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It’s been three weeks, six days, seven hours, and thirteen minutes. Not that Peter’s counting or anything. It wasn’t the first time Tony had been out of the country for more than a few days, but this trip was the longest so far. And Peter was more than over it at this point. The older man would be back tomorrow, but Peter wanted him now.
Because it had been three weeks, six days, seven hours, and twenty-four minutes since anyone had asked him about his day. It wasn’t that the other Avengers ignored him, but their casual calls of Hey Pete, how’s it going? weren’t the same. They didn’t say Hey sweetheart, tell me about your day while patting the couch or the bed and looking at him like everything he was about to say was the most interesting thing in the world. Tony always made him feel that way.
And sleeping in their too big bed, alone, for three weeks and six days and seven hours and forty-eight minutes was just getting to be too much. Last night he had finally broken down and pulled out the body pillow Tony had bought him after the last nearly week long trip he had taken. It was plain, a dark grey that reminded Peter of storm clouds. He had absolutely refused the first one Tony picked out, an image of the older man drawn in an Anime style, winking with one gauntlet glove on and his shirt almost completely unbuttoned.
(No Tony. No way. I’m not cuddling with that ridiculous thing.
Aw, come on, Pete! Look how good I look. They drew me more ripped than Steve!
You’re plenty ripped, stop fishing for compliments.)
The grey one was perfect though, dark and soothing. Tony had pouted when Peter said it reminded him of the ever increasing grey in Tony’s hair, but had bought it anyway. Now it sat on their bed, waiting for Peter, wrapped in one of his boyfriend’s shirts that he had stolen out of the laundry hamper. It still smelled like Tony’s cologne, and faintly of oil and engine grease.
He climbed onto the bed, telling Friday to shut off the lights as he cuddled up next to the long pillow. Then he settled in like the thing really was Tony, one leg draped over the lower half and his arm thrown over the middle. The familiar scent filled his nose, and Peter sighed.
“Hey Fri, can you find a clip of Tony asking me about my day?”
“Of course, Peter.”
A few seconds later, the familiar, beloved voice came out of one of the speakers above their bed. Hey sweetheart, tell me about your day. And Peter did, closing his eyes while his fingers traced random patterns over the material, just like he often did on Tony’s skin. The return to a familiar pattern relaxed him enough that Peter was nearly asleep when he heard Tony’s voice again.
“Wow, never thought I’d be jealous of a pillow.”
Peter’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up so fast it gave him a head rush. But he didn’t care. Because standing in the open doorway to their bedroom, a full twenty four hours earlier than expected, was a tired looking Tony. Peter didn’t think he’d ever moved so fast in his life, scrambling down the bed to throw himself at Tony, knowing the older man would catch him.
And he did, chucking softly as he pressed a kiss to Peter’s hair. “Missed you too, tesoro.” Tony gently set Peter back on his feet, then made short work of removing his flight rumpled suit. When he was down to just his boxer briefs, he crawled into bed and sat up against the headboard, patting the empty space next to him.
“Come on, sweetheart. Tell me about your day.”