Dark Paradise

You're famous.

Peter felt warmth in his head and cold in his limbs. He had dry mouth and also a sore throat. His head and body ached. His thoughts raced, but he couldn't catch any of them. He turned on his side and watched the man's face through his half-closed eyelids for a few seconds until he plunged into a deep sleepless sleep...

The sky was adorned with blushes and the sun shone. Peter lay on his stomach, staring at the floor where the pieces of clothing were were lying. Stark left, leaving him lying like a piece of rag here. Like a piece of dirty rag. The boy overcame the pain and sat down. He lowered his legs from the bed, leaned forward, and reached for his underwear. Suddenly he glanced at the "absolutely brilliantly" located mirror. It hung on the wall opposite the side of the bed. The feeling when you wake up in the morning, rub your eyes, and then then you see your reflection and you almost have a heart attack. But the sight of his naked body was perhaps the last thing the boy wanted at the moment. He put on his boxers and then, just with bated breath, stared at his tousled greasy hair, red eyes, neck; a blue-violet color in the shape of a man's hand beginning to appear on it. His whole life was projected on screen before his eyes. He thought of his aunt. He would give anything to sit next to her now. So that she could lovingly embrace him and and stroke his hair as one comfort after another came out of her mouth. He began to run his trembling fingers over his aching neck, and another tear ran down his cheek. Although he had more than enough reasons to cry, he was ashamed. Boys don't cry. But fuck it. Fuck all those prejudices. He fell on his stomach and sobbed.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When he heard footsteps, he jumped to his feet, grabbed his T-shirt, and pulled it over his head. He couldn't bear the thought of standing here undressed now. Tony entered the room drying his wet hair with a towel. Peter munched on the bottom of his shirt in his hands. Stark smiled at the boy, but Peter didn't move a single muscle. He just stood idle and kept silent.

"Come with me," Tony said. Then he left the room and the boy followed him slowly.

In the kitchen, Tony took two cups from the shelf, placed one on the coffee mat under the touch panel, and when the button was pressed, the mug began to fill with a dark bitter liquid. Peter, meanwhile, entered the room. At Tony's command, without a saying anything, he sat down in a chair at the table and hid his hands between his thighs. The man placed mugs of fresh coffee on the table and sat across from the boy. Out of decency, Peter tasted the hot drink and had to do something to keep him from spitting, the bitter didn't suit him very well. They had breakfast, and then Tony tossed the morning's newspaper in front of the boy.

"By the way ... You're famous." 

Peter pushed his plate aside, reached out, and pulled the printed papers together. And really. The title page was adorned with a photo of him, along with a photo of the hotel where he was staying, and an inscription in large letters - The Missing Boy.

Don't start crying! Just don't start crying! the brunet shouted at himself in his mind. He didn't have the courage to say anything. He didn't have the courage to take his eyes off the newspaper and look away. He didn't have the courage to look up at Tony Stark.

"I-" Peter began, staring into his lap. Tony walked over to the nervous boy and sat down in the empty chair next to him. As soon as he did, Peter's vocal cords stopped serving. Tony's fingers of one hand ran the colored stain that adorned the boy's neck, and he couldn't help but smile a little. He then grabbed Peter's face and turned it toward him. He ran his fingers over his soft skin for a moment, then his fingers moved to the boy's dry mouth. He ran his thumb over Peter's lower lip and looked at him, feeling a slight disturbing excitement. Then he kissed the boy lightly on the cheek.

"Go and take a shower," he whispered a short sentence in the boy's ear.

The still dumb boy stood up and literally ran up the stairs. He already knew the way. Tony sat still at the table. He drank a morning dose of caffeine and began reading the newspaper with amusement. As he expected; the police had no idea what happend. He put down his reading, rested his elbows on the table, and hid his face in his hands.

What was wrong with him? Peter Parker was not the first victim he had brought here. But there was something else about this sixteen-year-old boy. Something strange. He was beginning to like it. But he knew what he wanted and what he had to do. He walked over to the kitchen counter and began rummaging in one of the drawers. Finally, he pulled out a large knife. The bathroom is the perfect place. All blood disappears in the shower drain. No mess anywhere.

As soon as he heard the sound of running water from the upper floor, he went up the stairs.