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The Puzzle that is Peter Parker

Summary:

Peter is reeling from the after-effects of the spider bite and seeks out Tony Stark. If anyone can teach him how to be a superhero, it's Ironman, right? Tony isn't impressed at being stalked by an eight year old

Notes:

This is going to be a family type story - and a lot different from my usual fare as far as the relationship between Tony and Peter. But it's in my head busting to get loose, so here we go

Chapter Text

Tony Stark’s apartment was expensive in every aspect. It was a penthouse, proving to anyone who looked up that he could afford the very best, and – not coincidentally – offering the billionaire the opportunity to do what he did best; look down on the world as beneath him. It was a wide open floor plan, with expensive art of the walls, and hardwood flooring until the kitchen, where there was marble tile that matched the marble counter tops, black splash and accented the expensive appliances and oak and marble kitchen island.

The couch was the finest leather, the electronics were all beyond high-end, since tech was something that he knew better than pretty much anyone in the world. None of it showed, of course, but there was a TV that would come out of the ceiling, and with the access he had to the net and the web, he could stream anything, anywhere and at any time that he wanted. The fireplace was gas, but he preferred that, It was cleaner and neater than using wood, and it didn’t make his clothes smell like smoke.

Beyond the living area, there was a dining table that was big enough to seat four – and rarely used for more than one or two, at the most, There was a balcony that gave an amazing view of the city below, with a grilling area and a gas fire pit with lounge chairs and a safety rail. It also afforded Stark the perfect landing platform to come home without deactivating his suit. He could fly in and out whenever he wanted, and could avoid the annoying people who always clamored for his attention.

It was great being rich and famous – but only when it was convenient for him.

At the moment, it was very convenient. The door opened and he bowed, mockingly, as he waved a hand toward the living room. With a somewhat annoying high-pitched giggle, the woman he was with entered his apartment, clinging to his other arm, and looking around with interest.

And why not? It was Tony Stark’s abode, after all.

“Nice place.”

He shrugged, releasing himself from her hold with more alacrity than was polite, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“It keeps the rain off my head.”

She smiled at that, and Tony watched as she walked around the room, looking at the paintings on the walls, and running her hand along the back of the sofa. He’d spent the evening in her company, having chosen her out of the legion of women who had made sure to swarm around him at the cocktail party that Pepper had hosted at the art gallery. Not because she was any better than any of the others – they all looked the same to him, really, and tended to blur into one single fawning form, eventually (the only exception being Pepper, who had made it clear that their relationship was going to be platonic) – but because she was the one that made Pepper scowl the most when he’d flirted with her.

That had been enough for Stark. He’d laid a hand on her elbow, claiming her as his own for the evening, and had then used her as a shield against all the others, while at the same time remaining aloof enough that she couldn’t say he’d made any promises, verbal or otherwise and try to hold him to any kind of commitment.

Tony Stark didn’t do commitment well.

She walked over to the full bar that ran the length of one wall, near the bedroom, and looked back at him, artfully raising an eyebrow.

“Buy me a drink?”

“Sure.”

He walked over, opening a $400 bottle of wine without bothering to look and see what it was. He wafted the cork under her nose, and she closed her eyes, breathing in the aroma, delicately.

“Nice.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

Her eyes opened, looking up at him, smoldering with sexual tension, as one hand took the glass that he poured, and offered her, while the other ran down the front of his shirt, seductively. She took a sip of the wine and then set the glass aside, while her fingers hooked the buckle of his belt.

“Let’s move the party to the sofa.”

He smirked, not even bothering to hide how smug he felt, just then. Sometimes – most times – it was just too easy. The billionaire nodded, downing his own drink, and then allowed her to pull him over to the sofa, and then down onto it. She followed, sitting beside him – he was a little disappointed that she didn’t just straddle him, right then and there – and leaned over to kiss him, while her hand began to work his belt, fingers brushing against the front of his slacks, lightly.

Tony caught her lips with his, tasting the expensive wine and the lip balm she was wearing as he allowed his own hand to slide down her shoulder, following the curve of her breast until he had a handful of her. She moaned in appreciation, and he deepened the kiss as he debated how he wanted her – and where. A quickie on the sofa? Or did he want her in his bed overnight? He felt her undo his belt, and heard her chuckle – although he didn’t know what she was so pleased by. He wasn't even hard, yet.

“Excuse me…” the voice made Tony’s eyes open. It wasn't hers – and it sure as hell wasn't his. He turned toward the back of the sofa, and – incredulously – saw a small boy standing there, watching them. He was short, and had a thin, blue t-shirt and worn jeans, with old sneakers that had a hole in the toe of the right one. All of this was taken in an instant’s glance, and his gaze went to the boy, who had chestnut-colored hair with curls most women would kill for and big, expressive, brown eyes. “Could I get a glass of water?”

The woman lurched to her feet as if shot out of a cannon.

“What the hell? You have a kid?”

Tony scowled, more annoyed at her fury than anything. He looked up at her, and then over at the boy, blankly, and then back up at her.

“No. I’ve never seen-“

“Fuck off, Stark,” she interrupted. “I’m not here to be your personal show for some little kid. I-“

Tony stood up, too.

“Jessica-“

Janice.”

“Janice. I don’t know who he is.”

“I’m out of here…” Muttering under her breath, she stopped long enough to pick up her purse before stalking across the room and whipping open the door, before looking back at him. “Don’t bother calling me.”

He hadn’t planned to, anyway, of course, but he still winced when she slammed the door. Shocked into dumb silence at the sudden turn of events, and at the appearance of some little kid that he knew he hadn’t seen before, Tony could only stare at the boy, who shuffled his feet, looking a little nervous.

“Water?” he repeated. “Please?”

Still staring at him Tony walked over to the bar, pulled a bottle of water from the minifridge and poured it into a glass before handing it over.

“Thank you.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry your friend left.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Peter…”