Work Text:
Peter waves goodbye to Ned at the front doors of the school, watching for a minute as his best friend walks towards the parking lot.
Happy stands leaning on the side of his car with his arms crossed, dark sunglasses perched on his nose. Peter waves at Happy, jogging over and sliding into the car; Happy does the same after making sure Peter is secure.
Peter drops his backpack on the seat beside him, mouth opening in a wide yawn, eyes squeezing shut.
"Take a few minutes," Happy says, not unkindly, "Boss wouldn't want you falling asleep in his lab."
"M'kay," Peter murmurs, adorably obedient.
Happy glances at Peter in the rearview mirror and finds the teenager already sound asleep, leaning against the car door.
When they arrive in front of the tower, Happy softly calls Peter's name, feeling apologetic when Peter startles awake. "We're here."
"'m awake!" Peter nearly shouts, "Thanks for the ride, Happy!"
Happy only watches as Peter grabs his backpack, exits the car, and trots through the sliding doors that welcome him.
“To Mr. Stark's lab,” Peter requests once he's in the elevator.
“Certainly, Peter,” FRIDAY responds.
***
Tony takes one look at Peter, snatches his backpack, and pushes him back into the elevator.
***
Peter comes out of the bathroom warm and relaxed, disheveled curls peeking out from under a pristine white towel.
“Hair’s getting a little long,” Tony observes, swiping away the blue hologram that floats in front of him, projected from the tablet that sits on the table.
“Mm,” Peter hums lightly in response, practically falling onto the sofa beside Tony. He carelessly rubs his hair once with the towel, eyelids falling shut and hand stilling on his head, half asleep.
Tony resists the urge to coo. “C’mere,” he grunts, pulling the towel from Peter.
“Don’ worry ‘bout me Mr. Stark, I can do it m’self,” Peter mumbles, hand blindly fumbling in the air.
“Not when your face is about to meet the sofa,” Tony quips, holding the towel out of Peter’s reach.
This seems to strike a nerve. Peter jerks his head up and away from its path towards the armrest of the sofa, brows furrowed in sleepy frustration. His eyes remain firmly shut, and Tony nearly laughs out loud when he notices.
“Ca’ do i’ m’self,” Peter insists.
“Yeah, yeah.” Tony rolls his eyes towards the ceiling (not that Peter would see), and watches with amusement as Peter slumps forward in his direction. “Tough day at school?”
“Never been so happy for the weekend in my life,” Peter groans, suddenly more awake, “Why do teachers always think tests at the end of the week is a good idea?” His head touches Tony’s shoulder, and he promptly melts into Tony’s side with a sigh.
“Ah, stayed up all night studying?” Tony happily continues the conversation, keeping Peter distracted. He cautiously begins rubbing the teenager’s hair with the towel, slow and gentle.
“It’s like all the teachers purposefully plan the same day to do testing,” Peter complains, “My brain can only handle so much.”
“And you have to fight crime too, right, Underoos,” Tony teases.
“Right, that’s even less sleep for me… Mr. Stark, you made my suit, stop calling me that,” Peter grumbles, opening his eyes to frown up at Tony.
“Never.”
Peter huffs, bottom lip jutting out in a pout, closing his eyes as chestnut curls flop messily over his forehead from under the towel.
“Don’t worry, you can sleep in all you want tomorrow,” Tony laughs, brushing Peter’s hair back with his fingers.
“Sounds great,” Peter yawns.
“But, y’know, I’d just start fixing up our suits without you,” Tony says with as much indifference as he could muster, knowing it would cause Peter to react.
“No! Nonono Mr. Stark you can’t do that,” Peter starts in a panic, bolting upright.
Tony simply raises an eyebrow, leaning back comfortably against the sofa.
“Mr. Stark, please—”
Tony can’t stand seeing Peter’s wide, sorrowful brown eyes and devastated expression. “Stop looking at me like that kid, I’m kidding,” he gently reassures the distressed teenager. When Peter eyes him warily, still disbelieving, Tony sighs and affectionately ruffles Peter's messy curls, pulling him close.
“I won’t start without you,” Tony says, sinking as much sincerity as he could into his words.
“Promise?” Peter murmurs, leaning against Tony, letting the billionaire idly play with his hair.
“Promise.”
Peter slowly smiles, soft and content.
A tranquil silence settles, the refrigerator humming quietly in the background. Tony runs his calloused fingers through Peter’s silky tresses and stares at nothing, pleasantly spaced out. Peter dozes lightly, blissfully delighted to feel one of Tony’s arms resting around his stomach, Tony’s chest at his back, Tony's fingers in his hair. They enjoy the silence and each other’s presence for all of five minutes before Tony’s workaholic brain decides that it doesn’t like having nothing to think about.
“Hey, don’t sleep here,” Tony whispers, gently tightening his arm around Peter’s middle in hopes of waking him up.
Humming low in his throat, Peter shifts, settling his arms over Tony’s, effectively trapping it. His fingers curl delicately, lightly gripping Tony’s forearm, as if staking a claim on Tony’s arm.
Or to make sure I don’t escape, Tony muses. “Kiddo,” he tries again, “You can’t sleep here.”
Peter drowsily slurs something that sounds suspiciously like a Yes.
Tony experimentally wiggles the arm that is under both of Peter’s, and sighs when Peter whines. “Pete.”
“Hm.”
“You have a bed.”
“Mm.”
“How ‘bout you actually use it instead of sleeping here,” Tony suggests — displaying an amazing show of patience that goes against the very image of Tony Stark — and tamps down the exasperation that threatens to show in his voice.
“‘m tired,” Peter exhales, more breath than distinct syllables, and Tony’s heart aches.
“I’m too old to carry you,” Tony jokes (but not really).
“You’re not old,” Peter mumbles, words blending together, nearly incomprehensible.
Tony is caught between feeling pleased that Peter doesn’t think of him as old, and mildly irritated that Peter is slyly trying to get Tony Stark to carry him.
Five minutes later, Tony is carrying Peter through the halls to his room after stepping out of the elevator.
Peter is shocked. He knows he’s not light, but Tony seems to be perfectly fine (not as fine as a superhuman would be, but Tony isn’t one), thick arms tense under Peter’s weight, steps slow but steady and unfaltering. Tony has always looked strong, with a broad chest, solid shoulders, and firm muscles, but Peter had never known the extent of Tony’s strength outside of his formidable Iron Man armour.
For someone with enhanced strength, Peter often forgets that Tony is notably strong by human standards.
Tony silently nudges the door to Peter’s room open with a foot, stepping around some of the teenager’s things scattered sparsely on the floor. He gradually lowers Peter onto the mattress, fluffing a pillow before sliding it under the sleeping boy’s head and tugging his shoes off. Straightening out the haphazardly bundled comforter on the other side of the bed, Tony painstakingly tucks it around Peter’s shoulders, nodding at his handiwork in satisfaction.
Tony’s about to leave when he notices Peter’s hand resting on his arm, just a little above his wrist, mirroring the same hold Peter had on Tony when they were cuddled together on the sofa. “...Kid,” Tony sighs.
Peter’s fingers curl stubbornly.
“Kid,” Tony repeats, resolve crumbling just the tiniest bit.
Peter doesn’t move.
“Pete,” Tony’s tone is equal parts imploring and apologetic, “I have work to do.”
Peter opens his eyes, meeting Tony’s gaze with the softest, saddest puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen in his life.
Tony would like to say he was a responsible adult who had great defenses and only decided to give in because he wanted Peter asleep as soon as possible, but his resolve actually left him at the speed of light. Work is forgotten as Tony kicks his shoes off, slides under Peter’s comforter, and piles pillows at his back to prop himself up. Leaning back against the mountain of pillows he had quickly assembled, Tony laughs quietly when Peter immediately assumes the position they were in earlier.
Pulling Tony’s arm around his middle, Peter leans back against Tony with a pleased sigh. Tony adjusts the comforter to their slightly more upright position, relaxing against the pillows and letting his eyes fall shut just as FRIDAY dims the lights in the hallway.