“No,” Tony Shakes His Head, “We’re Not Doing This.”

“No,” Tony shakes his head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what!?” Peter demands, exasperated, “What is it that we cannot do?”

“This, us,” Tony sighs, “Kid, you have to understand. I’m not made for you. You’re meant to go out and find someone your own age, who doesn’t have drinking problems and isn’t mentally unstable. You deserve better than me, Pete.”

“I don’t want anything better, Tony,” Peter narrows his eyes, his chin jutting up, “There isn’t anyone better out there for me. I want you.”

“Kid–”

“Stop calling me that,” Peter growls, “I’m twenty-five fucking years old. I’m not that sixteen year old you met all those years ago. I’ve grown up and I know what I want. And I know what you want, too.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Peter,” Tony tells him sadly, “And you being twenty-five now doesn’t lessen our age gap.”

“Damn our age gap, then!” Peter cries. He reaches out for the older man’s hands and pulls him closer so that their faces are only inches apart. “Damn what anyone else has to say about us and damn what you think I want. Because I want you. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Until you realize what a mistake that is,” Tony whispers. He grazes his thumb over Peter’s cheekbone and down to the corner of his lip. Peter shudders and closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, “You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart.”

“I think I do,” Peter smiles lightly, he takes a few steps closer and backs Tony into the wall. And then it all comes stumbling out, “You think I’m adorable when I’m mad. You want me but falsely believe you cannot have me. You feel overwhelmed that I exist.”

Tony blinks, his eyes searching Peter’s face, “What, are you reading my non-existent diary or something?”

Peter laughs breathily. “I know you don’t remember telling me those things. But drunk words <i>are</i> sober thoughts.”

With a deep swallow, Tony sighs, “You got me there, kid.”

“Tony, I said to stop calling me kid,” Peter practically whines.

“Force of habit,” Tony shrugs.

“Okay, then for now on you’ll be Mr. Stark again. I’ll add in a few sirs here and there, too. You know what, maybe I’ll even call you da–”

He’s cut off by an abrupt but welcome crash of the lips. Peter hums and instantly melts into it, his hands finding Tony’s defined biceps. He takes it one step further by pressing Tony closer to the wall and opening his mouth, welcoming the older man’s tongue. Tony seems hesitant at first but doesn’t take too long to start exploring Peter’s mouth as if it’s his last day on earth.

Heat races up and down Peter’s body and everything within him buzzes for more. More of Tony, more of them, together, as one. Involuntarily, his hips thrust into Tony’s, but the pleasure that follows isn’t anything he’d give up.

Tony pulls back just slightly, their foreheads pressed together, “Peter–”

“Shut up,” Peter demands through gritted teeth. He pulls Tony back into the kiss, and Tony lets him. Peter feels Tony’s hands travel down to the back of his thighs before he's suddenly hoisted up so that his legs are wrapped around Tony’s torso.

“Couch,” Peter pants between kisses. Tony obliges and walks him over to the couch, not breaking the kiss even as he sets Peter down onto his back.

Peter uses his legs to squeeze Tony in closer and his hands on the older man’s hips to guide them into steady thrusts. Tony and Peter’s moans are twisted together in a sort of harmony.

“God, kid, you’re perfect,” Tony gasps, “So beautiful. Breathtaking.”

Peter flips them over and Tony is sitting up with Peter on his lap. “Just for you, sir,” Peters smirks, satisfied when Tony’s entire body jerks in pleasure at the title, and dives in for more.