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Peter does not like parties. It’s not that he didn’t try to like them, but he doesn’t. It’s too loud and crowded and all the sweaty bodies of strangers cramped together, most (if not all) of them intoxicated or under some type of substance influence, make him nervous and uncomfortable. Toss in that he usually doesn’t like the music they play, feels awkward trying to dance, doesn’t enjoy alcohol and almost always spends most of the night trying to keep pushy, drunk college kids out of his pants; and there’s not much of a reason for him to attend. Except that Ned really, really wanted him to go tonight. Because unlike Peter, Ned came out of his shell in college and actually enjoys being swallowed up in the crowd. He told Peter once that it feels like getting lost, in a good way, and it helps him relax. Helps him stop thinking about school and life and problems and just dance to shitty pop and flirt with people who actually flirt back. And the girl Ned likes (read: drools over) is at this party. Ned had to go, and he desperately needed a wingman. “It’ll be fun” he’d said. Well. Peter isn’t having fun. Ned disappeared a long time ago, but Peter doesn’t blame him. There’s spin the bottle and tequila and the girl of his dreams somewhere in this frat house, so Peter wishes him luck, wherever he is, and tries to make himself invisible by the snack table. “Hey Parker! Never thought I’d see you here,” someone says behind him, and then a large hand is slapping his shoulder and Peter turns to see-- Wade. Fuckin’ Wade Wilson. Don’t get him wrong; Peter likes the guy. Beneath his crude language and dark humour and terrifying apathetic attitude about ‘living life to the fullest’, Wade is a really good, kind, loyal guy. It’s just that there’s a lot of crude language and dark humour and terrifying apathetic attitude to him, and it’s often overwhelming. Even more so when Peter thinks he’s getting hearing damage and no matter where he goes in this house, something smells like cigarettes and sweat. “Yeah, I don’t usually come to these things.” Peter admits, pouring himself some punch. Is there alcohol in this? He doesn't think so, he had some before. It’s incredibly sweet, but doesn’t have the pang of liquor, so he’s assuming its safe. He’s thirsty and anxious and the water in this building tastes like pure lead. The faucet’s broken now, anyways. Some guys trying to tackle each other to the ground or something, Peter didn’t see it happen. Wade smiles wide at him. It’s reassuring, if Peter’s honest. As psychotic as the senior is, he’s a really good person and knows how to make Peter laugh (without making his usual death or sex jokes). “Well I’m glad you’re here, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, actually,” Wade says. Peter cocks an eyebrow and takes a sip from his plastic cup. The liquid inside is bright pink and… is that glitter? He doesn’t know, but it goes down fizzy. “Really? What about?” He asks. Wade leans against the snack table, body facing the crowd but turning his head to Peter. “Don’t take me for a buzz-kill, but; your apartment. The building you live at. You mentioned before that it’s cheap and I was wondering exactly how cheap, because I’m graduating next semester and I’m gonna need a place to live.” He explains. That’s right, Peter thinks. Wade lives in the dorms now. A fact that Wilson’s prank horror stories have made the younger man familiar with. He takes another sip of his punch. It’s really good, actually. He feels like he’s relaxing, but that’s probably from being in Wade’s comfortingly casual presence. “Yeah, yeah sure. Um, lemme think. Last month’s rent was… eight hundred? But my landlord gives me a huge discount because he was friends with my aunt and uncle and stuff. It's still cheap, but I think it's more like twelve hundred or something for other residents. The building includes utilities, though, so that was all my living expenses other than, like, food and stuff.” Peter says, glancing at Wade. The man nods his head, lopsided grin flashing, and takes a brownie off the table. Peter’s pretty sure there’s marijuana in it. “Sick, man. That’s awesome,” Wade laughs, popping the entire brownie into his mouth. Peter nods, finishing his punch. He didn’t realize he was drinking it so fast, and pours himself some more. “Mhm, and it’s quality too. Not like, super nice, but it's not a crappy place. For eight hundred a month, it’s not bad at all.” He comments, and man, he really likes this juice, whatever the hell it is. It feels nice in his stomach and he has the faintest notion that there should be warning bells in his head, because things are kinda foggy and silly and he feels light and clouded, but he embraces the relaxation. He had no idea he was so tense before now. Wade’s been watching him for a while, apparently, before cocking his head at him, narrowing his eyes. “You really like that stuff, huh?” He asks. He sounds far away, even though they’re only a foot apart and practically shouting at each other over the music. Peter just nods, drinking more. “No idea what’s in it, though,” he says, not sure exactly who he’s talking to. Wade (right, right, he’s with Wade) moves closer, snatching Peter’s cup from him and taking a sip. He hands the plastic back with a skeptical smirk. “I dunno, but if I had to guess, I’d say vodka.” Peter coughs, setting the cup down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve to clear the drop of punch that he’d hacked up onto his lip. “Vodka?! No way,” He looks at the punch with wide eyes. It didn’t taste alcoholic at all to him, but then again, he doesn’t have a lot to compare to. “Shit,” he giggles, because for some reason that’s funny. Wade chuckles beside him and throws an arm around his shoulders. “Welp, since you’re definitely getting drunk already, might as well go big.” He laughs, refilling Peter’s cup and holding it out to him. He pauses to pull away for a second though, giving Peter a serious look. “Unless you don’t want to,” he starts, “because if you don’t want to drink anymore, I’ll chug this and like, help you get a ride home or something.” Peter thinks about it seriously (he hopes he’s thinking seriously, but he’s not sure if he’s standing or floating right now. Whatever it is, it feels cool) for a minute. And then he decides that Wade’s kinda right; he’s already tipsy, he might as well take advantage of the experience. If he hates it, which somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he will, at least he can say he’s gotten wasted at a college party. “Yeah, I wanna drink,” he confirms, giving Wade a grin. Wade smiles back and hands him the cup, pulling him off into the mass of bodies. Peter thinks he’s stayed with Wade the rest of the night, but he’s not sure. They danced for a while and Peter would’ve felt stupid (because apparently at college parties, people don’t really dance, they pick someone in the crowd and have standing sex with clothes on, so he probably looked like a fool jamming out without grinding on anybody), but he’s definitely too drunk to care. At some point someone had their hips pressed against his ass and a girl he didn’t even see the face of definitely flashed him her chest, but Peter can’t even remember that stuff, really. He played ‘never have I ever’ and won because he’s the virginiest virgin to ever virgin at that party, having only kissed Liz in high school and been on a failed homecoming date, and that’s it. He thinks someone tried to convince him to go into a dark room with them, but then suddenly Wade had been there and the other person was gone and they’d gone back to acting like idiots. And now they’re here, outside Peter’s apartment building. Wade’s girlfriend Vanessa was driving them (she’s the nicest, coolest girl in the entire world, Peter thinks, and when Vanessa and Wade both laugh he realizes he said that out loud) and now Peter’s fumbling with the door handle. He gets it just as Wade is reaching over to help him and stumbles out of the car, thanking them both a bunch. “Want me to walk you in?” Wade asks, and Peter wonders how Wade has any logical or remotely sober thoughts left. He drank way more than Peter did. Maybe Peter’s just a lightweight? Probably. “N-no thanksss, ‘m good!” Peter says cheerfully. He honestly feels like he’s on cloud nine, but he also kind of has to puke and his head is sort of pounding. “You sure? I’m thinking maybe I should walk you in, Petey-pie,” Wade presses. Peter swats his hand at him and makes a ‘pshhh’ sound, giggling. “‘m alright, I can handle walking to my door, Wade,” he says, thinking his voice sounds silly in his head. Wade gives him a look and tries a few more times, but Peter brushes him off as he makes his way towards the door. Eventually Peter swipes his card at the entrance and waves to Wade and Vanessa, shouting thanks to them and heading inside. The stairs up to his apartment (he lives on the third floor, because god hates him or something) are hellish, but he makes it up, stumbling over his own feet. Since when are his legs so shitty at being legs? He doesn’t know. He sort of slumps against his door when he gets there and fishes through his pockets for his keys. Now that he’s away from the music and the games and the influx of liquor, he’s crashing and just really wants to go to bed. But he can’t find his keys in his jacket pockets, or his pants pockets. He checks all his pockets and his shoes and even his underwear, multiple times, but there’s still no sign of his keys. Great, he thinks. Fucking perfect. He’s going to have to get a new lock and new keys and his eyes feel really, really heavy. Peter checks his phone. It’s past three in the morning, and he wants to die. There’s no one he can call right now. Not management, not a locksmith, nobody at this hour. He’s so tired right now. He’s got his forehead against his door and a grimace on his face and he’s groaning, wondering what the floor would feel like to sleep on when a voice comes from down the hall. “Peter?” Peter whips his head around, which, ouch, too fast, and sees-- Oh shit. Damnit. Steve and Tony Stark-Rogers. Peter’s neighbors a few apartments down the hall. Two of the kindest, smartest, and most genuinely friendly men Peter’s ever met. Tony’s a genius and Steve is an incredible artist; they’re way too rich and talented to be living in this building. So much so, that Peter had asked them about it before. Tony explained that they’re having a house built, which is actually taking longer than planned because of weather and construction errors, and are just living in the building for a while until their real house is ready. It makes a lot of sense, Peter thinks. Tony owns a company that dabbles in pretty much anything engineering related, and Steve’s art has sold for thousands. They’re incredibly polite and both very socially inclined; conversation with them flows easily despite Peter being an awkward hermit and they regularly give him food. Food. Real, good food. Which is like a lottery to a 20-year-old college kid paying his own rent and tuition. Almost on a schedule, they catch Peter in the lobby or the hall, or knock right on his door, offering him leftover or excess meals. Spaghetti that they made too much of, rolls with a bigger yield than expected. Soup that’s just “so good, Pete, you’ve gotta try it”. Peter turns into a jelly pile of thanks every time, and they just smile so warmly at him and tell him it’s no big deal. Tell him they remember what it’s like to be in college, tell him he should be eating good food all the time. So they’re super nice and smart, have their lives together, are funny as hell (taking banter like a married couple to a new level, and one time Peter caught them having a water gun fight in the freaking lobby); all in all, wonderful people to be around. Oh, yeah, and they’re both really, really attractive, too. Peter would rather off himself than admit it, because he’d die of embarrassment if he ever did, but he’s crushing hard on his neighbors. Which is sick and foolish, when he thinks about it, because they’re in their early thirties and married and would never, ever want anything to do with a scrawny nobody like Peter. But god, Peter would be a liar if he said he doesn’t stare at the way Steve’s arms flex when he carried something up the stairs. How absolutely chiseled Tony’s jaw is. He’d be a liar if he said he doesn’t notice (with no small supply of appreciation) how tall and downright broad and intimidatingly gorgeous they both are. So when he sees them, standing a few doors down with some brown paper bags in their hands, looking at him with concern on their perfect faces, Peter wants to throw himself off a bridge. “Um, uh, h-hi, hey,” he stutters out, and he knows his face is red. Though in his defense, that could be the alcohol. Steve smiles at him with his perfect teeth and it looks gentle. “You alright, kid?” He asks. Peter swallows hard. “Y-yeah, yeah, I’m, uh, I’m good. Good. H-how are you?” He says, because he’s a dumb idiot apparently. Tony smirks at him. It’s too sexy and Peter has to lean against his door now, but again, that might be the alcohol. “We’re good, just got back from a late-night run,” he begins. Peter likes his voice. “Sometimes you just need fettuccine at three in the morning, you know?” He laughs, and Steve chuckles with him, and Peter laughs too. If it was someone else, the laugh would be real. That was funny. But this is Tony, and Steve, and Peter thinks he’s dying. “Yeah, c-cool.” What the hell, Parker? Why isn’t your voice working? Peter wants to crawl away into his room but he can’t and it’s driving him crazy. “Uh, any particular reason you’re standing outside?” Steve prompts. Oh. Oh no. Peter can’t tell them, he can’t tell them, that’s so embarrassing and irresponsible, he needs to come up with an excuse, right now, he- “Just, just checking out the hallway. Yup.” You’ve gotta be kidding me. This is it. His life: over. Steve and Tony look at each other, share a glance that Peter doesn’t understand and the boy shuffles uncomfortably on his feet.
“Lost your key?” Tony asks, and Peter knows that it’s definitely not the alcohol making him turn beat red now. “Um, I, I mean, k-kinda,” he stumbles over his words. He's trying to think of some way he can make this less mortifying. “Was that before or after you got wasted?” Steve prompts with a knowing grin. Peter freezes up a little and doesn’t know what to say. Technically, it’s illegal for him to drink. Were they, no, they wouldn’t make a fuss about it, right? They’re too nice, they won’t- “Easy, kid, relax. No big deal. Happens to the best of us,” Tony soothes, putting up a hand. Peter takes a deep breath (didn’t realize he’d been holding it) and nods, an awkward huff that should have been a reassured laugh coming out of his lungs. He offers them a smile instead, hoping it conveys something positive about this conversation because really, he’s ready to slink into a dark hole and never come out. “You tried calling anyone?” Steve begins, walking towards him. Oh no, no no no, this is bad. Peter wants to step away but his knees will surely give out if he moves, so he stays still and watches Steve walk up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. A hand on his shoulder. Peter’s soul leaves his body for a second. Peter shakes his head, then does his best to articulate the clarification that no one’s open. He makes the grave mistake of, under Tony’s scrutiny, admitting he’s thinking about camping out in the hall until someone’s hours start the next (well, more like later this) morning. A mistake, because the Stark-Rogers couple is not having that. No way will they let Peter just wait in the hallway. The very least they can do is let him hang out in their apartment. Maybe he should sleep, too? The couch is really nice, Steve assures, if Peter’s comfortable with that, but either way they’re not leaving unless Peter is coming with them. And Peter, drunk off his ass and weak in the presence of these men, (and kind of a push-over who’s bad at rejection, polite or otherwise) can only refuse for so long before Steve wraps an arm around his waist and guides him down the hall. Peter stops breathing, and this time he’s aware of it. He’s consciously holding his breath, because he’s afraid that one wrong move will shatter this obvious fever dream and he’ll be back somewhere (the hall or even the frat party, most likely) else, not in Steve and Tony’s living room. The two men set their bags on the table, a very nice table, and Tony prompts Peter to take his coat off. Peter obliges and thanks them like a mantra until Tony tells him to hush with the thanks, they’re just doing the decent thing. “Besides,” the man continues, filling a pot with water because, right, they want pasta, that’s why they’re up at this hour in the first place. “Who would pass up the opportunity to have a cute boy in their apartment?” He smirks, turning on the stove burner.
Peter must have heard him wrong. Did Tony just call him cute? No, no way. Peter’s either hearing things or mis-interpreting things. Either way, he’s hammered and tired and stupid on a wave of crush-adrenaline and Tony did not call him cute. He sits at the table with them, drinking profuse amounts of water at the couple’s insistence, while they cook together. It’s the longest and most in-depth conversation they’ve ever had, and Peter relishes in it. Tony tells him about a mechanics project he’s working on, something for his company, and Peter tells him he’s more into bio-chem but recognizes what Tony’s talking about. Steve asks Peter a lot of questions about his life, and Peter tries to answer them. They gave him crackers that taste amazing so when he tells them, after Steve’s prompting, that his parents died when he was young and his uncle Ben was murdered when he was in high school, he feels sad and low but it doesn’t actually register to him that he’s telling other human beings this. Not until Steve cups his cheek and tells him he’s sorry. Peter goes beat red and almost falls out of the chair from lurching back. He bursts into a stream of apologies, assuring them he didn’t mean to drop that bombshell like that, that he’s ok, etc. Tony hushes him and rubs his back and tells him it’s ok, and Peter swallows the lump in his throat realizing how close the two men are to him. Steve saves him from himself, though, announcing that the pasta is done. They eat and chatter and Peter can swear he’s never tasted food so good in his life. The couple laugh, making him realize he’s spoken aloud again. Damnit. It’s still barely three-thirty when Peter attempts to help them clean up. Steve tells him to sit down on the couch and gives him some more water, saying he’ll have a really bad hangover later. Peter groans and says he knows, divulging that he doesn't really ever go to parties or drink, that this is kind of new to him. Somehow that hits wrong, because Peter has to spend the next five minutes convincing Steve and Tony that no, no one pressured him into going or drinking, he made all those decisions himself, he was safe all night, the works. He doesn’t realize that they’ve sat down next to him. Not at first. But then he feels the heat of their bodies on either side of his and the weight of Tony’s arm behind him, along the back of the couch, and the pressure of Steve’s hand on his knee. Peter’s absolutely fucking wasted, he realizes, because he relaxes into the space between them. It feels nice, and right, and safe. Warm. Steve starts saying something to him, but he doesn’t really hear him. Because the man’s hand is caressing his knee and Tony’s rubbing his back, and wow, Peter’s really tired. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open and yawns. He doesn’t see Tony smile or hear Steve coo at him, and he definitely doesn’t register two kisses being planted on his temples. “Peter?” Steve repeats, his voice soft and low. Peter likes it a lot. “Hm?” He hums absently. “Are you tired?” Steve asks again, and Peter giggles a little. No, not at all, he thinks. He nods though, a sleepy smile on his lips. Both men sigh contentedly. “Do you want to sleep, sweetheart?” Tony says quietly. Peter nods again. He does want to sleep. He’s exhausted, and his brain is almost entirely shut down. He’s running on nothing but instinct and maybe what’s left of the adrenaline from being in the company of the couple. “You can sleep with us, in our bed.  How does that sound?” Tony offers. His voice is gravely and deep and it makes Peter feel good things. He nods a third time, because his intoxicated, exhausted monkey brain has lost the filter of anxiety and shame and conscious logic and thinks that yeah, sleeping with his crushes, in their bed, sounds great. “Mm, good,” he adds. He’s not sure if they saw him nod, if he did it for real. Things don’t feel normal right now. Peter vaguely recognizes that he’s being lifted up bridal style, carried somewhere. Something firm and warm is holding him, and he wants to say it. “Warm,” he mumbles, happy that he got the words out, if pretty quietly. Something gently brushes his cheek and then he’s on a cloud, for sure. It’s so soft and comfortable and silky things are all around him. His shoes and socks are gone, somehow, and his jeans, too. And then his brain functions enough to realize that he’s laying in Steve and Tony’s bed, in his shirt and boxers, under their blankets, with Steve in front of him, carding a hand through his hair, and Tony behind him, soothingly rubbing his side. Peter might scream and die if he has the energy. But he doesn’t, and his head is very fuzzy, and he’s lying if he says he hasn’t dreamt about being in this position, and he’s lying more if he says he’s not happy as hell right now. He has no idea why they’re doing it, because logically it seems a little more than neighborly friendliness, but he feels so content and safe. His eyes close again and they don’t open back up. Peter feels good, really good, and more tired than he has been in a long time. So he lets the warmth and gentle hands lull him to sleep. He passes out pretty quickly, which is why he doesn’t see or hear anything shared between the couple after. Steve and Tony are smiling fondly at the small boy between them, meeting each other’s eyes with a gleam of joy. “I like this,” Tony begins. “I like having him here. In our bed. With us.” He nuzzles Peter’s hair and the boy leans back into the touch, so Tony kisses his head and grins. Steve can’t stop the good feeling he has in his chest.
“Me too,” he agrees. His hand finds Peter’s cheek and caresses it, loving the soft skin under his fingers. He gives the boy’s taut tummy a rub, too, satisfied knowing he’s sleeping full and content because of them. They took care of him. “It feels right,” Steve adds. “He feels right.” Tony nods, and leans up and over, kissing Steve above Peter. Steve returns the kiss, chaste and soft, before they get situated in their bed. Tony isn’t sure how comfortable Peter would be with his arm around him, so he settles for having his hand on his waist just below the boy’s ribs. Steve finds Peter’s small palm and lithe fingers with his, holding gently as he closes his eyes. Tomorrow morning will be something for sure. They just hope Peter doesn’t scare off. They’ll have to reassure him a lot, because there’s no doubt he’ll feel embarrassed and awkward about his drunk state (and losing his key). It's no hardship to them, though. They want to dote on him. Tell him sweet things and take care of him.  Neither man can imagine it, but the boy will probably find some reason to apologize for sleeping in their bed, like he’s done something wrong, like its a problem and it’s his fault. They’ll need to make sure he knows the opposite is true. Try to tell him how they feel about him (and know he feels the same). Ideally, if they’re being honest, Steve and Tony want him to stay forever. But maybe, maybe, if they’re lucky and things go right, the sweet boy between them will at least stay for breakfast.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“No, Ned, n-no, that’s, that’s not what I meant,” Peter says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s sitting on his bed, on the phone with his best friend, trying to make sense of his life. Ned’s silence is question enough, so Peter goes on to clarify.
“I slept with them, as in, sleeping in the same bed. I didn’t-- we didn’t have sex, ok,” He stumbles through the words and wishes he could take more meds for the hangover headache he’s got, but he can’t for another two hours. “Well what’s the problem then?” Ned asks, because apparently he’s an alien who doesn’t understand human society and that passing out drunk in a married couple’s bed is very, very far from polite. Peter sighs, exasperated, and leans back onto his bed. He lays on his back, legs dangling off, and listens to Ned try and comfort him by telling him all the ways it’s not a big deal. Unfortunately, despite Ned’s best efforts (bless him), it’s kind of a huge deal. A gigantic, extremely huge deal. And to top it off, all Peter can think about right now is how much more comfortable Steve and Tony’s bed is than his. He rubs his face with his hand. He wants to sleep more, but that’s pretty much impossible now. For the hundredth time since he left the couple’s apartment that morning (though it was damn near afternoon, actually), Peter replays the events of his time in the Stark-Rogers home. * There’s something bright outside the lids of Peter’s eyes, and he wants to block it out but he feels too heavy to move. So he frowns and nuzzles his face into the soft, soft warmth under his head, trying to get away from the bright. A quiet whimper escapes him, but he doesn’t have the capacity to care. It’s not like there’s anyone around to witness him shying away from light like it’s dangerous. A soft chuckle and the sound of a huffed smirk from above him suddenly make Peter aware that he is the very opposite of alone. He freezes, all the blood in his body running cold. Who is that? Who are they? What’s going on, what happened? Peter thinks he might be panicking so he tries to focus on breathing and remembering. Party. Party with Ned. Then Wade. And dancing. And that girl who flashed him, and ‘never have I ever’. Vanessa drove. Peter lost his key, and- Peter lost his key?
He lost his key. So, he’s not in his apartment. He can’t be in his bed right now, because he didn’t have a way to get in last night. So where--? Oh.
Oh no. Tony and Steve. Steve and Tony. And fettuccine and, and, oh fuck. Peter wants to scream or cry or die, he’s not sure yet, but he knows the faster he gets out, the better, so he forces himself to open his eyes. Unfortunately, that might not have been the best plan, because the bright is now much brighter and it hurts, really hurts. He tries to sit up as fast as he can, bringing his hand to his eyes to shield them. Of course, sitting up so quickly gives him a wicked head rush, and he thinks he’s probably dying for real now because wow is everything scrambled. Peter doesn’t realize he started to fall backwards again until there’s two large hands on his back, easing him upright. He rubs at his eyes and it takes him a second to realize someone is talking. “-easy, Pete, take it easy.” That’s Tony’s voice. Peter’s going to puke. He can feel himself hyperventilating but he forces his lungs to get their shit together enough for him to put attention on opening his eyes. He has to blink and rub them a lot, and even after he gets there, he can only make it to half-hooded before it hurts too much. Half is enough, though, because he looks down and in front of himself and sees the impressions of his legs under blankets. There are two other sets of legs, both sitting on the edge of the bed a little ways further down than where Peter’s sprawled out. He makes his lungs take in air and tries to look up. “Hey Petey, how you feeling?” Steve asks from his left. Peter barely manages to look at his face but can’t meet his eyes, instead trying to kick the blankets away and brace himself to get off this very, horribly comfortable bed. “I, I’m so sorry, I didn’t, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I’m-” he’s thinking he’ll just run with that and repeat it until he manages to get out the door, but he’s stopped by a terribly gentle hand on his shoulder and an equally gentle voice cutting him off. “No no no, none of that, kid. It’s perfectly alright. You didn’t do anything wrong, Pete, nothing wrong at all.” Tony says. He sounds so sincere and kind. “Really, really, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Peter tries again to push himself up. He manages to scoot up the bed and out from under the blankets enough to reveal to him that he’s in his boxers, which if he’s being honest, despite the situation, are way too thin to be the only thing covering his crotch in the presence of the two men beside him. He can’t believe he passed out, wasted off his ass in the Stark-Roger apartment. God, what the hell is wrong with him? There they were, being hospitable and polite, and he goes and falls asleep in their bed. Oh, hell. “Ah ah, what’d I just say? You’re fine, Peter. You needed to sleep and we’re glad you got rest. Ecstatic that you were safe in here and not on the floor in the hallway or some place worse.” Tony interrupts again, and he makes Peter want to calm down but the crushing embarrassment makes him want to jump off a cliff. “Besides, kid, having you sleeping in our bed was no hardship, I promise.” Steve chuckles, giving him this smile that’s somewhere between fond and, what is that, flirtatious? Impossible. Peter feels himself blushing and heaves a flustered sigh, looking between the two of them but avoiding eye contact. He can’t look them in the eyes now. Probably never again. “I,” he doesn’t know what to say. “T-thank you, really, thank you so much for helping me out last night. That was, this is really, really nice of you, I’m so sorry for intruding and-” is Peter ever going to get a full thought down? Apparently not. “Nonsense, sweetheart. You didn’t, aren’t 'intruding' at all. We’re glad we got to spend time with you, regardless of the admittedly unusual situation.” Steve says, but Peter barely hears anything after ‘sweetheart’. Ok, ok. Look. There’s always error. There’s always the probably more realistic than he realizes possibility, he thinks, that this is just who they are as people, being extraordinarily kind and affectionate. But the fact is, there’s an awful lot of seems-a-lot-like-flirting going on here, and Peter? He’s not sure what to make of it. He wants it to be flirting. He wants them. And that’s the problem. Is he reading this right, or is he picking up what he wants to see, to feel? He doesn’t know, and it’s making his head spin. That could also be the hangover. “T-that’s really, that’s, I appreciate that a lot, Steve, and, um, I like talking to you guys, too, but, oh man, I’m still really sorry for being so drunk and falling asleep in your apartment.” Peter doesn’t know how to respond to Steve so he tries his best to articulate his thoughts without giving away his already obvious mortification. Because boy oh boy is he mortified. Passed out hammered in his married crushes bed? He’s the antichrist, he must be. Steve gives him a reassuring smile and Tony rubs his back (oh shit, their hands are still there). “Really, Peter, it’s not a problem at all. If anything, it was pretty cute.” Tony winks, fucking winks, and holy shit, there’s no way Peter is reading this wrong, right? Right? He tries to laugh it off, then after a moment of terrible silence he starts to get off the bed. “I should go now, um, I should work on getting my apartment open, my uh, my keys and, stuff, um,” he’s about to launch into another stream of thanks that he hopes would last long enough for him to collect his clothes and get out the door. A thought strikes him that the husbands must have undressed him and he physically feels his blush darkening. “Hold up, Pete, just wait a second, alright?” Tony holds him back, ever gently, and Peter swallows hard. He thinks he must look like a deer caught in headlights or something. “Is it ok if we talk with you for a minute? And maybe after, if you’re feeling up to it, you could join us for breakfast? Tony makes great waffles,” Steve prompts, and Tony nods along. “It’s true,” he adds, smirking. Peter’s pretty sure his heart has beat out of his chest by now, but he takes a choppy breath and nods. “Good, good,” Steve begins, giving Peter a reassuring smile. It’s more effective than Peter will admit to. “Listen, Peter. Tony and I have been meaning to talk to you about this for a while, actually, but there didn’t seem to be a good time.” He says. Peter feels a painful spike go up his spine, and he recognizes it as a flash of panic-attack-induced adrenaline, because suddenly he wonders if this is about his painfully obvious crush on them. Oh god, it must be. They know, of course they do, and they’re about to break it to him that successful, married adult men do not take interest in broke, train wreck college kids who can’t even legally drink yet. He braces himself for a new layer of humiliation and holds his breath. But it doesn’t come. Turns out, he’s right, and wrong. Steve does bring up Peter’s crush on the married couple. Though, it’s only after he explains that he and Tony are also interested in Peter. As in, would like to take him to dinner with them with decidedly not platonic, neighborly intentions. If Peter would be comfortable with that, of course. At which point both men blaze on about how if Peter’s uncomfortable now, or is at any point, they’ll lay off. Change what they’re doing, leave him alone entirely. Whatever Peter feels ok with. They don’t want him to be nervous. They want him to feel the opposite; comfortable and relaxed and free. And they think they know how to help him out with that, but only if Peter’s interested. Which. Of fucking course Peter’s interested. He barely manages to vocalize this, though, because somewhere between “we know that you have feelings about us, maybe even for us,” and “you’re a very smart, sweet boy, Peter. You’ve got an incredibly good heart, not to mention you’re beautiful” his throat, lungs, and brain all stopped working. And then he’s sitting at Steve and Tony’s kitchen table again, only this time they’re eating  pancakes, not waffles. He’s dressed, they showed him where his clothes were waiting neatly on a chair in the bedroom. He’s terrified of how he must smell, but neither men seem to mind. Instead, they’re brainstorming dinner locations and times. Peter doesn’t recognize any of the names they say but one, and when it comes up, he hates to kill their frankly revitalizing excitement but he has to let them know there’s no way he’d be able to afford a place like that. Tony stares at him for a long moment before laughing, but it’s not a mocking laugh, more of genuine shock than anything. “Peter, hon, you don’t have to pay for it. This one’s on us; our treat.” He winks and Peter only fights him on it for a little while before giving up. He feels wrong, like he’s using them, but Tony is relentless. Peter, who’s kind of a hardhead himself sometimes, could learn a lot about stubbornness from Tony Stark-Rogers. When breakfast is done, dishes are cleaned (Peter helped this time, refusing to sit idly like he had early that morning after the fettuccine) and Steve has told Peter at least five different times how much water and rest he should get today, the young man is finally able to leave. Not without Tony kissing his forehead and Steve kissing the back of his hand, though. Peter knows he blushes crimson and is out the door in record timing. * The manager got him a copy key pretty fast, but he had to wait a day for a new lock. As soon as he got through his door, he’d showered and changed and cleaned away the evidence of his drunken night. He’ll never admit that he found himself marveling at the back of his hand for a few seconds. Clean and refreshed and counting down the minutes until his next dose of headache meds, Peter had chugged water and collapsed into his bed. Only after finally seeing the spam of texts from Ned did he seem to remember that there was a world outside of Steve and Tony. “Ned, I don’t think you get it. I passed out wasted between two married guys, in their bed. And then they invited me to dinner. I have no idea how I’m talking to you right now and haven’t just, spontaneously combusted yet or something.” Peter says, staring at his ceiling. Lights off, curtains closed. His eyes hurt way less. He could nap, if he wants to. “I get that you’re definitely gonna get some.” Ned says. Peter laughs at him, despite the notion making his stomach do flips. “You’re not very helpful.” “It’s one of my talents.” Peter laughs at him again. He rolls over and climbs up his bed some, pulling a blanket over him and laying his head on the pillow.

“So tell me, you and the future Mrs. Leeds. How’d that go?” He says, partly because he wants to know and wants to let his friend talk now, partly because he desperately needs a change of subject. Ned launches into full detail (“too much detail, Ned, I did not need that visual”) not a moment later, energy pouring through the phone. It has the opposite effect on Peter, and he listens and responds as much as he can before falling asleep, still on the call. Ned catches on pretty quickly, but Peter’s not awake to hear him laughing and wishing him a good nap. At 6:50pm the next evening (Sunday night, but Peter doesn’t have classes tomorrow. He doesn’t have any classes on Mondays) on the dot, there’s a knock at Peter’s door. He’s panicking, per usual. MJ was over earlier to try and help him out with his outfit, but it took them almost two hours. And Peter’s not even that dressed up. He’s wearing his nicest jeans and a button up, with his cleanest, plainest shoes and regular jacket. What if he’s underdressed? They’re rich? Alternatively, what if he’s dressed too stiff and uptight? This is about getting comfortable and he already knows the two are more than capable of goofing around. Peter’s thinking maybe this would be a good time to flee the country and change his name, but then he hears the knock and it’s too late. He stumbles to the door, taking deep breaths as he prepares to open it. When he’s not ready but as close as he’ll ever be, he slowly turns the handle. Unfair. Un. Fuckin’. Fair. Tony and Steve look hot as fuck. They aren’t even dressed up. Slacks and button ups with simple undershirts, casual looking suit jackets. Leather loafers. They look so neat and confident with an air of intimidating effortlessness. Peter doesn’t realize he’s staring until it’s too long and he stumbles over his words. “H-hey, hi,” Smooth, Parker. Steve’s smile is always gentle. Tony’s is always sexy. It’s just physics or something at this point. “Hello, Peter. You look great,” Steve flashes his perfect teeth again and Peter practically preens at the compliment. “Thank you. You look really good, too, both of you,” He actually meets Steve and Tony’s eyes this time. Point for Peter. Tony smiles at him and holds out his arm, and Peter thinks he might faint but that’s all the more reason to take it. Letting Tony’s arm and the hand Steve places on his back guide him, they leave the apartment building for the sidewalk. The restaurant, a name with lots of accents on the letters that Peter can’t possibly hope to pronounce, isn’t too far away. And the walk is surprisingly… pleasant. Peter can actually talk to Steve and Tony. He stutters a lot, because they’re so intimidatingly perfect, but he talks to them. It’s not small talk, either. Real conversations and Peter can, unexpectedly, relate to both of them. Peter likes photography, Steve dabbles. Bio chem and mechanics overlap more than he’d thought. College group projects, as it turns out, are a lot like company meetings, except “I can’t just take the 0 and not talk to the people in my group now that I run the joint”, Tony says. They have a table reserved by the window at the restaurant, and it’s one with a white tablecloth and multiple glasses and plates that probably individually cost more than Peter’s shoes. Steve and Tony get wine, and Peter politely declines, saying he’s had enough alcohol for a while. That gets him sympathetic smiles, so he fixes the mood with a joke. Peter’s pretty good with jokes. And it comes easy. The conversation and the jokes come easy, and Peter feels. Weird. Safe? Content? Good. Peter doesn’t know what any of the dishes are, so he asks Steve what he should get. Steve ends up ordering for him, and when it finally arrives, Peter is speechless. It’s a tasting platter but has enough calories to be a meal, and every single item is garnished and looks so fancy he doesn’t want to eat them. But he does, and that’s the best decision he’s ever made, because every single thing is delicious. Heavenly. He tells Steve as such, and the man glows with something like pride. Time moves too fast and the evening slips through their fingers. They leave the restaurant to walk around the city, and then watch a street show from a distance in the comfort of a park. But then it’s a little past 11:00pm and “really? Never would’ve guessed. Doesn’t feel late”, so they make their way back to the apartments. Slowly. Blatantly as slow as possible; an elderly couple with matching canes pass them. By the time they actually get to the apartment building and end up in their hallway, not one of the three is pretending that they still have the same dynamic as when they’d left. Neither Steve nor Tony nor Peter is pretending that they can say a lighthearted goodbye and waltz off to their rooms. The air is heavy between them all now. No one’s speaking, but it’s not really tense or awkward, because they’re all trying to come up with a reason not to go inside. Finally Tony breaks the silence with an exasperated sigh. For a moment (only a moment), Peter wonders if he’s changed his mind. If this ‘date’ made him think differently of Peter. “I give up,” he starts. Peter’s a little confused, and by the looks of it Steve is too. “Peter,” Tony says, and he takes Peter’s hand and, oh man, his hand is so much bigger and warmer. “Do you want to come inside with us?” He asks. Peter can’t look away from his eyes. Deep and beautiful. Beautiful. “Yes.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Peter doesn’t know or remember what happened in between (they talked, quietly, low voices saying sweet things) walking through Steve and Tony's door and where he is now, but he doesn’t care. Because he’s sitting in Steve fucking Stark-Roger’s lap. Kissing him. Holy freaking shit. Steve’s lips are on Peter’s lips and they feel so good, so soft and warm, and the man’s tongue is running along Peter’s bottom lip, and his hands are on Peter’s waist. The youngest man’s legs cage Steve’s thighs and he braces himself against the artist’s chest. When he feels Tony wrapping his arms around Peter’s middle, breathing against his neck, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Peter’s shoulder-- Peter whimpers. It’s a new sound to him, feminine sounding and quiet, but he doesn’t think the other’s mind. He feels Tony smile against his skin and Steve’s grip on his hips tightens slightly. And then Tony’s hands and slipping under Peter’s shirt. Oh, God, that feels good. Tony’s fingers ghost across his skin. Peter can feel his calluses, but they’re soft and gentle. Exploring Peter’s skin with reverence. They move higher, lower, around his sides and feeling his ribs, trailing up the dead center of his chest. One of his fingers brushes over one of Peter’s nipples and Peter takes in a short, sharp breath, barely noticeable. But Tony noticed it. He does it again, but more firmly. Intentional. Does it a third time and drags out the action. Peter gasps, and Steve grins into the kiss. Then two of the pads of Tony’s fingers are around his nipple, and- Peter whimpers, kind of a choked off sound, losing his breath and his body jerking to rigidness as Tony pinches. Steve chuckles, leaving his mouth so Peter can bite his lip and close his eyes. “Sensitive?” He asks, his voice sultry. Peter can’t respond, but it doesn’t matter, because Tony plays along. “I think he is,” He quips, and Peter can’t see it because his eyes are shut with the focus he’s putting into not losing his shit as Tony pinches and toys with his nipples relentlessly now, but he can hear, can feel Tony and Steve kissing over his shoulder. Steve leans back, pulling Peter with him, and Tony moves forward to follow with the kiss. It’s because of this that Peter feels Tony’s hard on pressing into his back. Which. Holy shit. Holy shit. If Peter wasn’t already half hard just from kissing Steve and having his nipples played with, he sure as hell would be now. Tony is hard. Tony is hard and Peter can feel it in his back. Tony is hard and Peter probably has something to do with that, which. Oh hell. Just as Peter’s thinking this, Tony leaves his nipples and gives just enough space to completely pull Peter’s shirt away. They don’t even undo most of the buttons, just enough to slip it over his head. As soon as he’s free from the fabric, Tony’s mouthing at his jaw and Steve drops his head towards Peter’s chest. And licks. Peter has never even made out with someone before. Having Steve’s mouth descending on his already sensitive (thanks for that, Tony) nipples feels like fire in the best way. It aches and Peter loves it, and Tony’s getting his whole neck wet with saliva before finding a good spot to bite down, and it all hits Peter really hard suddenly and he just moans out. It’s not loud at all, but it rings through Peter’s head and makes his ears burn. Steve and Tony, however, must like it. Because Tony leaves the hickey he made on Peter’s neck to whisper in his ear. “Like that, sweetheart? Does that feel good?” Peter can’t freaking breathe. So he just whimpers and nods his head until he thinks maybe his vocal cords might cooperate. “Y-yes,” his voice cracks and it makes him want to curl up and die at first, but Tony coos at him and kisses his jaw, and Steve pulls away to smile at him with a genuine fondness that does not belong in their current situation. “Yeah? You feel good, pretty boy?” Steve says, and the pet names are getting to him because Peter just nods again, probably looking desperate for more. Which he is, so. Fair. “We can make you feel even better, baby. Make you feel really, really good. Would you like that?” Tony asks, running his hand through Steve’s hair before bracing himself on the other man’s shoulder so he can lean forward and around, looking at Peter with a better angle. Peter looks back at him, and for all the intentions they all have, both of them look so concerned and gentle and calm, it kind of makes Peter want to cry. He swallows thickly and nods again, wetting his lips, looking at Tony in a way that likely classifies as longing, and whispers, “Yes, please.” That seems to click something in both of the men, because one second they’re on the couch and the next, Steve is carrying Peter to the bedroom. Peter yelps with the sudden movement and clings to Steve like a koala bear. This only serves to be amusing, apparently, because the husbands chuckle at him and Steve kisses his cheek, whispering in his ear, “You’re so cute.” Peter isn’t sure if it’s possible to blush as much as he is right now, but it’s happening. Steve sets him on the edge of the bed, gently, and runs a hand through his hair. It feels. Loving? Is that the word? It sounds right. It feels right. “You sure you wanna do this, Pete? You don’t have to, it’s whatever you’re comfortable with.” Steve says, and Tony sits down next to Peter, taking the smaller’s hand in his hand rubbing soothing circles into his palm. Peter, in his infinite anxiety, does actually check himself. Does he want this? Yeah, he thinks so. Does he want it now? Is he ready for this? He contemplates for a second, then looks at Tony, then back at Steve. He is ready. He does want this. Now. Like, five minutes ago, if his dick is talking. “Yeah, I do. I wanna do this. I-If you want to do it,” he has to take a breath because he thinks they know already (they seem to know everything else) but he wants to tell them, just to be sure, “I, um, I haven’t ever, I’ve never done this before at all, actually, with anyone, but if that’s ok w-with you,” he looks between the two of them again, “I want it. Want you.” He waits. He’s not sure what for, but something in the back of his head prays it’s not rejection. His answer comes in Tony kissing the side of his head and Steve cupping the opposite cheek. “That’s perfectly ok with us, sweetheart. And it’s kind of you, but you don’t need to worry about us. Believe me, Pete, we want this,” Steve says, huffing a little laugh, “We want you.” Peter nods, and then turns his head to Tony. The man grins at him, a little devilish smile, and gently takes hold of Peter’s face. He kisses lightly, softly, before putting a hand on Peter’s chest and pushing down. Peter lets Tony lean him until his back is almost against the bed, and then Tony’s wrapping an arm around his waist, hauling him up the bed. As he does, he deepens the kiss, pushing more until Peter’s head is on the pillow and Tony has him caged in. Peter… does not mind the man handling. Not at all, really. Someone’s hands are undoing the button and zipper of his pants, and he thinks it’s Steve, but he’s not sure. Either way, Tony pulls back to remove his shirt, and, oh, oh wow. Tony. Tony is ripped. Like, as ripped as Peter imagines Steve is. The man smirks when he catches Peter staring, which makes the younger blush until Tony’s kissing it off his face. Tony grinds against him suddenly, and Peter thinks if he had maybe been fifteen, he would have just creamed his pants. It feels so good. The friction, the pressure, the knowledge of who that is and what they’re doing; it’s so hot. Peter feels hot. Very hot. As in, needs to get his pants off hot. Peter doesn’t notice that Steve has removed his shirt also until the man crawls up beside Tony. He kisses his husband, much less chaste this time. There’s tongue and teeth and one of Steve’s hands tangles in Tony’s hair, tugging just a little. Peter catches a whine before it leaves his mouth, resolving not to act like a brat, and watches patiently, in awe. It’s sort of really hot, too. When Tony and Steve break away, Tony pulls back and starts taking off his belt. Steve moves forward, kissing Peter again. It’s deep this time, Steve slipping his tongue into Peter’s mouth. Normally, this would be the part where Peter freaks out about not knowing what to do, but there’s just something about these two that make him feel calm. Safe. He lets Steve guide him through the kiss, and feels the man pulling down his pant. His breath catches in his throat and Steve pauses, but Peter shakes his head for a second and nods. “You sure?” Steve asks. So quiet. Peter nods again and gives him a smile. Steve smiles back, then shucks away Peter’s jeans. Quite suddenly, Peter is very, very close to naked in Steve and Tony’s bed, and Steve is kissing him with a lot of tongue and that’s got to be Tony holding his leg, under his knee and behind his calf, kissing up from his ankle. Tony keeps going until he gets to Peter’s upper thigh, then pulls away. He touches the spot he kissed with care, skipping higher and kissing up Peter’s stomach.
Peter's hands are braced against Steve's shoulders. He kind of wants to wrap his arms around the man's neck and pull him closer, but he's not sure if he should. He's not sure if Steve would be ok with that, if he'd like it. On that note, he has no idea what either man wants. The thought has been itching at him for the last two days, but now it strikes him hard and he feels claustrophobic. What if he does something wrong?

What if he screws something up, or they have sex and decide they don't want Peter anymore? It's not impossible, it's not even unlikely, because they're made for each other and Peter is just an inexperienced kid with no appeal at all.

Peter's chest feels heavy and it's not because Tony's kissing up his ribs (which feels like heaven on skin, Peter notes) or because Steve is kissing the air out of his lungs. He feels his stomach doing a flip, realizing that he's almost naked underneath them and chances are they won't want anything to do with him in an hour (less than an hour. More? Peter doesn't know, he has no fucking idea of anything to do with sex, and that's why he feels like suddenly he needs to be anywhere but here). Peter's shoulders tense and he doesn't know if he should push Steve away or not because the man feels beyond incredible against him but he's pretty sure he's about to have a panic attack.

Steve seems to realize this, though, because he pulls away, holding himself up with one hand and touching Tony's shoulder with the other.

"Hey, Peter, Pete, easy-- it's ok, you're alright. Shh, it's alright sweetheart, what's wrong?" He says, and Peter knows he should open his eyes and apologize but his stomach has shriveled up and he thinks he might be sick. What the hell is he even doing here? How did this happen? He just waltzed right on into the couple's room like he's supposed to be there, he's been letting them treat him and taking advantage of all their kindness, and now he's here and doesn't know what to do, he has not idea at all of what to do and he's fucking scared.

"Come on, Peter, talk to us baby. What's going on?" Tony prompts. Peter didn't realize he was moving but he forced himself to open his eyes and sees Tony level with Steve now. They've backed off a bit, higher up and further down, giving him space. They look so concerned and attentive and Peter might actually puke. Oh god, oh holy shit. He's the antichrist, he's such a prick, and he's absolutely terrified and he doesn't know what to do or what to say.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just, I, I don't know-" he's breathing too fast and he knows it. He tries to slow his lungs down while Steve puts a comforting hand on his side, soothing around Peter's hip. “It’s ok, it’s ok, just breathe. Just breathe, honey,” The man whispers, and Peter closes his eyes again. Right. Right right right. This will only get worse if he hyperventilates and passes out, some distant logical part of his brain reasons, and he calls to those thoughts of his left side brain. Crowds his own head with all the reasonable things and panic tips he can, trying to drown out how wrong and ridiculous it is for him to be here. He’s vaguely aware that Steve and Tony keep whispering to him, their voices calm and controlled and soft, but he doesn’t understand the words. He builds walls in his mind and channels all his attention to correcting his breathing. An irrigation system for his thoughts, tearing up anything that’s not ‘slow down, deep breath’. When he does calm down enough, he lets out a long breath. He didn’t realize he’d dropped his arms over his face, hiding his eyes behind his forearms, until he tries to open them. He doesn’t know what to say other than croaking out: “Sorry…” And then he waits. Waits for, fuck, he doesn’t even know what. He finds out when he hears, what the hell, a laugh? A sort of wrecked sounding huff, like what someone might make if they almost tripped but didn’t, and were somewhere between amazed and shaken at the close call. A laugh like an aftershock. “Don’t be sorry, Peter. You have nothing to apologize for,” Tony begins, his hand on Peter’s stomach. A light touch, barely there, but Peter can feel the warmth. “That, this, this was inconsiderate of us. It’s your first time, we shouldn’t have overwhelmed you like that.” He finishes, and now Peter feels equal parts mortified and like an asshole, because Tony’s apologizing like either of the men have done anything wrong. Even the concept sparks Peter, and he quickly removes his arms, trying his best to sit up. “No, no way, that’s, you didn’t do anything wrong, I, it was really good I just,” Peter takes a deep breath and shifts back, away from them, pulling his legs out from under the men hovering above him and holding his knees to his chest. “I didn’t mean to make this uncomfortable, I just. You guys have been so nice to me, and I didn’t actually do anything to deserve that, and now we’re here and I’ve never done anything even remotely close to this before, and I have no idea what to do, and I know I’m gonna do something wrong, and I’m sorry, I’m just-” “Scared?” Steve cuts him off, his eyebrows raised but his eyes kind. Peter swallows the lump in his throat and nods. The two men share a look with each other, then offer Peter gentle smiles. “Look, Peter, if you’re not ready for this, we don’t have to do it now. We don’t have to do anything at all, ever, unless you’re comfortable with it, ok? And that idea that you have to do something to deserve people’s kindness-- that’s not true, kid. You deserve all the kindness in the world just by being the person you are. We want to treat you, Peter. You’re worth it. Like it’s so terribly difficult to take such a sweet boy out to dinner and kiss him, anyways.” Tony pauses to let Peter smirk a little. The man’s really good at lightening the mood. Peter’s grateful. “It’s ok to be scared and not know what to do, sweetheart. Think I had any clue what the hell I was doing my first time? I’ll give you a hint; the answer is no. Not at all,” All three of them chuckle a little. “We don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with; we can take it at whatever pace you like. But listen, Pete. I think you’ve got a lot going on in that beautiful head of yours, and I think it’s making it hard for you to relax. We can help with that, though, we can help you-- but you’ve got to trust us. Trust us to guide you through it. If you want to try, we’ll teach you what to do.” Peter’s silent for a moment. The couple are both being so sweet, so caring, it’s making Peter emotional. A lot more than he thinks he should be. But what Tony said is bouncing around in his head, and it makes sense. Peter’s well aware that he’s a nervous wreck and it affects a lot (read: most) of the things he does. He believes them, mostly, when they say he’s not being a burden to them. And yes, he feels selfish and out of place and terrified, but he thinks that just proves the point. He wants this, he does. Wants them so much. He should trust them. Can he? He thinks so. But will it even work out? Or is Peter about to spend who knows how long freaking out inside his head? God, he’s so fucking scared. And that settles his decision. He wets his lips and meets Tony’s eyes. They’re always gorgeous, but look ethereal in the darkness of room, illuminated only by the moon outside the big open window and hall light sneaking in through the door. Peter takes a deep breath. “I really, really have no idea what I’m doing.” He says plainly. As if he’s giving them a chance to back out. Steve smiles.
“It’s alright. We think we know how to calm you down, doll. Help you not be nervous, help you let go. Make you feel good.” His eyes crinkle in the corners. Peter thinks it’s kind of heavenly. He takes another deep breath, looking up at them like he’s lost. He feels like it. Tony takes pity on him and moves back up, putting one hand on Peter’s knee to brace himself and leaning up, kissing Peter’s forehead. In a second, Steve is next to him, and it feels like they’re all around him. Someone kisses his temple. “Let us take care of you, baby,” Steve whispers. His voice is low and gravely and even if the husbands hadn’t just been so kind and considerate and reassuring, Peter’s now very, very hard cock is taking over his brain. His throat feels thick and he thinks that’s probably the point, right. Ok. Yeah, Peter can work with that. Less thinking with his anxious monkey brain, more thinking with his dick. Sure. Why the hell not. He nods, feeling his bare chest brush against Tony’s with the intensity of how deep he’s breathing (slow, slow, keep it slow). Peter can feel Steve smile against the side of his face and only imagines that Tony is grinning into his hair, and then they’re moving. The older men are maneuvering Peter by the legs and waist, pulling him lower on the bed and pushing him back down onto his back. Tony moves between his legs, then, massaging his thighs, pushing the short legs of his boxers higher and higher. Steve is next to Peter, on his side, and he cups the younger man’s cheek. Peter looks up at him, hoping he’s managing to convey the trust he’s relinquishing. “We’re gonna take it nice and slow,” Steve explains. Peter nods to him, then looks back down to where Tony’s hands have found the waist of his boxers. Holy shit. “Ready, angel?” Steve’s voice is like honey. Peter’s not sure how, exactly, but the concept sounds right in his head. He nods again because he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Steve smiles reassuringly, and Tony looks fond and pleased for a moment before it’s replaced by something that makes Peter’s very hard cock twitch. What he can only describe as hunger takes over Tony’s face, and then the man is pulling down Peter’s boxers. He closes his eyes when his hard on is released, not bearing to watch it bounce up and lay against his stomach. God, it feels good to have it freed, though. Steve moves closer and lower to Peter, the hand that was on his cheek venturing to drift along his chest, his mouth dropping to place wet kisses on Peter’s jaw. Tony’s hand wraps around Peter’s length and he jerks, his hand flying up to cover his mouth and muffle the moan that escapes. The husbands chuckle at that, and Steve moves to take Peter’s hand from his mouth.
“No no, it’s ok, baby boy. We wanna hear you,” He says, his voice sultry. It makes Peter’s mouth water and he numbly lets Steve drag his palm away, lacing their fingers together and pinning Peter’s hand to the bed beside is head. Tony runs his hand loosely up and down Peter’s shaft a couple times, like he’s getting a feel for him. It makes Peter let out high pitched sighs, trying to hold back moans. No one’s ever touched him like this before and, fuck, it’s so good. Steve mouths at Peter’s jaw and neck, leaving his skin wet with saliva. Tony’s hand reaches the tip of Peter’s length again, and this time, he drags his fingers lightly over it, running the pad of him thumb over Peter’s slit. It makes Peter whimper and his hips jerk. He bites his lip as Tony spreads the precome he’s leaking around, lathering it over Peter’s entire length. The sensation has Peter squeezing his eyes so tight he sees spots, trying desperately not to buck his hips up into Tony’s fist. He can’t stop the way his body reacts, though, his waist lifting a little in jerky motions, desperate for more. Tony chuckles fondly at him and Peter doesn’t get a second to wonder what he’s doing as he drops his head, before he licks the tip of Peter’s cock. Peter yelps and it morphs into a needy moan that he can’t find it in himself to be ashamed of, because holy shit it feels good. Tony kisses the head of Peter’s length once, and then leans far to the side. Peter hears a drawer opening and the cap of a bottle being popped open, but it doesn’t actually register in his head. “Sweet boy, we’re just getting started,” Steve coos, his mouth finding Peter’s just as a cold, wet finger finds his entrance. Peter’s body convulses away as he’s startled, but the sudden appearance of hands on his hips hold him down. Tony’s chuckling when he says with absolutely no guilt at all in his voice, “Sorry Petey, didn’t mean to shock you.” Peter swallows heavy but focuses on his breathing. He feels Tony moving his legs, bending his knees and pushing his legs up until Peter’s back curves and his hips are angled up. His legs are released to fall around Tony, but the position holds, and Peter’s foggy brain is trying to figure out why that happened when he feels the cold finger back. Access. Got it. He tenses up as the digit circles his rim, spreading the lube around his skin. Tony’s other hand is rubbing circles into his stomach and with the way Steve is kissing him, he finds himself relaxing into the sensation eventually. Apparently noting how he eases up, Tony bends over and lays a kiss to Peter’s tummy, and then the finger is moving in. Only up to the highest knuckle at first, Peter’s entire body goes rigid at the intrusion. It doesn’t feel bad, exactly, doesn’t hurt, but it’s strange. Cold. Tony lets him adjust to the feeling before he pushes more in, moving slowly, carefully, until suddenly the man’s entire finger is inside Peter. Yes, the younger man noticed that both Steve and Tony have large hands. An innocent observation. But god, Tony’s finger feels huge and long inside him, he almost chokes on his own spit (right in the middle of kissing Steve, too) when he thinks about what the man’s cock will feel like. “How do you feel, honey?” Tony asks softly. Peter does his best to catch his breath, silently thanking Steve for pulling away. Peter doesn’t think he’d have been able to. Oxygen be damned, kissing Steve is intoxicating. “I’m g-good,” Peter stutters out. He can only imagine how red his face must be right now. No, scratch that, he doesn’t want to imagine it. Tony smiles at him and gives him more time, twisting his finger and pressing up against Peter’s walls. Peter feels the lube inside him heating up, and he appreciates how slow and cautious Tony’s motions are. Eventually, though, there’s another thick finger prodding at his entrance. Peter bites his lip to somewhat stifle the whine he releases when the second finger pushes in. Ever so slowly it joins the first, until both are seated completely inside him. Again, time to adjust. Kisses to his tummy and his face. “You’re doing great, Petey, doing so good,” Steve whispers. Tony’s fingers curl slightly, twisting some, curling again. He takes his time working up his pace and intensity until he’s scissoring Peter pretty easily. Peter doesn’t really keep track of how well it’s working out, though, because his head is full of cotton from the pleasure. And then Tony bends his wrist and thrusts his fingers in deeper, curling them, and he hits something inside Peter that makes the boy almost shriek. Steve and Tony chuckle, sharing a smile as Peter’s breathing doubles. “Think we found your sweet spot, precious,” Tony muses, and he brushes against the spot again. Peter groans, but it turns into a keen half way through as Tony starts to freaking massage his prostate, rubbing over it with just enough pressure to make Peter feel like he’s on fire. Steve takes this as his cue to amp it up, because he drops his mouth down and starts sucking on Peter’s sensitive nipples. He bites one gently, just as Tony gives a particularly rough drag over the boy’s prostate, and Peter doesn’t care how wrecked and needy his moans sound. “H-holy sh-shit,” he breathes. And this is it. His head hits a pillow and he prays one last time that he doesn’t screw this up, and he surrenders. In the end, it’s easy. With the violent tremors of pleasure Tony and Steve are giving him and the sweet, hushed encouragement Tony whispers, Peter finds it easy to lose himself. To let go. His brain logs off and he succumbs to the heat burning all around him. Warmth is pooling in his belly and he wonders, some place far off and distant, if it’s possible for him to come from this alone. If it is, he thinks he might. But then Tony is pulling his fingers out and since he no longer has the conscious thought to feel ashamed, Peter whimpers pitifully at the loss. Steve hushes him and kisses his chin, then his cheeks and his nose and his forehead, and finally his lips. Peter doesn’t notice Tony slicking up his cock until it’s pressed against his hole. He opens his eyes and looks down, carefully bypassing the sight of his own length flushed pink with a pool of precome against his stomach, and oh my god. Peter didn’t give it a whole lot of thought, but he imagined he’s probably close to average sized. Seeing Tony, though, makes his head spin. Tony’s cock dwarfs Peter’s and the younger man’s head falls back with resolution. There’s no way in hell that’s going to fit inside him. (When did he take off his pants? Peter doesn’t know. Doesn’t really care either; the fact that they’re off and Tony is hung is what’s getting him) “Easy, baby boy. That’s it-- just relax. Relax, honey,” someone says, it might be Steve or Tony, Peter’s not sure. He can’t think at all; because Tony’s pushing against his hole and then past the tight ring of muscle and oh holy shit. The stretch burns, burns painfully but Peter kind of likes it. Tony moves slow, and the lube on his cock is still cold, which helps ease the fire of him entering. Peter's moans break and his eyes feel wet and hot. God, it hurts, but it's so good. His voice is caught in his throat and he squirms, but that makes the stretch worse, and he whimpers pitifully. He doesn't know what to do, but he doesn't have to.
Steve brushes his hair off his forehead and peppers kisses over his face. "Shh, shh, baby, I know, it's a lot sweetheart, but you can take it. You're ok, that's it, you're alright, shh," the man whispers, his hand running up and down Peter's chest. He rubs Peter's nipples and drops his mouth to suck hickeys on the boy's neck. It's a pretty good distraction, and after a period of fighting for breath and feeling split in half, Peter starts to adjust.
Some time passes, he doesn't know how long, Tony caressing his hips, before the man speaks.
"What do you think, honey? Ready for me to move?" Tony asks, and he sounds... affected. His voice has dropped an octave and it's gravely. Peter forces his eyes open to see Tony looming over him next to Steve, some of his hair damp from sweat, panting softly for breath. It's satisfying and hot and Peter wants more of it.
"Yes," his voice cracks. Steve smirks against his neck, and Tony gives him a proud, predatory grin.
The first drag out is slow. Very, very slow. Peter's grateful, but it still feels just the right side of too much. Tony pulls almost all the way out before sinking back in. He bottoms out, and Peter feels like he's bursting. He's so full-- too full. But in a good way.
Steve is petting his hair and whispering in his ear, telling him how good he's doing. The sweet whispers take a turn when Tony grinds down, his cock rubbing Peter's prostate just right, making Peter moan louder, higher. The sound breaks in his throat and he sounds completely ruined. Apparently Steve likes it. A lot.
"Tony," the man practically growls. "Do that again." Tony obliges, and Peter repeats the sound, even higher this time. God, it the way it shoots pleasure up his spine, bubbling in his tummy. Steve groans in Peter's ear and leaves little bites down his jaw.
"Fuck, you're so pretty like this, baby. Look at you-- doing so good, so good," the man grunts out. Peter mewls in response.
Tony starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts, grinding into Peter and making sure to hit his prostate every time. Peter's verging on crying with how bad he wants to come, now. It's so hot and he feels like Tony is tearing him apart, but it's so good. He can barely breathe and whimpers as Steve nips his bottom lip, already bitten red from Peter worrying it.
Peter can feel a few tears slipping from his eyes and he opens them, gleaming, to look to Tony, not far above him. He doesn't trust his voice and doesn't think it'd work even if he did, so he gives Tony his most pleading look. Tony seems to understand, smirking at him. His breathing gives it away, though, that he's not as composed as he's acting.
"What is it, sweetheart?" He asks, but his voice is teasing. He already knows, waiting to see if Peter will say it. Peter would, wants to, if it means getting to come sooner. But he can't freaking speak because Tony is hammering into him and Steve is kissing his jaw and he's never had less organized thoughts.
"P-please," is all he manages, his own words getting caught up in a moan as Tony gives him a particularly forceful thrust. Steve smiles against him and licks his cheek-- his tears, Peter realizes. Tony looks appreciative and sympathetic, dropping down and kissing Peter.
Tony's such a good fucking kisser.
When he pulls away, he licks Peter's bottom lip and smiles against the smaller man's mouth. “Want to come, pretty boy? Is that it?” Tony says, and Peter lets out another whimper because Tony’s teasing is decidedly not helping the situation at all. “Come on, Tony, be nice,” Steve scolds, but it’s playful. Tony smirks at him, pushing himself deep into Peter and kissing Steve. Peter watches through hooded eyes as their lips move against each other. He wonders what it must be like, for two people that good at it to be kissing each other. He might’ve felt bad for them for having to kiss Peter, who’s so terribly inexperienced, but another snap of Tony’s hips kicks all Peter’s coherent thoughts out the door. When the husbands finally break away, Tony kisses Steve’s chin, and grins at him.
“Fine, help him out, babe?” He says, and Steve pecks the other man one more time, before they turn their attention back to Peter. Tony drops his mouth down to Peter’s collar bones and goes to work making those bruised purple bites appear. Steve, on the other hand, shifts down slightly and reaches his hand between Peter and Tony’s bodies. His fingers curl around Peter’s length and the small boy almost comes right then. He chokes on his breath, hands that had spent most of their time clinging to Steve’s shoulders or scrambling for purchase against the sheets finding Tony’s hair. He doesn’t hold tight or tug, just runs his jittery fingers through the man’s hair, grounding himself. Steve pumps painfully slow, taking his time. His fingers find the tip of Peter’s cock, toying at the slit where precome is trickling out, making the boy leak more wet need and then smearing it down his shaft. Peter’s entire body is shaking and his hips jerk, torn between escaping and wanting more. He thinks if he has to go one more minute of teasing, he’ll explode. “S-Steve p-please, please-” He chokes out, his voice high and broken and needy. He knows he’s crying more now, but he can’t stop it. It’s all so much. “Shh, we’ve got you, baby. We’ll give you what you need, just relax,” Steve hushes him, and his voice is surprisingly soothing. Peter just does his best to relax his head onto the pillow and listen to Steve; let the men above him do all the work. Somewhere very far away in the back of his mind, he wonders if that’s the point. Steve and Tony are both so generous and obviously enjoy taking charge; maybe that’s why the three of them work so well. They needed someone who would let them take control. And Peter? Timid, sweet Peter who had a panic attack he was so nervous? Peter fits the bill.
Perfectly.
Steve picks up the pace and tightens his grip just a bit, working fast. Peter lurches up into the movement, but Tony holds him down. The younger man looks for signs to tell how close Tony is, but he’s finding it difficult to concentrate with one man pounding into his ass and the other pumping his cock. Peter will just have to leave Tony to Steve, knowing the husbands have probably memorized every tell-tail in each other. With the way Tony is fucking him, still nailing his prostate, and Steve’s pumping his cock-- Peter couldn’t last any longer if he wanted to. Not that he does. He’s been ready to come since Tony laid him on the bed, honestly. He comes with a cry, his back arching, his whole body going rigid. He clenches down around Tony from the force of his orgasm, and the man groans above him. Peter doesn’t notice, though, because he’s about two seconds from blacking out from the force of his climax. The orgasm rips through him; his come shoots out forcefully, splattering over Steve’s hand and Peter and Tony’s stomachs. Steve milks him through it, not stopping until Peter’s completely emptied his load. His cry turns into a moan that breaks and cracks until he’s just whimpering from the intensity, trying to get his breathing to be normal. It’s difficult with Tony still thrusting into his now very sensitive ass, and he whines at the feeling of overstimulation. “Little more, baby boy, you did so good, just a little more,” Steve assures him, petting his hair with the hand not covered in Peter’s come. Peter chokes on sobs and lets Tony use him. It’s not for very long, though. Not many thrusts later and the man grunts and releases a long, deep moan that Peter feels in his veins. Tony’s climax empties into Peter, and the boy can feel it, the hot wetness shooting deep within him, filling him up. “Oh sweetheart, you did so good, perfect boy, so good for us,” Steve whispers into Peter’s ear. For a while (a long time? Feels like it. Not in a bad way, though) none of them move, just breathing. Tony finally pulls himself out and if the tenderness doesn’t make Peter grimace, then it’s the lewd squelching of come and lube. Peter’s just laying there, breathing, his eyes closed, one arm flung carelessly across his chest and another bent over his face, shielding his eyes in his elbow. He can feel the wetness inside him slowly leaking out, and it makes him feel dirty, but good. He just feels his pulse starting to slow when a thought occurs to him. In any other situation, with any other people, he doesn’t think he’d be able to do this. But this is Tony and Steve, and they were right; Peter just let go and they took care of him, and he feels safe and good. And now they’ve made him feel so good, and he wants to return the favor. He lifts his elbow and looks over at Steve, whose eyes seemed trained on one of Peter’s ribs, maybe. “Steve?” Peter’s voice comes out small. Both men look up at him. “Yeah, baby?” Peter swallows. “Are you, are you still,” he pauses and sends the quickest glance to the very obvious bulge in Steve’s pants (he’s still wearing pants. That’s-- that’s gotta change), meets his eyes for a moment and then averts them again. “Do, do you want me to, I don’t, um,” Even as safe and comfortable as these men make Peter feel, now that the blinding pleasure is gone and he’s basking in post-orgasm, he feels awkward trying to articulate himself. Steve cracks a smirk that turns into an appreciative smile. “It’s ok, Pete. We don’t, you don’t have to do anything, I can handle this. You must be tired, right?” He says, but Peter shakes his head. That was the best orgasm he’s ever had in his life, he wants to repay Steve. And, also, maybe he kind of really wants Steve to fuck him anyways, because he’s 20 and still has an incredibly short refractory period. “No, I’m not-- I’m not tired. If you w-want to, we could do, I could, I don’t even know,” Peter gives a self-deprecating laugh but looks up at Steve, from where he’s now propped himself on his elbows, with what he hopes is an encouraging and open expression. Steve smiles at him. “Sure you’re not tuckered out, pretty boy? Looks like you came pretty hard there, think you can go again?” He winks and Peter must look like a tomato with how red he goes. He nods enthusiastically though, because he definitely, definitely can go again. Like, right now would be great. Steve laughs a sweet, soft laugh and nods back. “Ok, sweet thing. You just tell me if you’re too sensitive, alright?”
Peter nods again. He swallows heavy when Steve starts removing his pants. It takes too damn long, Peter thinks, but eventually, Steve Stark-Rogers is naked on the bed with him and shit. Steve is not a human. Steve is a greek god. He’s so toned and so gorgeous and his cock is as big as Tony’s, at least. Longer though, it seems. And really, really hard. Flushed red and Peter feels bad for how turned on he must have been the whole time, watching his husband fuck Peter like that. Holy shit. Peter’s going to have breathing problems. Steve looks at Tony, then, and Tony makes a gesture towards the head of the bed with a grin. Steve grins back at him, and crawls over to Peter and a little bit behind him, leaning his very muscular back against the headboard. “Come here, Pete,” he says gently, and Peter pushes himself up with shaky limbs to crawl over to him. He kneels in front of him, between his legs, and waits. He doesn’t know what to do, but Steve cups his face with both hands and kisses him sweetly. Peter kisses back with just as much tenderness, and he feels Tony’s hands behind him settling on his hips.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do, baby boy,” Tony whispers in his ear. It makes Peter shiver. “You’re gonna sit in his lap, but face me, ok? Don’t worry, angel, we’ll help you. Think you can do that?” Peter nods, and crawls up. Hands on his hips and side and shoulders guide him until he’s sitting with his legs bent, caging Steve’s thighs again like he had on the couch. But this time he’s facing away from him, and can feel the man’s hard cock against his ass, trapped between Peter’s back and Steve’s own stomach. Tony gives him a reassuring smile and holds his chin, his thumb tracing Peter’s bottom lip. “Ready?” He asks. Peter nods again, wets his lips.
“Yeah,” it comes out a whisper, but they hear him, so it’s ok. And then there are hands under his thighs and on his hips, raising him up to his knees. He lets them hold him in place while Steve lubes up his cock, until he feels the hard on pressing against his entrance and he lets out short, choppy sighs in anticipation. “There we go, easy, easy honey, that’s it,” the hands guide him down slowly and then the tip of Steve’s cock is pushing in past his rim and he whines because even though Tony just fucked him senseless and he’s plenty stretched and there’s more than enough lubrication (between Steve’s just now and everything left over from Tony), he’s sensitive now and Goddamn Steve is big. They move slow, careful, with Steve nibbling on the back of Peter’s neck and Tony kissing his forehead. It takes time, and stopping, and reassurance that Peter can take it (because he’s right; Steve is longer than Tony, and Peter feels like the man’s cock is up in his lungs), but eventually, Steve bottoms out and Peter is sitting all the way on his lap. Peter thinks he might pass out for a little while there, so the husbands caress his chest and stomach and kiss his cheeks tenderly and whisper sweet things in his ears until he’s adjusted more. When Peter finally feels ready for Steve to move, he gives an experimental push down, and Steve takes the hint. First observation: Steve fucks differently than Tony. Gentle (not that Tony wasn’t also gentle… at first) and almost languid, but deeper. Each thrust up into Peter, lifting the boy at the hips and pulling him back down (because Peter’s having a really hard time trying to bounce like that on his own) is so deep, Peter swears he can feel it in his stomach. The man rocks into him and each amazingly long drag massages Peter’s walls so nicely. Is this what lazy fucking is? Is this lazy sex? It feels like it. Peter’s moans are soft and steady, like Steve’s thrusts. Tony sits in front of them, petting Peter’s thighs and helping move him up and down in time with Steve. Tony kisses him sweetly and Steve groans into the back of Peter’s hair. “God, baby, you feel so good. So tight; precious little boy,” He grunts, nipping Peter’s earlobe. Peter whines, biting his lip and trying to move with the man’s thrusts. It feels so ridiculously good, Peter wants to stay here forever. Ride Steve on a time loop so he can always feel this full. It’s a while in (seems like a long while. At least, Peter hopes it is) before Steve shifts down, sliding a ways and slouching against the headboard. In front of them, Tony grabs Peter under the knees, pulling his legs out from under him, bending them and pushing his shins back and out. The effect is that Peter is practically laying on Steve, not all the way down but horizontal enough that Tony must have a great view of his husband being balls deep in the younger man. Thanks to Tony’s movements, Peter’s legs are spread wide and he feels like all his most private places (quite literally, his cock and cock-stuffed ass) are on display. It makes him squirm under Tony’s gaze, a bit, but it’s not bad. He doesn’t feel mortified by the notion. Doesn’t feel uncomfortable, just a little embarrassed. Tony catches the blush on his cheeks darkening, though, and gives him a reassuring grin and a kiss on each knee. “You’re beautiful, Peter. Absolutely beautiful,” he says. Peter flushes down to his chest and turns his head away, just as Steve gives him another thrust. But the angle is different now, and it makes his cock hit Peter’s prostate directly, and the boy yelps. “Oh, ahh, sh-shit,” Peter moans, and Steve rolls his hips into the younger man. Peter’s breaking hitches and breaks, and his whimpers turn to long moans as Steve decides to keep it up. He grinds into Peter just right, dragging against the boy’s sweet spot on the in and out. Peter’s so distracted by the way Steve’s abusing his prostate, he doesn’t notice Tony moving until the man’s fingers are ghosting up his now fully erect shaft. Peter shivers, biting his lip but failing to suppress any sounds when Steve’s cock and Tony’s hand hit all his erogenous spots at the same time. Tony chuckles fondly at him, the man’s lips brushing against Peter’s as he speaks. “So responsive,” he marvels, and Peter groans. Tony smiles at him, kissing him softly and swallowing up his sighs. Tony’s hand finds Peter’s tip again, his fingers circling the outer edge. “Such a sensitive little cock,” he begins, running his thumb over the peak. “Wonder how wet you can get just from having your little hole played with, hm?” Peter moans desperately and wants to beg Tony not to tease him anymore, but his voice has failed him and he’s not entirely sure he’s so opposed, anyways. The answer to his question, Tony finds, is dripping. His fingers toy at Peter’s slit, much like Steve had before, and prompt Peter’s poor cock to dribble precome. It trickles down his shaft until real drops literally drip off of the base of the boy’s cock and onto Steve. Tony teases him for far too long, until Pete’s pretty dick is gleaming, the boy himself has tears in his eyes and he’s trembling violently.
He’s choking them back, not wanting to cry again, but Steve is sending fireworks through his body with the way he rolls his hips and tortures Peter’s prostate, and the way Tony is relentlessly playing with his most sensitive spots has the tears forcing their way out regardless. He sobs, the sounds wrecking their way out of his chest, and he wants to grab onto Tony (to push him away or pull him closer, he’s not sure) but when the man first started toying with him he’d jumped to response and Steve had caught his hands. Now Steve holds Peter’s hands in his, the back of the boy’s hands in Steve’s palm and he can’t seem to get them free. It’s hotter than he’s willing to admit. Tony made a comment a few minutes in, when Peter had thought right from the beginning that there was no way he could last this kind of painfully good torture. “Didn’t tire you out enough the first time, precious boy. Gonna make sure you won’t be able to walk for a week after this.” Peter had mewled at the promise, but he hurts with how good this feels now. Hurts so beautifully that his mind is blank and his body can’t decide if it wants more or less. Finally, mercy comes into sight. Unlike Tony, Steve is easier to read. Having his back pressed against the man, Peter can feel Steve’s breathing pick up and hitch. He hears his groans getting lower and his thrusts getting messier, the rhythm faltering. He knows Steve is getting close, which is a blessing to Peter, who desperately wants to come and thinks his ass might start going numb if they keep this up much longer. “T-Tony, p-please,” Peter’s voice works, miraculously. Tony, who’s been mouthing at Peter’s neck and collar bones the whole time, smiles against the boy’s soft skin. “Just a little longer, baby, you can do it. Just a bit more, angel,” Tony says. Peter whines but there’s nothing he can really do about it (nothing that he wants to do about it, either). Peter thinks he’s home free, though, a moment later when Tony’s hand finally pulls away from his soaked cock. He’s wrong. Tony kisses his lips, a gentle peck, and scoots back. He grabs Peter’s ankles, pulling them out further so his legs spread a little wider. Peter doesn’t have time to wonder what he’s doing before he drops his head and his mouth descends on Peter’s length. All. The. Fucking. Way. Down. Distantly, Peter wonders if Tony’s so good at this because he’s been sucking Steve’s ridiculously long cock, but he doesn’t think much at all, let alone of that. His mind goes blank with nothing but heat, and all he feels is fire. Tony’s mouth is hot and wet (not that he wasn’t completely drenched in his own precome already) and he sucks just enough, bobbing his head to the rhythm that Steve is losing. His tongue is doing strange, wonderful things, licking up Peter’s length, dipping into his abused slit, swirling around. Peter cries out at the sensation, his moans turned loud, crying with the intense, too-much pleasure. He doesn't have to be overwhelmed for much longer, though, because Steve gets sloppy and he holds Peter’s hands tighter and grunts out, “Babe... I’m gonna come-” He releases Peter’s hands in favor of holding onto the boy’s hips, pulling him down hard. Peter nearly screams, Steve hammering his prostate and Tony enveloping his cock all being too much. He comes again, as hard (maybe harder) as the first time. White spots take over his eyes and he feels himself shooting into Tony’s mouth, his hips jerking in Steve’s grip. The heat that had been torturous in his belly explodes through him, sending a shrill feeling up his spine, overwhelming him with warmth and incapacitating pleasure. Tony keeps on bobbing, some of Peter’s come escaping his mouth and joining his saliva on the boy’s length. He goes until Peter has nothing left to come and falls completely limp in Steve’s grip. Only then does Tony pull off, and Peter is barely aware of the man swallowing his load. And then a few thrusts later and Steve is moaning so low and biting down on Peter’s shoulder, dragging Peter’s hips down and burying himself deep within the boy. He comes hard into the impossibly tight, wet heat of Peter, and the boy can once again feel the way it drowns his insides, filling him up and spilling out around Steve’s cock. Steve’s hips stutter up into him, milking his own orgasm, and Peter can do nothing but hang on, clinging to Steve’s arm and Tony’s shoulder with weak arms. He feels completely boneless and beyond exhausted by the time they all relax from their highs. They don’t move at first, just Tony running his hands soothingly on Peter and Steve’s knees, Steve gently petting Peter’s hair. “Perfect, perfect boy, you took it so well. Did so good again, baby, so good,” Tony whispers. Peter preens at the praise, smiling tiredly. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to open his eyes again after this. Wants to sleep for years, his body weak. He wets his lips and sighs, resigning to just breathing, feeling Steve’s heartbeat in his back. It’s soothing to hear. “You sleepy now, sweetheart?” Steve asks, his voice gentle. Peter nods, and as if on cue, yawns. Tony smiles at him and kisses his chin. “Why don’t we get cleaned up some, and then we’ll go to bed. How’s that sound?” Tony speaks softly. Peter appreciates it. He nods again, or at least tries to. It must have worked, because then Steve is sitting up and Peter tries to right himself but he’s too tired to do so. It’s ok, though, because Steve keeps an arm wrapped around his waist. He sits them up and leans them to the side so he can slip out of Peter. It makes the boy wince and he feels empty, but all used up in a satisfying way. Suddenly, someone is scooping him into their arms. He sees Steve carrying him, but he’s half asleep by the time the man sets him down in the bathroom. Peter almost falls over, but Steve keeps him up. Peter hardly even registers when he wets a towel and starts wiping Peter down with it. He makes sure to gently clean away all the sweat and come and lube and saliva; erasing the remnants of sex from Peter’s body. When he’s done, he wraps Peter in a fluffy towel, despite the boy being slightly damp at the most, and cleans himself. Peter almost falls asleep from his spot sitting in the chair, but he can’t seem to mind. He’s so tired and so happy about it. They were right. He trusted them, these incredible men who make him feel safe and comfortable and happy. He trusted them and they took care of him. He was finally able to relax, really, honestly relax, for once in his life. It’s… It makes him happy. So much so, that he smiles dumb and distant to himself before Steve is in front of him, tipping up his chin and kissing his nose. “What’re you smiling about, sweet pea?” The man asks with a knowing grin. And Peter, in his haze of sex and sleepiness and the high of not feeling anxious for once, looks up at Steve through hooded eyes and says with no shortage of joy:
“I like you. A lot.” He hopes his smile shows it. He closed his eyes because he can’t seem to keep them open, but he’s pretty sure Steve is glowing with happiness from the comment. Then the man is helping him stand up, and dressing him in a pair of boxers that aren’t his. “These are Tony’s, but you look good in them,” Steve says absent mindedly, adjusting the waistband to not fall off Peter’s hips, then kissing the boy’s forehead. He carries Peter back to the bed again, and Peter notices the sheets have been changed. Tony, right. Steve takes a glass of water off the nightstand and holds it out to Peter. The boy grabs it (it looks so pretty in moonlight. Almost as pretty as Steve) with both hands, and then Steve cups his grip, just in case. Peter gives him a look, or tries to, but accepts the help in not dropping the glass. He drinks maybe half of it before he’s literally falling asleep sitting up, so Steve helps him lay down properly, covering him with blankets and slipping in next to him. A short moment later, Tony arrives, sliding into bed behind Peter and pulling him close by the waist. “You did so good tonight, baby boy. You were perfect. You’re perfect,” he whispers. It makes Peter’s heart skip a couple beats and he smiles. Steve is carding through his hair and they’re both so warm and secure, and he’s so tired, Peter knows he’s only got seconds before he passes out. “I don’t want to pressure or stress you, Petey, don't wanna push too far too fast, but please,” Steve begins. He moves forward enough to kiss Peter softly, smelling his hair, gently rubbing his side and tummy. “Please let us keep you,” he finishes. Peter smirks, somehow, and thinks maybe he nodded his head but he’s not sure. The pillow is so soft, and he’s rarely felt as safe and good and loved as he does right now. Loved? Hm. Interesting, he thinks. He does feel loved. With Steve and Tony, lying between them. Safe and good and loved. He’ll have to look into that. So he smiles and nuzzles into the pillows, one hand resting over Tony’s grip on his waist, the other lacing fingers with Steve in front of him. He's barely awake at all when he answers. “Ok.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hey babes!! Sorry, this isn’t an update, but I wanted to let you know that I’m continuing this little fic of mine!!Both as a series of more short pwp chapters, Pocket Full, and a full, real, actual fic with real plot things, Show Me Your Love!!! Not sure if anyone would have any, but I’d also for sure be open to prompts to fill up Pocket Full. Also, feedback (cough cough constructive criticism) is appreciated as I'm trying to re-teach myself to write after years of block <3That’s all I got, babes, thanks so much again for reading! Hope you enjoyed it ;D