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Tony woke up so well rested he kept his eyes shut to better savor the rush of energy.
He hadn’t felt this good in years. Or in decades, really. All the aches that plagued him on a good day seemed to have disappeared overnight. Even the near-constant tremors in his left arm were gone. He was almost willing to get out of bed to sign paperwork.
Instead, he pushed a hand into his boxers with a contented sigh. Wearing underwear to bed wasn’t like him, and those boxers were cheap cotton, which was even weirder, but the moment he wrapped his fingers around his erection, he dismissed the oddity. Touching himself felt good. Mind-blowing. It must have been longer than he’d thought, because he was hard as a rock already.
Wow.
He brushed his thumb over the slit and gasped at the slickness he encountered there. He hadn’t made that much pre in… well, ever. To be fair, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had such a raging erection without some serious foreplay either, but he wasn’t about to poke the miracle wherever miracles shouldn’t be poked at. Pleasure zinged up his spine with every stroke, fast or slow. He didn’t even have to get lube, and he always had to use lube. He planted his feet on the mattress and arched his back. Pleasure radiated from his groin outwards, spreading everywhere in his body as though his nerve-endings had just been tuned up. It was like the fire of Extremis, minus the torture. An endless loop of heat and ecstasy.
Fuck yes.
The first brush to his perineum made his hole twitch in anticipation. It had been a while since he’d last bottomed, but right now, he would love to take some cock. The thought caused him to quicken his pace abruptly. He’d wanted to take his time, but he felt too close to the edge already. He cupped his sack and gave it a little attention. Dimly, it occurred to him that his balls were much softer than he remembered, but his dick was so slick, his left hand didn’t shake on it, and the last thing he wanted was to waste a perfectly good orgasm by creating a puzzle out of inexistent anomalies.
He started fucking his fist in earnest, not a little amazed at the strength in his calves. The last time he’d checked, his left ankle was still giving him grief. Old age, old wounds… His whole left side was damaged. Except now, it felt great. No ache at all. On this very fine morning, he jerked off with the sense of urgency and the energy of a nineteen-year-old…
… and of course, this thought led him right to his usual set of guilty fantasies.
Peter.
His dick jumped in his hand. He squeezed it at the base, hard, and would have recoiled under the onslaught of sudden pain had there been any pain. There wasn’t. Or rather, the pain felt good, which was kind of new. The flicker of what the fuck at the back of his mind was promptly drowned by the pleasure cresting in his loins, a sense of bliss heightened by the sublime sight only he could see.
Peter fucking him open slowly, lovingly, with little gasps of pleasure Tony would give anything to hear for real.
Peter riding Tony’s cock, chest glistening with sweat, jaw slack, warm brown eyes glazed over with ecstasy.
Peter fucking his face and calling him a good boy, fingers tangled in Tony’s hair.
Tony knew he shouldn’t consider any of this. The worship may be gone from those warm brown eyes, replaced by something infinitely more precious, it didn’t mean Tony should endanger the precious friendship they had. Asking for more would be selfish, greedy. Peter deserved so much better.
Fantasizing didn’t hurt anyone, though. That much, he could have. So, Tony ignored the guilt as best he could and pictured Peter on his knees, ass on display for Tony to do as he pleased. And Tony wanted to please this wonderful, marvelous young man. If he could, he would take Peter apart in the best way, worship every inch of his body while he praised his mind...
More pre leaked from his tip as he imagined all the ways he could do that. His senses were so much sharper than usual this morning, granting a realism to his fantasies that brought him even faster towards the edge. He imagined he could smell Peter in the air around him, citrus shampoo, cheap Cologne, and a tang of musk that made him crazy. What wouldn’t he give, for Peter to actually be here. He didn’t even have to touch Tony. He could sit on the comfortable chair by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and watch Tony get himself off.
Guide his morning masturbation, so to speak.
Are you close, Mr. Stark? Peter would uncross his legs and leaned forwards, expressive eyes conveying the feeling Tony kept bottled up inside. You look good like this. I’m so hard right now, just by watching you. Peter would reach for the tailored pants Tony had bought for him, and lower it tantalizingly slowly. No, you can’t touch me. But if you’re good and come for me, I’ll let you suck my cock later, Mr. Stark. That’s it. Just like that. You’re doing so well…
Tony exploded all over his fist.
“Fuck!”
His legs gave under him. He sank back into the mattress with a gasp. For a moment there, he’d been sure he was going to stroke out. This was the best orgasm he’d had in his life, and he had his left hand to thank for it.
Wait.
“Fuck,” he said again, slower, a hint of fear creeping in his voice.
That didn’t sound like his voice.
He opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn’t.
Oh no, he thought, heart sinking as he stared and stared at those hands he knew so well. Hands stained white with come. Peter’s hands.
He didn’t bother pinching himself.
“Friday…” He trailed off and began hunting for clothes, putting on the first pants and shirt he could find. Peter's phone was close by, which was good. It wasn’t a Stark Phone, which was bad. The damn thing had apparently shut off during the night as the result of an update, and it took fifty-three fucking seconds to turn back on. Tony would be appalled if he wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack.
Three missed calls.
As if on cue, the phone started ringing.
Mr. Stark, the screen said, black on white.
Tony didn’t drop the phone. He couldn’t in this body, with reflexes off the chart. The phone rang twice more before he convinced his thumb to move.
And then, of course, Mr. Stark hung up.
Tony exited the bedroom, hoping against all odds that May wouldn’t be there. Thankfully, the hall was empty. Small mercies. He called his own number but was sent straight to voicemail. He pocketed the phone and started to run.
The front door opened as he was about to tear it off its hinges, which would have been ridiculously easy with his borrowed super-strength.
Tony - Peter - stood on the other side.
“Mr. Stark?”
Tony’s first thought was that it was beyond weird to hear Peter’s inflection in his own voice.
His second thought was that he should apologize. After making sure Peter was alright.
“You okay, Pete?”
“Are you okay, Mr. Stark?”
They’d spoken at the same time. Peter let out a brief, nervous laugh. Tony didn’t do the nervous laugh thing. It shouldn’t be so endearing, in a heartbreaking way.
“I’m okay,” Peter said in Tony's voice. “Although I really wish I’ve accepted the Starkphone, now.”
Tony didn’t reply with a quip. Didn’t say: yeah, Pete, your phone sucks. What he said was: “I’m sorry.”
“Why?" Tony's eyebrows went up, betraying Peter's shock. "I mean, you should have told me your left arm hurt. Also, your body really needs rest, like, a lot. No more all-nighters for you, okay? I didn't wake up with such a headache in a while, and last time there was internal bleeding-"
Tony remembered that time only too well, but now wasn't the time to argue with Peter's perspective on risk. “Uh, so, in the interest of full disclosure, Pete, I…” He took a deep breath and forced the words past the lump of shame lodged in his throat. “I jerked off in your body.”
Tony’s eyes became very wide, a very Peter-y expression of surprise.
“I have no excuse.” Peter’s mouth could get dry, it turned out. Tony wished Peter would say something, anything, but Peter remained perfectly quiet. He forged on. “I swear I didn’t mean to. I was half asleep still and I… Fuck, I knew something wasn’t quite right but I just didn’t stop to think, and I… I’ll find out why this happened, I'll fixe this, I promise. I know I keep saying I don’t believe in magic, but this isn’t about me, so I’ll go to Dr. Strangelove right now if that's our best-”
“I don’t mind.”
“… option and get him to…” Tony’s thoughts ground to an abrupt halt. “What did you say?” he asked, Peter's voice cracking on the last word.
Peter took a step forward, gaze intent, left hand twitching at his side. The left one probably hurt right now - it always did when Tony was stressed, and this was Tony's body, no matter who's mind currently occupied it. “I said I don’t mind, Tony. Actually, I kind of like it.”
“Well." Tony tried to gather his wits. "It doesn’t matter how enjoyable it was. It’s your body, and I touched it without your permission.”
“Enjoyable for you?”
Shit.
“Are you saying what I think you're saying, Mr. Stark?”
“... I’m apologizing?”
“Mr. Stark. I know my body.”
“As you very well should. It's your body, after all.”
Peter rolled his eyes, which was something Tony did so often it didn’t look out of place. “Mr. Stark.” Tony was graced with the sight of his most serious expression to this day. “I’m nineteen.”
“I’m well aware of that fact.”
Peter was blushing. Tony hadn’t blushed in a very long time but he was now: Peter, as himself, and himself, as Peter.
“You have to know.” Tony’s eyes were steady, Peter’s determination shining through. “I’ve been in love with you for a very long time, Mister- Tony.” Before Tony could do much more than gasp - another familiar Peter sound -, Peter added: “Uh, full disclosure? I was going to ask you out soon.”
“What?”
“So this Freaky Friday thing brings an interesting twist, I suppose," Peter forged on, ever the brave one, "but I’m not opposed to our first kiss being a little backward… I mean, if you, if that's also something you want? This, me... Er, you. You know."
Peter’s anxiety rolled off of Tony’s body in waves. It was unbearable. A whole lot more than the thought of getting Peter for himself.
And just like that, Tony felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He grasped his own hand, the one that still sook, and brought it to his face - Peter’s face. “I’m messed up. I mess things up.” He swallowed hard. “I will probably mess whatever relationship we-”
“Is our friendship messed up?”
That brought Tony up short. “Well, no, but that's not-”
“Why would any other type of relationship between us be any different? Tony, if you don’t…”
“I do love you,” Tony said, a half-whisper choke-full of the feeling he didn’t have to hide anymore. “I fucking do.” He turned his head and kissed a callused palm, feeling only slightly guilty at using Peter’s mouth like this. “You deserve better, and you should-”
Peter kissed him. It wasn’t dirty, there wasn't even tongue, and Tony was kissing himself, for fuck’s sake, but it felt so good. Just right. Like parallel universes colliding oh so gently, dreams and reality coalescing in one sublime gift. Tony didn't care if magic was behind this. He didn't even care if Strange had done this on purpose. This kiss was downright magical.
Tony moaned in Peter’s mouth, or rather, his own. The scratch of facial hair against Peter’s smooth cheek was unexpectedly arousing. He nipped at his own bottom lip, and felt a surge of hunger when Peter reacted by grabbing the back of his head and crowding Tony's currently taller body against the wall. The hard ridge of an erection against his hip made him fully hard within seconds. It was a relief to know he could still perform at a moment's notice.
“This is nice,” Peter purred in Tony’s voice, rubbing their noses together. “I kiss better than I remembered. Can we do it again?”