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“The good news is that it’s temporary- you two shouldn’t be stuck in each other's bodies for longer than twenty-four hours, according to the bloodwork I ran and the personal testimony of the villain who put you in this situation.” Bruce told them, shooting Peter a sympathetic gaze before looking down at his clipboard. “If you notice any untoward symptoms- which you shouldn’t- come back and report them to me, and we’ll do some more testing.” Peter shuddered at the thought of more needles. Tony reached up and clasped a hand on Peter’s right shoulder.
“We definitely will, right Peter?” Peter nodded frantically, wincing at how his neck cracked. He definitely wasn’t yet used to being in a middle-aged body, though he was slightly appreciative of the male physique that came with it. Bruce gave them another wary look before waving them out, leaving the two to their own devices. Tony said nothing for a moment, before turning to Peter slowly.
“Peter?” He asked again. The teenage-adult stiffened.
“Uh, yeah?” He replied, looking down at his stubby, picked-at nails, with more wrinkles than he could count.
“I think I’ve been in this- thing- for too long.” Tony motioned to his chest, and Peter’s face went white. “It’s starting to hurt- kinda.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah. Uh, let’s go to my room.” They awkwardly walked side by side to the aforementioned place, both occasionally stumbling over unfamiliar feet. Neither of them moved to sit down once they arrived, not knowing how to go about this. Peter had a little more of an idea though, and walked over to the dresser. “I’m gonna… get a sports bra for you. I’ll just, like, help you tug it off- with your eyes closed- and slip the- the other thing on. With your eyes still closed.” Tony gave him a wobbly smile and a thumbs-up, before tugging off his shirt himself and following Peter’s instructions.
“You good?” He asked, eyes scrunched shut. Peter hefted his body’s arms in the air, beginning to tug on the skin-colored binder until it popped over Tony’s head. Tony started to lower his arms, not knowing what to do next, and when Peter yelled in an automatic response, Tony’s left hand bumped against his chest. He pulled it back as if burned, squeaking out apologies with a furious blush on his face that rivaled Peter’s.
“Okay- hands back up.” Peter instructed, and luckily the bra went on without further incident, which was followed by the t-shirt. Tony’s eyes fluttered open, though he pointedly refused to look down. Peter’s shirts were made for flat chests- which he had the exact, complete opposite of (thanks, genetics), and thus were… tight, without a binder on. All his hoodies and sweaters were in the wash, amazingly enough, which left them with little options. Peter, after standing up for so long, then came across the next obstacle.
“Tony?” He said, burying his face in his- no, his mentor's hands. “I think I need to pee.”
Peter was sat on the closed toilet seat, Tony right outside the bathroom door.
“Should I do it sitting down?” He asked, pulling his pants down and pointedly staring at the ceiling. His hands lingered on the band of Tony’s boxers, but pulled those down as well.
“I’ve never tried doing it that way.” Tony admitted, voice slightly muffled. “But it should work- probably better than trying standing up, either way.” Yeah. There were lots of logistical and psychological problems with that method. It took him a few very embarrassing moments before he pulled his pants back up and went to the sink, drying his hands on a fluffy white towel when he was done. Tony’s face was still flushed red when he opened the door, and pushed past Peter to get inside.
“Tony, wh-”
“My turn.” He said simply, lips pursed, before slamming the door shut.
“Uh, you need help?” Peter asked, leaning against the wall.
“It’s not rocket science. I would know.” He added, to Peter’s lack of amusement. Only a moment later there was a loud crashing noise. Peter threw the door open, encountering a roll of toilet paper right at his feet. “I couldn’t find it with my eyes closed.” Tony admitted, making grabby hands, eyes still closed. The metal stand the toilet paper had been hosted on was knocked over, but luckily that had been the only casualty. He threw it over to Tony, who drew it into his chest like it was a prized football.
“I’ll- I’ll leave you now.” Peter said, exiting the bathroom once again. Tony emerged another minute later, walking past him and into the living room.
“We’re watching Star Wars until this wears off. No complaints.” He warned, even knowing that Peter would have none. They didn’t cuddle as they usually did, sitting conspicuously far apart. Natasha walked in halfway through A New Hope, saw this, and promptly pushed Peter into his mentor.
“There we go.” She said in a proud tone of voice, before walking away again.
“Hey!” Peter complained, angry at the physical contact. Tony looked to be in severe pain when he peered up into his face. “What’s wrong?” He asked, immediately concerned. “Should I get Bruce?”
“She pushed you into my boob.” Tony whined, before he could censor himself. Peter’s jaw dropped open as Tony pushed a couch cushion into his face.
Neither spoke for the rest of the marathon, or the day after, even when they were in their original bodies again.