A kitten sneeze from a few tables away. “Ugh - Fuck,” mutters the sneezer.
Tony looks up from his work, corner of his mouth twitching. “Mister Parker-”
“Sorry!” Peter yelps, raising his palms in apology, but then immediately bringing them back down to paw his nose with a sleeve. He sniffles.
They’re sat tinkering in Tony’s lab on their various projects. Tony manoeuvres holographic blueprints with a master’s ease and an artist’s flair, while Peter works steadily at his station, head bent low over the table, hair brushing its surface. The only sound is the ongoing buzzing from the various devices around them, the scratch of Peter’s pencil, and the occasional exchange. It’s warm. Quiet.
“Sorry, Mr. Stark. I just…” He drops his head back until all he’s staring at the ceiling, leaning back into his chair. Tony strongly suspects his eyes are closed. “It’s been that kind of day.”
“Why don’t you go sit on the couch, huh?” Tony suggests, jerking a thumbing the direction of the battered leather thing in the corner of the lab. “Take a five minute break.”
Peter’s already shaking his head, face still tilted upwards. The teen wraps an arm around his knees, and curls himself tighter, firmer, resolute in whatever he’s about to say. He drops his head back down, and it’s only then that Tony takes in the overly-pink cheeks highlighting the faint freckles, the rubbed-raw nose, the shiny eyes. “I -” he breaks off to cough into the crook of his elbow. “- I can’t.”
“And why is that?” Tony raises his eyebrows.
Peter flushes a deep, royal red, and his nails drag down his faded jeans. “I'll…” he mumbles.
“I’ll fall asleep! And I can’t do that in Tony Stark’s lab, because you’re you, and that would be embarrassing, and Dum-E would probably try to pour a smoothie on me and oh my god I have Spanish and-” Peter bursts out, hands dashing anxious gestures in the air. Tony observes as he rants, and then leans in to where he knows the nearest microphone is concealed to whisper:
“Check his temperature, Fri.”
“Mr. Parker is at 101.2 degrees fahrenheit presently, sir,” she responds in equally muted tones. He’d trained her well.
Tony winces. Yeah, that wasn’t good.
“Well, I’m taking a break,” Tony cuts him off, swiping away his work and heading over to the couch with a tablet. “You have fun.”
It takes five minutes for Peter to join him.
It takes ten for him to deteriorate into a clingy mess.
Somehow, at some point, the kid had fallen asleep jammed against his side, arm resting on Tony’s stomach, face in the crook of his neck, breathing evenly onto his skin. Tony forces himself to take a breath at the close proximity. The couch smells of motor-oil and faintly of liquor, a little of the aftershave he uses. The leather is worn and smooth.
“You’re an octopus,” he accuses the boy, mock-glaring down at him. “You’re one of those people that are octopus-es - o-octopi, octo- octo- Friday?”
“Octopuses,” Tony plows on, “When they’re sick, and I didn’t even guess. This is a crime to me in particular.”
He loosens throughout his impromptu speech, losing some of his discomfort about the closeness of the boy. It’s just Peter, he tells himself. Then snaps back to the task at hand.
“Fuck. Dum-E,” he calls, and the little bot rolls over. He comes to a stop in front of him and whirs in curiosity. “Can you get a cold flannel for Mr. Parker here, please?”
Dum-E seems to brighten, giving an affirmative beep before tootling off in the direction of a sink. Tony sighs, sinking into the leather. This was not the way he’d expected his evening to go.
He absent-mindedly twirls a hand in Peter’s hair, and freezes when the kid visibly softens, melting at the contact. He snuffles into his shoulder. He worms in closer to Tony. Oh my god.
“This is illegal,” Tony informs the empty lab. “You’re fifteen, you’re not meant to be adorable.” he told Peter pointedly. His hand comes back to rest in the teen’s hair.
Tony would like to say, later, that he resisted the urge to tease every single knot and their grandchild out of Peter’s hair. But then he would be lying.
In his defence, it was ridiculously soft.
The doors of the lab whooshed open, and Pepper strolls in. She’s beautiful as always - hair tied in a loose ponytail, freckles free without the guise of makeup, eyes a sparkling blue. Radiant. She pauses upon spotting the two of them tangled up on the couch, and opens her mouth to ask, but Tony beats her two it.
“This isn’t what it looks like.”
“Please don’t tell me you’ve taken in another one,” Pepper whispers back, taking care that her steps are silent as she makes her way over. “Tony, hon -”
“He has an aunt!” Tony protests. “Nobody is adopting anybody!”
Pepper ghosts a hand over Peter’s hair, and looks to meet Tony’s eyes. “What’s her name?”
“May Parker. I feel like you two would get on very well - although I’m not sure how well that would go for me,” Tony added.
She smiles. It’s perfect. “Did you eat today?”
“Late lunch,” he responds honestly, feeling a twinge of regret.
“Try to get something later, okay?” Her brows crease, and Tony presses a quick kiss in the middle of them.
“Yeah.” He smirks, “I’m sure you’ve got yourself handled.”
“Some of us have a company to run.”
“Some of us have a - a child to hug,” Tony shot back.
Pepper huffs a laugh out, and gets up to leave. The inventor catches her hand - “Hey. Love you.”
“Love you too.” She leaves with a shine in her eyes the wasn’t there when she came in.
Tony twists a gentle hand through Peter’s hair again, and smiles.
No, this wasn’t how he thought his evening was going to go. But -
Dum-E trundles into view, holding a frying pan and a bag of salted nuts, for some god forsaken reason.
- it wasn’t such a bad way to spend it.
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