A Stark Contrast To The Expected

Chapter One

A/N: This is another fanfic I wrote in late 2017, when I was 17-years-old, and is actually my very first IronDad fanfiction ever 😂 So yeah, as I said before, please go easy on me with the characterizations and stuff, I didn't really know what I was doing back then.

Because this was my first ever IronDad fanfiction, Tony is super duper overprotective and Peter acts a lot younger than he really is 😅. I honestly didn't have the heart (or energy) to go back through this whole 5-chaptered fanfic and fix everything, so I hope you enjoy a glimpse into where my writing talent was 3+ years-ago lol.

As always, thank you so much for the support and love and I hope you enjoy this story! 🥰

Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

This fanfic is dedicated to the wonderful @solbyswarmheart who encouraged me to publish this story here and left a super sweet and kind comment on my last story. Thank you so much hon and I hope you enjoy Chapter One! 💖💖💖

THIS IS NOT STARKER.

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The chandeliers that hang from the high ceiling vibrate against the low thumping of the bass, the smell of expensive perfume and poorly hidden body sweat causing Peter's nose to wrinkle. He shifts on his feet, leaning against the side of the clothe covered glass table, the dull edge pressing against his ribs, causing him to wince.

Running his fingers through his slicked back hair, the teen grimaces at the feeling of the jell his father wrestled him into getting squeezed between his fingers. Looking around quickly, Peter discreetly reaches under the table, and grabbing the edge of table clothe, rubs the offending hair product off of his hand, hoping that the blue tinge wouldn't be noticeable. 

Breathing out a sigh, he lifts his eyes up and searches the growling crowd for the familiar spiked up black hair.

His stomach clenches when his dad is no where in sight, and his movements because slightly more panicked as he continues to search. The white glow of the decorative lights are suddenly becoming to much for his senses, the clanking of the glasses and the chatter of the guests becoming muffled noise in the background as he staggers forward.

Peter barely gets more then a foot away from his hiding place in the corner when a warm hand suddenly claps onto his dress shirt clad shoulder. The teenager flinches backwards, almost tripping over his own feet in his surprise as people begin to notice his presence.

"-eter?" A voice softly asks, and brown eyes dart up to meet his dad's worried gaze. "Peter, baby, are you okay?"

Peter quickly nods, feeling his face heat up as the guests coo in the background. Fighting against the urge to cuddle into his father's side, he curls his fingers around the cuff of Tony's dress shirt, the plastic buttons digging into his palm. 

A silent message seems to pass between the two of them, the billionaire's frown deepening as he takes in his son's anxiety induced state, the trembling in his small hands causing his dad's black sleeves to ruffle.

"Do we need to leave now, honey?" Tony whispers quietly, already beginning to lead them through the thick crowd. 

Peter just nods softly, feeling like a little kid that got lost in the mall. His dad doesn't even blink, knowing that making a joke would not help the situation in anyway.

Passing an elderly man with graying hair, Peter is shocked when his father doesn't stop to shake the man's offered hand, the billionaire turning around to flash him a blinding smile, all white teeth and Stark charm.

"Sorry about this, Mr. Mayor." He says, clutching Peter closer to his side as they push through the crowd. "Junior here had too much cake, and you know how kids get. . ."

The man, who Peter now recognizes as Mayor Kingsley, waves them off, his green eyes lit up in mirth, raising his half full glass in a salute before he drowns the alcohol like it is apple juice.

"Get your boy home, Tony!" Is all he says, voice starting to slur at the edges, before the laughter of the people next to him drowns him out.

The two Starks reach the door of the party room without incident, Tony holding it open and gently pushing his son through with a callused hand on his back. Peter walks over the threshold, already feeling the dizzy tingling of his senses start to fizzle down as his dad pulls him close, wrapping his strong arms around his slightly trembling frame. 

Closing his eyes, the 15 year old rests his head against his father's white shirt, breathing in the smell of his aftershave and motor grease that seems to cling to his skin no matter what he is wearing. 

They stay that way for a few seconds, Tony slowly rocking them from side to side when Peter cuddles closer.

"We're going to go home now, Peter." The elder Stark says, pulling away from the embrace and cupping his baby's face in his hands.

Peter frowns, reaching up and grasping Tony's fingers. He opens his mouth to protest, but his dad beats him to it. "No arguing, Pete. We are going to go back to the Tower, get into comfy pajamas, put on a Disney movie, and eat all the ice cream in the fridge."

"B-but that's like 20 cartons!" Peter giggles, smiling broadly when his dad smacks a wet kiss on his forehead. "And I thought I had to much 'cake' already?"

Tony chuckles, wrapping a strong arm around his son's waist as they start to walk toward the exit, the sound of music and drunken laughter muffled as they get farther away from the chaotic charity event. "One thing you can never have, sweetheart, is too much desert!"

Peter nods, his heart feeling lighter then it had all night, his nerves now as soft as butter and his hands steady as he lets his father ground him back to reality.

But just as they are about to walk out of the fancy hotel, the night air cool as it gets blown in, the scents of due and pure New York air filling up Peter's nose, he makes the mistake of looking back over his dad's shoulder.

A man stands at the door of the ball room, his blond hair falling to cover one red hued grey eye, swaying in time with the rapid beating of the drums and the loud shriek of the guitar. His reflection is warped by the glass separating them, his dress shirt and tie seeming to shift to the right, while the rest of his body is to the left. 

He is holding a wine glass, the red liquid sloshing out of the rim and landing with a splash on the marble floor. He smiles cruelty at Peter, his teeth flashing in the neon lights of the disco, his face like the hard marble of ancient Roman statues. He raises one wine soaked hand in a imitation of a friendly wave, his spilled alcohol dripping down his fingers and mixing with the puddle on the floor. 

Peter grips his dad's hand tighter, feeling the elder Stark pull him even closer in response, kissing the top of his head in comfort as they step out.

The last thing Peter sees before his dad leads him out of the hotel is the man's glazed eyes following his every move.