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So, Iron Man apparently needed better surge protection in his suit. He was falling, straight out of the sky into the middle of Manhattan, and Peter could only hope--only hope--only shoot his web and yeah, his aim was true, and yeah, Iron Man bounced as lightly as a golf club on a windscreen, but the webbing held. Peter fired again, snaring Iron Man and easing him to the ground as strand after strand of web broke in a beautiful display of applied physics.

They landed in an alley between two buildings. "Are you okay?"

Iron Man's arms twitched. "Mask! Off! Now!" His voice was scratchy, distorted; oh, a speaker, right. "Screwdriver! Side!" He pointed to the side of his helmet.

Peter grabbed his Leatherman--he always carried his Leatherman, even in the suit--and grabbed the place that seemed most logical, there at the cheek, and there was a seam there. A screw there. Peter undid it and Iron Man gasped for breath and sucked in delicious New York alley air.


Problem solved. "So, are you okay?" Peter asked. Tony Stark looked like a movie star up close. Peter prayed his voice didn't break.

"Jarvis, back online or I'm giving you cyberherpes," Stark said to the thin air.

"Sgirlgle," the mask said.

"Fuck. Do you have the strength of ten men by any chance?" Stark asked Peter.

"Um... kinda." More like a hundred, but it wasn't like that was really measurable, and, well, he sounded like a geek if he said it out loud.

"Then help me up. Fast. Lung compression--" Peter hauled him to his feet. "Hey. Nice. The suit weighs four hundred pounds. Jarvis! Online!"

"Nsssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," the mask said.

"Cyberchlamydia. So, are you a good kid?" Stark asked.

"Um," Peter said.

"You're a kid, clearly. Are you a good kid is the question. Good enough not to kidnap me and hold me ransom for a million billion dollars? Because I'd pay it. Someone would pay it, anyway, probably Pepper. How good a kid are you?"

"Better than that," Peter said.

"Great. Because I can walk, but not very well. You got my back?"

"Well, yeah!"

"Awesome. Jarvis!" Stark shook the mask. His whole body clanked with every move. "What hit me?"

"Electro did. He's, uh, a criminal. Kind of a super criminal. He shoots electricity."

"Good name for him. You know, I'm supposed to be immune to electrical surges. I've been hit by lightning up there and didn't feel a thing. So, why, that's the question. Jarvis! I have questions! Wake up, schmuck!"

"Uh," Peter said. "Did you name your suit... Jarvis?" Why. Why why why. Stark was weirder in person than on TV.

"No, Jarvis is the AI. The suit is the suit, it's not animate, that would be stupid. The last thing you want to encase your vital organs in is something that's self-aware. Jarvis is my buddy. Buddy? Buddy. Speak to me!" Stark stared into the mask. "What the hell?"

"Yes, sir?" the mask said.

"Finally! Do we have flight?"

"No, sir. Rebooting. All systems offline."

"AIDS. I'm giving you AIDS."

The sky crackled. Peter looked up, so did Stark. "He's coming back," Peter said.

"Jarvis, is the rebreather online?"

"No, sir," the mask said.

"Hate. Hate you."

"Yes, sir."

He couldn't leave Stark with his suit offline. The man could barely move. He was a sitting duck. So--camouflage. Peter squirted webbing over their heads, layer after layer forming a canopy against the telltale shine of the Iron Man suit in the bright sun. "I've got your back," Peter said. "The webbing is nonconductive."

Stark was eying his wrists. "What's that made of? Who's your supplier? It's not bad."

"It's--" Peter blushed, thanking God the mask was opaque. "Biological."

Stark raised his eyebrows, then raised them more. "Gross."

"Yeah, and it happens when I sneeze, too." WHY DID HE SAY THAT. WHY. Peter blushed harder.

"And that's TMI. Jarvis, ETA."

"Three minutes 14 seconds."

"Do you understand how dead I could be in three minutes?"

"Yes, sir. Doing my best, sir."

"Why is the suit British?" Peter asked.

Stark scowled at him. "No, my suits are French. The *armor* is American. The voice of the AI is mid-Atlantic. Precision, kid. Lend me your screwdriver."

Peter handed over the Leatherman and didn't say anything else until a bolt of lightning hit a pole next to them. "That's not good," Stark said.

"Two minutes fifteen seconds... forty-five seconds..."

"Wrong direction!" Stark shouted.

Peter judged weight and balance, chose his point, then picked Stark up and hefted him over his shoulder. "Hold on," he said. Dammit, dumb--nothing to hold onto.

"Hello." But Stark didn't kick or anything. He kind of folded around Peter, balancing his weight over Peter's shoulder as the webbing carried them upwards.

Electro was a bright spot of lime green insulating suit hovering over the city. He floated in electrical fields, or something like that; Peter had never quite worked out the physics of it all. He also shot lightning out of his fingertips, which was the more pressing concern. Also, with only one hand free, Peter had to let go of the current web before shooting the new web, and with four hundred pounds of armor and two hundred pounds of guy on board, he dropped a lot. Really a lot. They weren't gaining any altitude and Electro--

Lightning crackled between the building and Iron Man's suit. The mask hissed and crackled. "Fuck!" Stark shouted.

"Detour!" Peter yelled, as the answer finally came to him. He landed heavily on top of a train. He set Stark on his feet, one arm around his waist for balance, and held onto the train for dear life with his toes.

The skin of the armor shimmied under Peter's hand. A gun unfolded from the shoulder halfway, paused, and tucked back inside. "Jarvis! Get a grip!" Stark snarled.

Peter fired web between the buildings just ahead of them, again and again, forming a shock-proof umbrella over the train.

"Hey! Spider-Man! You rock!" someone yelled from the train.

"Yeah, Spidey! Get him!"

"Hey, it's Iron Man too!" Stark yelled back.

"You're the one being rescued, you don't get cheerleaders," Peter said. Oh, GOD, he had to stop talking. Now. He kept firing web, alternating aiming at Electro with keeping up the protective umbrella.

Stark snorted. He detached something from inside the mask. "Here we are. Reinforcements. Hey! Mr. Fantastic! I'm at...57th Street. On top of a train. Yeah, whenever you're--oh, that was fast," Stark said, looking up.

The Fantastic Four's jet roared overhead. Too close. Peter grabbed Stark around the waist again. He stuck his arms through Stark's, holding him chest to chest and chin to chest--the armor was big--and spun to face Electro while keeping Stark from falling off the train. "I'm your puppet," Stark said.

"Shut up!" Peter fired a ball of web directly in Electro's face, score!

"No, this is fun. Carry on."

And then the Human Torch crackled up beside the train. "Yo! Spider-Man! Nice to meet you!"

Peter leaned back. "Uh. Hi."

The Human Torch pointed both fiery index fingers at him. "We need to do lunch sometime! See you around!" He soared upwards after Electro, who was finally turning tail.

Peter blinked up into the sky. Stark poked him in the side. "Problem solved," he said. "Hey, get us over to the Baxter Building. I have a key."

"...Okay." Peter knelt and looked over the edge of the train into the open windows. "Everyone all right in there?"

Half the car had their camera phones out, recording the fight between the Fantastic Four and Electro. "Yes, young man, thank you very much," said an old guy with a shock of white hair.

Peter straightened up and grabbed Stark again. "You have a very firm grip," Stark said.

"Thanks?" Peter swung them off the top of the train. One scramble up the side of a building, a few swings through the air, and they landed on the helipad on the Baxter Building roof. Tony actually did have a key to the big glass door. "So--I'll be on my way. It was nice to meet you."

"Hey!" Stark grabbed his wrist. "Where's the fire?"

Peter pointed to where part of Central Park was on fire.

"Oh. Huh. Well, I need help. Come on."

A blue shield formed across Central Park, dousing the flames. Peter followed Stark inside.

Inside the door was a short hall from the pad on the roof to a huge, bright room that Peter was absolutely sure was Reed Richards' lab. Peter wanted to see inside so bad he could taste it like vinegar in his mouth. Stark in the depowered suit walked like a robot, one deliberate footstep at a time. "So you can move in that thing," Peter commented.

"If I'm up, yes. I can't get up if I'm on my back. Normally, this isn't an issue, since I can fucking fly, but I wasn't counting on electric supervillains. I'm thinking insulating spray-coat." Clomp. Clomp. He held up Peter's Leatherman. "Well, you can have this back."

"Thanks." That was fifty bucks he didn't have to spare, so that was a serious relief. Peter slipped it back into his suit.

Stark stopped and looked at him. "That was not a pocket."

"Yes it was."

"That was your crotch."


"You pulled that straight from your crotch and used it on my face."

Yes. "No!"

"I'd object, but that was before I saw the ass on you, junior," Stark said, turning away and starting down the hall again.

Phew. Wait, what? Did... did Iron Man seriously just compliment his butt? What the hell? Peter looked at the glass door outside, where he knew the fight was still going on, and then back towards Stark and the waiting lab. Yeah. The Fantastic Four had it covered. He was going inside.

Inside... inside was beautiful. Peter spun in slow circles, trying to see it all. They had a gamma containment unit. He couldn't even believe it. "You know, I think I own a building over thataway," Stark said, gesturing. "I should build something like this. Crash pad, literally. You know, SHIELD knows absolutely nothing about you."

"Good. Who's SHIELD?"

"Strategic homeland something or other. Good guys. We're thinking of forming a team. Hey, I need your fingers." Stark waved him over. "Hip joint. Right here. Use this."

Stark handed him an angled tool. Peter dropped to one knee, thinking: Holy wow. He was working on the Iron Man armor inside the Baxter Building. He'd had dreams like this. Really good ones, until of course the Green Goblin or some zombies showed up. Stark was working on his hand armor, loosening the joints--and they were really simple, it was a good design--so the entire hand came off in one piece.

Then Stark rested his hand on top of Peter's head. Peter looked up, startled, and lost his grip on the armor; the hip piece clashed to the ground. "You're really very cute. And I say this without seeing your face, which for me is incredibly rare. How flexible are you?"

Peter was blushing hard. Thank God the mask was opaque. Thank God the eyepieces were mirrors. He couldn't speak, he knew his voice would betray him.

Stark crouched slowly to eye level. The knees of the armor stuck out above the sleek black spandex covering his thighs. He rocked forward and his knee piece pressed into Peter's leg. He stroked Peter's neck with his naked hand, finding the seam in the mask, slipping his nails under.

Stark's hair was soaked, his face smudged with black soot. His eyes sparkled in the bright fluorescents. And he wasn't a girl, and he was coming on to Peter. Peter had about ten seconds, he figured, to work out how he felt about that before Stark was going to have his mask off.

Stark leaned in. Five. Four. Peter stopped Stark's hands on either side of his neck.

"Not that flexible, huh?"

"I have a family," Peter said.







"Parents," Stark asked, only it almost wasn't asking. "You're underage."

"No! I'm twenty-two. I meant--you can't see my face. Because I have family. So--that's why I wear the mask," Peter said.

"And you don't trust me. That's fair. I wouldn't trust me either."

"Suit online," the armor mask said in its smooth mid-Atlantic tones.

Stark rolled his eyes. "Timing!" he barked at the mask.

Peter folded his mask up to his nose and kissed Stark.

It was... bristly. And smelled like burnt metal. And Stark grabbed his ass with both hands and hauled him close, still in that crouch so that Peter was kneeling between his armored legs. And that was Stark's hard-on underneath the spandex, softer than the belly armor that was threatening to rip right through Peter's thin costume.

Stark slapped at the side of his chest and the armor petaled open, scraping against the spider on Peter's chest. Underneath, black spandex and sweat, smelling strongly like engine oil and salt and cologne, and a hole in the fabric exposing... something, a glowing machine, embedded in his chest. Peter touched it, cool through the glove. Stark's heart beat under his hand.

"Yes, it's part of my body. It keeps me alive. Shh," Stark said. "It's a secret."

"Is that a miniaturized arc reactor?"

"Oh, cute and smart. Too bad the Fantastics are coming back."

Peter jumped to his feet and yanked down his mask. Stark fell forward onto his knees. "Ow," Stark said. "Cute, smart, and shy. Help me up."

Peter did. Stark shrugged out of his armor, except for the legs, sliding it off his shoulders and onto the floor. He took a slow step toward Peter and leaned in close. "Hotel Maria. Penthouse. Think about it." He stroked the line of Peter's chin, then looked toward the roof entrance, just as the Human Torch swooped in through the big glass door. "Here's Johnny!"

"Tony! Long time no see! And my main man of spider, long time never see. How is that possible? We should hang!" The Human Torch switched off the flame that made up his body--God, that was weird--and walked over with his arms outspread.

Oh. Oh, that meant him. "Well--I don't have a lot of time--I should be going," Peter said. He knew Johnny Storm from the cover of the Bugle, Time, and People Magazine. Jameson actually liked them. Kept telling Peter that his buddy the Spider should emulate them, take the mask off, take some responsibility for a change.

Peter touched his neck, the seam of his mask, and thought of Aunt May. "Us three and a pitcher of vodka and Red Bull," Johnny Storm said. "Are we on? We're on."

"Sorry. See you around," Peter said. He ran for the roof--passing Sue Storm, Ben Grimm, and Reed Richards by the jet, THE jet, holy shit, if he had his camera he'd have this month's rent for sure--and dived twenty stories, wind on his face, before he bothered shooting a web to break his fall.

Hotel Maria. Penthouse suite. He paused on top of the Empire State Building and thought about it.


Peter ate dinner in the archives of the Bugle, looking up Tony Stark. A genius right up there with Otto Octavius, Reed Richards, and Einstein. A socialite right up there with Paris Hilton and Britney Spears, or--he used to be. The last party shot anyone seemed to have was right before he came out as Iron Man.

"Looking for something?" Betty asked, slipping her cigarettes back in her purse and kicking the block from the fire door.

"Iron Man and Spider-Man did some work together recently. I just wanted to look him up."

"Get any shots?"

"Believe me, you'd know if I had. I missed it." Peter sighed.

"My hairdresser's girlfriend said Tony Stark bought her a drink last month. She said he's gorgeous and she would have fucked him in a heartbeat, but he didn't even try. Seems like being a superhero has changed him," Betty said, tapping her nail on a story about Stark and the entire cast of America's Next Top Model.

"What do you think about this whole superhero... thing? I mean, Jameson thinks costumes are all the same if they don't show their face. What do you think?"

Betty smiled at him. "What do you? Spider-Man is your friend."

"He's not always my friend," Peter said, thinking of MJ, thinking of Aunt May, thinking of oh, God, Harry.

"I figure he's got his reasons. I mean, he takes the mask off, he can be anyone. He can get a hot dog on the street. The Fantastic Four definitely can't do that."

"Tony Stark never could."

"So I don't blame him," Betty said. "And you can tell him that from me."

Peter smiled. "Okay."

"And tell him next time he teams up with someone, call you! You need the money." She punched his shoulder and headed back downstairs.


He thought about calling MJ, but... she still hadn't forgiven him. For everything. For his stupid ego and for Harry and for his whole dumb life.

That was the other reason he could never go public. His tell-all unauthorized memoir would be unbearable.


And he found himself on the outside wall of the Hotel Maria, thinking it over. The windows were open.

"Potts! They're charging me? With what? ...Oh. Six mil, huh? Put it on the Amex. Hey, it wasn't even me, it was Spider-Man. He put me there. Charge him. ...Yeah, okay. Nah, pay them. I don't want to get banned from New York. Okay. Okay! I'm here alone. Better if you were here." Stark made kissing noises into the phone as he strolled out onto the balcony. "What should you do with me? Kiss me, Kate. Oh? Oh. Oh. Okay. Seriously, why don't they ever charge Spider-Man? It's persecution. Bye, Pepper." Stark slipped the phone into his pocket.

"Because I don't have any money," Peter said. Stark startled and looked up. Peter crawled down the wall toward him. "I made the suit myself with rubber and glue."

"Yeah? Looks good."

Peter dropped to the balcony floor. "Hi."

"Hi." Stark rubbed his thumb over his lower lip.

"They're billing you six million dollars?"

"Damage to infrastructure. They do it to the Fours, too. Don't worry, I've got six trillion more where that came from."

Peter tried to imagine not caring about six million dollars. He tried to imagine HAVING six million dollars to take away. He couldn't, on either count. "Do they ever charge the guys you're chasing? You know, the bad guys?"

"Sure. Twenty to life. I prefer the money."

Peter tugged off a glove, then the other.

"Mm, that looks like a sign." Stark took Peter's left hand and kissed the palm. "Am I right?"

"Maybe I just want to see the miniature arc reactor again." Peter blushed under his mask.

"You want me for my toys?" Stark raised his eyebrows. "You know, I'm okay with that." He popped the buttons open on his shirt one-handed.

Peter reached out and touched it, glowing through Stark's undershirt. Stark turned his face into Peter's other palm and kissed it again open-mouthed.

"Oh, you like that," Stark said. He brushed his hand across Peter's erection.

"Spandex. I should do something about that, wear shorts or something..." Peter lost his voice when Stark slid his hand around Peter's butt and squeezed.

Stark pulled him in close, hand sliding down his left arm to his biceps, his shoulder, the small of his back. "Never." He rubbed his cheek along Peter's, his beard scraping the mask. "Now, let me guess. First time with a man."

"Yeah. Well--unless you count... no, first time with a man."

"Count what? Tell, tell, tell." Stark punctuated each word with a double-handed squeeze of Peter's butt.

"When my friend and I watched a porno together, back in high school, and kind of... got carried away." Peter hadn't ever seen anything like that movie, and when Harry opened his pants, Peter did too. "But I didn't touch him." Peter shifted his thigh between Stark's legs, bringing them closer, a little closer.

"Nice. Let me guess--you're blond, your friend is dark. He's older, just a little. It was his movie. You'd never seen another man's hard dick before."

Peter slipped his hand under Stark's shirts. Stark's skin was silkier than he could have imagined. He thought the man would be rough all over, like his beard. "I'm dark-haired," Peter said. "He was blond. But yeah, he's older. It was his movie. And it was the first time outside of a human sexuality book from the 1970s."

"But you didn't touch him," Stark murmured in his ear.

"No. Maybe I should have. I loved him."

"Touch me."

Peter did. He unbuttoned Stark's pants; Stark wasn't wearing underwear. An undershirt, but no shorts. He stroked Stark's abdomen with the backs of his fingers. The palms of his hands were callused and rough. Mary Jane made him use her lotion, but Mary Jane hadn't come around in quite a while, so his hands were jagged as tree bark.

Stark shimmied and his pants dropped down to his knees. He let go of Peter long enough to strip off his shirt, both shirts, and stepped out of the pants barefoot and he was naked in the bright room. His chest glowed like a mechanical sun.

He took Peter's ungloved hands. "That's nasty," he said, rubbing his thumb over the scar from the spider bite.

"That's where I was bitten by the genetically engineered spider that gave me my powers," Peter said. It caught in his throat so he couldn't speak above a whisper.

"No way."


"How many times have you broken these fingers?" Stark kissed them.

"A few. I heal fast." Stark's dick pressed against the rubber of his suit, sticking slightly and dragging. Peter wanted to see more; he took a step back, but Stark followed him, sliding Peter's fingers into his mouth. His mouth was hot, so hot, and soft, and slick, and Peter misstepped and fell back onto his butt.

Well, he could see now. He cupped the backs of Stark's thighs in his hands and pulled himself up to kneeling and looked his dick in the eye. Black hair and purple-brown skin. It was big, or it looked big; Peter didn't really know any dicks apart from his own, and he wasn't usually looking at himself this closely.

There was a scar on Stark's inner thigh. Peter touched it. "What happened?" There was another on his stomach, actually, and a bigger one on the left side of his chest, near the glowing device.

"A missile."

Peter looked up at him. Stark tapped the reactor embedded in his chest, surrounded by shiny pink scar. "Oh," Peter said.

"I still have secrets."

"It scares me," Peter said. His voice was tiny compared to Stark's. "The idea of them knowing who I am--of everyone knowing. But everyone already knew you. Who you were. Did it change? Did you change?"

"For the better," Stark said.

"Do you have a bed in here?"

"Absolutely." Stark pulled Peter to his feet one-handed and practically dragged him to the bedroom.


Peter was naked except for the mask, and Stark was blowing him. No. Tony. Tony. With a mouth on his... he was Tony. "Tony..."

Tony was running his tongue around the head of his cock in a circle. "Oh, God! Tony!"

"You rang?" Tony did the same thing, only with his thumb around the middle of the shaft, and when he changed direction Peter almost kneed him in the face. "Can I help you? Spidey? Did you want something?"

Peter could hear the smile in his voice. He clutched the bed frame and panted into his arm.

Stark licked his balls. "Oh, God," Peter groaned, and Stark tugged downwards and he did not come.


Upside down against the wall. Peter couldn't think but he could stick, and he couldn't form sentences but he could mimic Tony's hand motions.

"Oh, I bet you got straight As, because you are one quick study, caterpillar," Tony said into his thigh. He bit the cord of Peter's muscle and came on his mask.


Three in the morning. Lights out. Peter held Tony's right hand in his left; he was lying on his right side, Tony's arm tucked under his body, Tony's face against his back. Tony's left hand was on his butt. Tony really liked his butt. Tony had done *things* to his butt that Peter enjoyed more than he had ever thought possible.

Tony tugged at Peter's hip. He was still awake, then. Peter rolled over to look at him. "More?"

"I'm all done, tootsie pop." Tony kissed his stomach.

"I can't move..." Peter grinned under the mask.

"I want to see your wrists. The web is biological?"

Peter showed him his wrists. "I think... it's a modified sweat gland."

"Oh, like a nipple. Oh, right in there, look at that. Right in the heel of the hand." Tony turned his wrists under the light from the reactor. "I wouldn't even notice."

"If I kind of tap it... it activates. I get really thirsty afterwards. I drink a lot of Gatorade."


"And eat a lot of hot dogs."

"A little fluid, a little protein, a lot of structure, and it hardens when it hits the air, and then dissolves when you're done. You are fascinating, turtle."

"The arc reactor is cold... because it's a nearly 100% efficient power source, right? Nothing wasted in heat. But the ingredients cost a fortune, and that's why the big ones were never implemented on a large scale. But if you can make it smaller, and it's powerful enough to run the armor, that's your new company direction, isn't it? Not weapons, but power. Eradicating fossil fuels."

Tony kissed his stomach. "New York City can fine me all they want. I'll make more."

"You're going to make all the money in the entire world," Peter said, lolling back on the pillow.

"That's the idea." Tony crawled up the bed and folded his hands over Peter's chest. He settled his thighs between Peter's. "I don't suppose you need a job? With that pointy little brain inside your round little head. I could use a man like you." He waggled his eyebrows and poked Peter in the forehead.

"Yeah. But I have to do it myself."

"What's the point of seducing a bazillionaire if you don't get some of the side benefits?"

"I didn't seduce you."

Tony smiled. "Yeah you did."

"I... didn't try to?"

"That's why it worked."

Peter rubbed his hand over Tony's head. His thick hair stood on end. And he took a deep breath, and said, "Peter. It's Peter. And I have an aunt."

He took the mask off. "My parents died, and my girlfriend left me, and my best friend died, but I have an aunt," Peter said. He pushed Tony off his chest so that the light from the arc reactor fell across his face. The sweat cooled and prickled on his skin.

"Why, ostrich, you're beautiful." Tony stroked his cheek.

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm a nerd."

"A nerd with big blue eyes." Tony leaned up and kissed him, hard, and Peter wrapped his arms around Tony's neck and kissed him back. He rubbed his chest against the cool glass in Tony's chest and folded his legs around Tony's hips. "And flexible legs," Tony said. "Very flexible legs."

Peter kissed him. Tony kissed his eyelids, his forehead, the tip of his nose, licked his chin. "Peter. Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater. I'm trying so hard for one more, but it's not going to happen."

"Parker. Peter Parker."

Tony rolled them over and took Peter's face in his hands. "Peter Parker."

"I should go. I have work in... a few hours." His current job was bike messenger, on top of freelancing for the Bugle. It was working out OK. Less structured than pizza delivery.

"Work for me. Be my bodyguard. Do business plans for me. Naked."

"I can't leave my aunt."

"Take your aunt. Can she cook?" Tony pinched Peter's ear. "I need a cook. Clothed cook."

"Quit it!" Peter trapped Tony's hand against the bed. Tony's eyes glittered in the moonlight.

"Right. Backing off."

Peter put his head down and listened to Tony's heart.

"You're a prickly pear, pretty Peter." Tony stroked his hair.

"I can take care of myself. But if you want to help..." Peter thought aloud. "I take pictures for the Daily Bugle."

"You? You're a paparazzo? Get out of my bed." Tony shoved him with both hands and feet; Peter laughed.


Peter got a thousand bucks for the pictures of Iron Man and Spider-Man together. The next week, Tony called him. "You don't have a phone," Tony said.

"Okay. You can buy me a phone."

"THANK you."

"Did you upgrade your surge protection?"

"FUCK you. It's not my fault he has intelligent electricity."


"Intelligent. Electricity," Tony said. "Grasshopper."

"No wonder you crashed like a proton at the end of a particle accelerator, if he was zapping you with *intelligent electricity*."

Tony paused. "Say that again."

"No," Peter said, laughing.

"Let me get the KY."

"I'm standing right in front of my landlord's door!" Peter whispered.

"Well, I better get you that phone. And the KY. Come on over."

"To California?"

"No. Next to the Baxter Building. I do own it. And bring the suit." Tony growled into the phone and hung up, leaving Peter looking at the handset.

Well. He had his suit on already. He hung up the handset and grabbed his keys.

The End.