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The first time Tony tried May's cooking was when they met. The walnut date loafs weren't too bad, per se. Well, they were, but Tony just chalked it up to the fact he's never been a fan of dates.
The second time was when she invited him over for dinner. Peter warned him beforehand that May isn't really the best cook, but he's a teenager, teenagers exaggerate.
It turned out he really wasn't exaggerating. The lasagna she made was just…. not good. Not good at all. It was hard in all the wrong places, soft in others. It tasted like ass. Actually. Not that Tony told her that. He just stomached as much as he could, followed Peter to dump rest of his plate into the trash when May left to use the bathroom, and later raved to her about how great it tasted.
It's been a couple months since then, and Tony just keeps digging the hole deeper for himself. Since Peter started actually interning for Stark Industries, May's been inviting Tony over more and more. He's pretty sure she's just trying to discern whether he's safe for her kid to be around. Tony gets it, he'd be worried too if he were in her shoes.
Today it's cookies. He doesn't even know what kind they're supposed to be. His first guess was chocolate chip, but now that he's on his second cookie it takes more like oatmeal.
Because, yes, he's eaten two of them now. May has watched him eat an entire box of donut holes in one sitting, she would not believe he got full after one cookie. Especially not with how closely she's been watching him all evening.
"So," she begins, resting her chin on her hand, "how are they?"
"So good," Tony replies immediately. He forces another bite down his throat before grinning at her. "You've gotta give me the recipe."
"I mean, if you really like them…"
She knows.
Tony doesn't know how, or when he gave himself up, but she knows. She has to.
"I do," he says anyways, because he started this lie and damnit he's gonna see it through.
When May's eyebrows furrow, Tony smiles wider. He shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth. And he is so glad he used to get dared to eat weird shit in college, else he probably would've thrown up on her nice couch by now. The cookie is somehow both crunchy and wet. He's not even sure how that's possible.
"Mm," he moans, licking the chocolate (or raisins? maybe?) off his lip. "These might actually be the best cookies I've ever had." Actually, the best cookies Tony ever had were made by Mrs. Jarvis. Hanukkah, 1978. Tony will never forget them. But what's another little white lie?
May grins. "You want another?"
Tony's stomach actually churns at the idea, but May is clearly onto him and there's no way in hell he's turning back now. "Please."
"Great." May smiles, grabbing another cooking off the plate and handing it to him. Tony's pretty sure this ones even more burnt than the last two. Yeah, he thinks, she's definitely doing this on purpose.
May doesn't give anything away. She just grabs her coffee, taking a long sip. Tony catches her eye over the mug, and this woman has the audacity to smile at him.
Tony's chest does that stupid little thing it has started doing around her. That little floaty, shook up feeling. Tony takes a bite of the cookie, which successfully forces him to shove those feelings away because oh God is that fucking burnt. It takes everything in him not to gag, but he manages to push that down as well.
He takes a deep breath. Steadying himself.
"You know, you don't have to eat them if you don't like them," May says. Which is exactly what he was hoping she wouldn't say.
Tony hesitates, watching her. She doesn't seem teasing or anything, nor does she seem particularly offended by the idea of him not liking her cooking. He… supposes the lie has run it's course.. "They're.. not my favorite," he says.
"Oh," May sighs immediately, shoulders slumping, "thank god."
"What?"
"I thought you were going to keep eating them," she laughs. "Even Peter couldn't stomach them, and he'll eat anything nowadays."
"I would have," Tony replies. Because apparently all subtlety has decided to dive out the window.
"I'm sure." May laughs again, hiding behind her mug now. "I mean, you ate that pasta last week. Which.. is pretty impressive. I didn't think you'd be able to."
Wait… what? What does she mean able to? Tony blinks. "I'm sorry?"
"Tony, you think after fifty-three years I wouldn't know I'm a shit cook?"
"You knew?!"
"Of course I knew," May scoffs. "Peter was a very honest kid. He made sure to tell me every time I burnt his breakfast."
"What the fuck?" Tony hasn't felt this blindsided in a while. "And you were just letting me eat it?"
"Well, at first I was trying to.. I don't know.. subtly intimidate you? Or something? By feeding you crap?" May laughs again, waving her hand in a 'moving on' gesture. "But then you kept telling me how good it was, even though I knew it wasn't, and I wanted to see how long you'd keep lying."
"Wow." He cannot believe this. Really, he can't. "These last four months have been a lie."
"Well how do you think I felt? I was starting to think my cooking might actually be good."
"See? That's another lie." Tony points at her accusingly. "But touché, I suppose."
"You suppose," May repeats.
"I do." Tony smiles, watching May laugh again. At his joke. Because of him. That probably shouldn't make him feel as happy as it does. "Okay," he adds, unable to leave a silence alone, "so, I need to know… is it… chocolate chip…?"
"It's blueberry."
"Blueberry?!"