A Slice Of Life, Death And Everything In-Between

Dinner Dinner (Disaster Disaster)

Prompt by @anon: Hi Leah, your writing is so amazing and I never want to stop reading it. I was wondering if you would be willing to write #15 for platonic touching? (15. Fixing shirt collar)

Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any related materials.

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Peter tries not to get too annoyed.

I mean, sure, it's just a little party, right? No need to dress up or go all out.

Too bad Tony doesn't seem to think so.

Pulling at his unbuttoned collar, the spiderling watches, sitting on the couch and totally not pouting, as the other members of the Avengers walk around him. Clint, decked out in a black suit with a purple tie, stops to give him a fist bump before moving to the kitchen.

"Are you sure we can't just stay in for Bruce's birthday?" Peter hears the archer complain, the sound of his legs hitting the counter cut off short as Natasha pushes him off.

Peter can't help but agree.

"Not a chance, bird brain." Nat says, her heels clicking as she walks. "He really wants to try that new Italian place down the street and you know how he gets about pasta."

"Yeah, but..."

Tony comes around the corner then and Peter's focus is immediately on his dad, watching as the genius walks past the couch. Suddenly, however, the man stops, his eyes wide as he stares down at his son.

"Hey Dad–" Peter starts to say but the superhero cuts him over, walking over and pulling the teen to stand.

"Peter, what happened to your shirt?" Tony asks, tutting under his breath as he gently smooths down the wrinkles in the fabric, face pinched. "It wasn't like this 10 minuets ago."

Peter blushes a little, trying in vain to push the man's hands away. "It got itchy."

Tony lets out a small puff of air, the sound more of a huff than an actual laugh. "And you couldn't just leave it alone for a little while?" A sigh. "What am I gonna do with you, buddy?"

Peter lets out a small laugh, looking up at his father. "Love and cherish me?"

Instead of making a joke or a jab like Peter expected, the superhero's eyes go soft, his hands staling from where he was tightening the boy's red tie.

"Always, kiddo." He whispers.

Peter blushes, not meeting Tony's eyes as the billionaire finishes fixing his shirt, stepping back and looking his son up and down, a smirk on his face as Peter squirms.

"That was so domestic I think I might vomit." Clint's voice breaks the silence and the spiderling flinches a little from the unexpected sound, his blush increasing. "Seriously, someone get me a trashcan right now–"

"Oh, hush Legolas." Tony snaps, reaching over and tugging Peter against his side. "You're just jealous that Peter looks cuter in his suit than you."

Clint sputters as Natasha laughs, leaning against the wall, her silver dress making her eyes pop. Peter turns even redder, letting out a groan of embarrassment, shifting on his feet.

Checking his watch, Tony's head suddenly shoots up, his eyes wide. "Shit! We're gonna be late!"

Grabbing onto his son's arm, the billionaire piratically pushes them all to the elevator, Peter trying to keep from laughing as Clint grumbles under his breath.

"We wouldn't have to worry about being late if your kid just kept his freaking tie straight."

Tony shoots him a dirty look, holding up his key as they get down to the garage. "I'd watch your mouth there, spy boy, or you're gonna have to be the one to answer to Bruce and Steve when we get to the restaurant."

"That's not a big deal, I can take 'em–"

"Before they've eaten dinner."

At that, Clint pales and piratically sprints out of the elevator and toward the car with a cry of "You can't make me!"

Tony laughs, tugging Peter more firmly against his side as they go. The spiderling laughs along with his dad, both watching as Clint tries in vain to open the passenger side door, Natasha shooting him a look that makes him immediately back up.

"You coming, Starks?" The Widow asks, tugging open the door and ignoring Clint's squawk of outrage.

Tony reaches over to gently fix the back of Peter's shirt collar before answering, eyes going soft, before he smirks again. "We're coming, Nat."

And Peter decides that he can deal with the itchiness, at least for a while.