants to protest, but after a moment he nods. “Yeah, okay, whatever you want.”
Peter is in the middle of giving himself an internal high-five for somehow dodging the worst bullet in the world when Mr. Stark does the most unfair thing he could possibly do: instead of turning away, he steps closer, putting his hand on Peter’s cheek. He rubs his thumb in a gentle circle, and Peter wants to melt into it. He wants to melt into it whenever Mr. Stark touches him, but he feels it even more now, as if the serum has heightened his senses, too. Or maybe his responses to external stimulus? There’s a sharpness to the emotion, anyway, a tight urgency to a want that’s normally more like a dull thud.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mr. Stark asks, and he sounds genuinely concerned. “You look really out of it.”
Oh god. Oh god. Maybe it’s the touch, or the repeated question, or maybe it’s just that the serum gets stronger over time, but there’s no escaping it anymore: words start spilling out of Peter’s mouth, and there’s nothing he can do to stop them.
“Of course I’m not okay,” he hears himself say, like some kind of nightmare. He pulls his eyes away from Mr. Stark’s face, determined to look literally anywhere else. He focuses on the beaker he knocked over earlier. “I just took a truth serum, and I’m around you, and you’re touching me, and that makes it really, impossibly hard not to say that I want you to keep touching me. Oh my god, literally impossible. I literally just said it. And now I’m going to keep talking.” He takes a breath, tries to scramble to a stop, but it doesn’t work. “I always want you to keep touching me. Whenever you touch me. Not just when I’m on this drug. Also when you’re not touching me. Just, all the time. Because I’ve had a huge crush on you since, like, forever.”
For a second, he thinks that’s it, that at least he’s managed to hold a little back—not that the speech he just gave isn’t enough for him to want to crawl into a hole and never come out—but then the fire is back, twisting harder, burning through his gut, as if the drug has somehow realized he’s kept a secret and is punishing him for it. He tries to resist, but he only manages to last for a few seconds before adding, “Correction: I’ve had a crush on you forever. I’ve been for real, very seriously in love with you for at least a few years.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “And now I want to die,” he adds, and at least his voice sounds honestly frantic. Maybe Mr. Stark will have some pity on him, put him out of his misery kindly. “I actually want to die. Though for the record, the serum seems to be working pretty well. Guess I’m kinda a genius.”
He risks a glance at Mr. Stark, because really, what the fuck else is he going to do at this point? To his frustration, the expression he’s met with is soft and affectionate, small smile dancing across Mr. Stark’s lips and into his eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Peter groans. “It isn’t fair.”
“How do you think I’m looking at you?” Mr. Stark asks, and his hand slides from Peter’s cheek down his body, landing on his hip. He steps closer, invading his space.
“Like you think I’m adorable,” Peter replies, looking away again. He vaguely considers fighting the rest of the words clawing at the back of his throat, but every second he resists hurts more; the drug is definitely getting stronger. He kind of actually is a genius, except for the part where he spilled it on himself. “You always look at me like I’m so fucking cute. Like a kid. And I get it. I am just a kid to you. It makes sense, but it’s the fucking worst. You know, I was stupid enough that after you and Ms. Potts split up, I actually hoped, for a second, that maybe you could look at me like that one day.”
“Like what?” Mr. Stark asks, inching closer, and what, is he just trying to torture Peter at this point? Is finding out how well the serum works worth this?
“You know, like an adult,” Peter answers through gritted teeth, keeping his eyes trained on Mr. Stark’s chest, so he doesn’t have to see his face. He is literally going to have to go into witness protection or something. “A partner. Someone you could love. Someone you could make a life with.” Please let that be enough. It’s not enough. The stupid, effective drug demands he finish the thought. “Someone you could marry.”
Mr. Stark chuckles, deep and rumbling. Peter wants to cry. This isn’t fair. “Mr. Parker, did you just propose?”
“What? No.” There’s that tug at his heart again, tight and painful. “Oh, shut up,” he hisses, looking down at his own chest, as if the drug is a sentient thing that can actually listen to him. “I’m not saying I’ve never thought about it; I’m just saying I didn’t actually just propose.”
“Yeah, I was gonna say, that’s a bit fast.” And there’s that amused tone again. Why does Mr. Stark seem to be finding all of this so entertaining? It’s just mean. “You should probably at least let a guy buy you dinner first.”
Oh god, if he’s going to start teasing him about this right now, Peter will have to run away. Sure, he’ll probably fall shaking to the floor within the first few feet, but at least he’ll have made the effort. “That’s not funny.”
“Not trying to be funny.” Suddenly, Mr. Stark’s hand is on his chin, callused fingers gripping him firmly, forcing him to look up. The eyes that greet Peter are bright and joyful. “You showed me yours, I think I owe you mine. So here’s a secret for you, kid: you’ve been reading my looks all wrong.”
Before Peter can try to make sense of that thought, Mr. Stark leans in, and suddenly they’re kissing. For a second, his brain loses it completely, and when it catches up to what’s happening, Peter absolutely feels like he’s flying. Whatever it is that made Mr. Stark’s touch sharper and stronger is punching through this moment, too; it’s like the entire room is lit up. The kiss only lasts a few seconds, but by the time Mr. Stark pulls back, Peter is breathless.
“That’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, and then immediately groans. “Sorry, that makes me sound really lame. I think this drug is doing something to my senses. Everything is extra heightened. Not that kissing you isn’t also objectively the best thing that ever happened to me, because I think it is. Fuck. Please feel free to stop me at any time here. What just happened? What was that?”
Mr. Stark chuckles again, and takes his hands. “That, Peter, was my way of saying that I definitely see you as someone I could marry.”
Nope. What? Nope. There is no way he heard that right. Right? He can’t have. Right? What?
Peter sits blinking in silence for long enough that Mr. Stark starts to look worried. “Pete, you okay?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” Peter says, because it’s true. He doesn’t have a choice here, he has to share. “Are you serious right now?”
“Completely.” Mr. Stark lifts Peter’s left hand, pressing his lips to his ring finger. “I’m not saying we should go to Vegas this very moment. I’m just saying—I don’t see you as a kid, kid.”
“You can see how that would be confusing,” Peter says, because—honestly—he’s at a loss for any other words. “What with calling me kid all the time.”
Mr. Stark laughs and drops his hand. “Fair. But please don’t make me stop, I’m so bad at dropping nicknames.”
“No, no, that’s okay.” Literally anything would be okay right now. “I like it. I’m just—absorbing.”
While Peter absorbs, Mr. Stark scans him again. His vitals must be fine, because Mr. Stark nods encouragingly and pulls up an extra stool.
“So,” he says, planting himself less than a foot away. He grabs Peter’s hands again. Peter is starting to get used to that. He could get very used to it. “I’m assuming that whole tirade is what you were trying to avoid before?”
“Yeah,” Peter agrees. He still hasn’t absorbed. He’s probably going to need a lot more time. “Pretty much.”
“So, up for testing the serum with something a little less earth shaking?” Mr. Stark adds a smile, big and bold. “I mean, if we’re going to get married one day, we should probably be able to tell each other the truth.”
Peter feels himself smiling back. Maybe he’ll get those good stories after all.
“Yeah, okay,” he agrees. “Where do you want to start?”