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Tony Stark is pretty sure he's genderqueer.
This is the first time he's actually said—thought?—the word. And he's already decided it would be the last.
He's not in denial, despite what Peter's claimed. He just… well, he's Tony Fucking Stark. He's had his persona set up since he was a teenager. Cocky, playboy, jokester. He's already added 'hero' to that, and has slowly been easing out the 'playboy' part, though it hasn't done much for public opinion. Tony's pretty sure he could declare celibacy and the title would still stick to him. Once a whore always a whore.
Anyway, all that to say gen- that word, has never been a part of it.
Sure, okay, he wears dresses sometimes. And yeah, he paints his nails and wears heels and makeup. (All celebrities wear makeup, though. Cap wears makeup, and he's like the manliest man Tony knows. So, frankly, Peter can shut the hell up—)
"You okay, hon?"
Tony lifts his head from where it had been resting on May's chest.
Apparently, after weeks of talking about Tony's "weirdities" (his phrasing), Peter's succesfully gotten to his head, because Tony had just "come out" to May.
She took it pretty well, actually. Tony had been worried. Which is something he is perfectly capable of admitting to himself, thank you very much. May is.. amazing. And she doesn't need her boyfriend going through an identity crisis at 48-fucking-years-old. He's too goddamn old for this shit. Yet, here he is.
He sighs, nuzzling her. "Yeah," he mumbles against her collar. He tired himself out with all the opening up he did today. He can't remember the last time he felt this exhausted. (Though, that's probably moreso as result of his growing memory issues than anything else.)
"Okay," May whispers into his hair. "Just sleep, pretty girl." Her words are followed by a kiss to Tony's scalp. And he hates how quickly the smile comes onto his face, how light just a simple word makes him feel. He hides it in her chest.
Time to go to sleep and hopefully be able to pretend none of this happened come morning.