Ghost of Christmas Future

[st_arkintern]

"Mr. Stark?"

Peter stands at the edge of the bed that Tony shares with Thor. He wears the Iron Spider armor Tony made for him, the faint glint of the moon through the thin slit between either side of the curtain reflecting off the suit's dark colors.

Peter's hair is styled differently from the Peter here at the inn; it's longer, more wild, even floppy. School had grown more and more demanding as the end of his sophomore year approached and balancing school and his time as Spider-Man was difficult. He had promised May he'd maintain his grades as part of the Spider-Man Negotiations of 2017, but criminals didn't stop just because he had two papers to write by Friday, a quiz tomorrow, and a test next Tuesday.

Hair had been less of a priority. Peter couldn't put off his homework if he wanted to continue being Spider-Man; he couldn't put off his evening patrol if he wanted to protect Queens, either. There were no serious long-term consequences to not getting his hair cut (save for perhaps more bullying from Flash, who was prone to bullying him anyway). A haircut could wait until later.

Peter always thought there'd be more time later.

Tony doesn't stir. Peter presses his lips together -- a nervous habit acquired when he was still alive -- and draws a little closer. He resists the natural urge to place a hand on Tony's shoulder to wake him; he knows that his fingers will slip right through. Instead he repeats, this time a little louder:

"Mr. Stark?"

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[st_arkravinghazelnut]

Tony laid still, rolled away from his side of the bed, curled halfway over Thor’s form. Ever since the snow day, something had shifted. Tony had been utterly caught up in his new husband and the rest of his new little family unit. His surroundings had felt real in a way they’d never had since his arrival, demanding he linger in the moment.

Drawn from his deep sleep, Tony sluggishly twisted his head to see over his shoulder and started at the sight of Peter’s blurred form. “Jesus, Pete...” Tony mumbled, letting his head fall back straight. Even in his groggy head, he had the decency to feel sheepish, shoving a blanket over Thor’s bared upper half. The man slept in little else than boxers, even in the dead of winter, and Tony guessed Peter didn’t care to see any confirmations of his dad’s private life in the flesh.

“Everything alright? How’d you even get in here?” Tony kept his voice low, straightening out his sweater and sweats combo as he rolled over.