A/N: I'm doing the 12 fluffy days of christmas challenge on tumblr and I'm so excited to get back to writing some cavity inducing fluff! That's pretty much all that's gonna be. And some emotional angst maybe, but it always finishes (and probably starts) with fluff. Hope you enjoy! Tell me what you think!
The penthouse floor is dark except for the dim floor lights when Peter swings over to the tower. Unlike every other building in the city, Stark Tower isn't lit up like a Christmas tree, trying to outdo all the corny lights with even cheesier ones. While it's a relief for Peter's eyes that have been trying to ignore all the tawdry decorations that kept flashing in his peripheral view all day, it looks kind of empty and sad. It looks as if Christmas just isn't happening here, as if the love and warmth that has taken over the city and its people stopped right before the door, leaving the building itself cold.
Speaking of cold –
Peter's hands wrap around the balcony parapet with a little more effort than it would usually take. They're hurting. Well, in all honesty, his whole body is hurting probably because it's freaking cold and somehow the heater in his suit has been acting up all day and he got splashed with water by a guy trying to steal a bike which hasn't made swinging around any warmer and – really – he just looks forward to going home and getting to bed but Mister Stark's message sounded important.
Although his movements are a little slower, a little less graceful, there's just no way he's not coming when his mentor calls. He's Spider-Man, for God's sake, he can take the cold for a little while longer to help out someone who's always there for him, who's like family to him.
The balcony doors slide open the second his feet hit the ground and immediately he's greeted with a puff of warm air that is a direct contrast to his body temperature at this point and suddenly he's shivering uncontrollably.
"Th- Thanks, F.R.I.," he tells the AI with a forced smile through clattering teeth and steps through, taking his mask off as he wanders around the abandoned living room.
"Mister Stark?" he calls out, tossing his mask on the coffee table and flopping himself down on the couch. It feels like the soft fabric is swallowing him up and he lets out a contented sigh at how warm the pillows feel around him. He wonders briefly if his mentor has an actual seat heater integrated into his furniture or if everything just feels extra warm because he's so cold.
It's like the couch hit his off-button, though, and once he is sitting his limbs feel like lead, making it impossible to move. He lets out a yawn and curls in on himself, still in his suit and all, hogging one of the big pillows as he slowly drifts off.
It's just so warm and comfortable and safe.
He blinks back into consciousness when he feels someone wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and resituating him so his head is a little elevated and his neck is more comfortable. "Mis'er – Mister Stark?" he mumbles through the dizziness when he recognizes the older man's rough fingers cupping his neck gently. "Wassup?"
In an attempt to sit up he pushes himself onto his elbows a little awkwardly but takes in a sharp breath at the loss of warmth. It takes everything in him not to whimper in relief when he's being covered by the blanket once more.
"Lay back down, kiddo," his mentor says, pushing him back down so his head is back to laying in his lap. The second Mister Stark starts carding his fingers through the messy flop of curls, he stops protesting and closes his eyes again.
He lets his mind wander. Maybe he could just rest for a little while before going home. Mister Stark probably wouldn't mind, right? He could just lay here and warm up and – His thought process is interrupted when he remembers why he came over in the first place.
Instead of sitting up he just lets his eyes flutter open once more. "Whataya wanna talk about?" he wants to know curiously, "'S – 'S a mission? Do you –" he stifles a yawn, "Do y'need my help? I can –"
"Relax, buddy," he is interrupted and he's sure Mister Stark actually sounds amused, like he's trying not to laugh but when he continues talking his voice his gentle and there isn't even a hint of teasing. "There's no mission today. I called you because F.R.I.D.A.Y. told me your suit is acting up and since you didn't seem like you would tell me, I took matters into my own hands and ordered you here."
"Not ordered," Peter rolls his eyes and turns his head into his mentor's thigh so the cold tip of his nose is nuzzling the warm fabric of his sweats. "Asked me to 'n' I came 'cause 'm nice."
"Sure are," the man replies with a grin, "And I'm sure you'd be so nice as to leave the suit here so I can fix it so you can stop freezing to death while you go about your vigilante business."
If he wasn't so comfortable, he would've glared at him but that would've meant taking his face out of the very soft and warm spot it's currently hiding in and there are just things Peter isn't willing to do just to be sassy. Giving up warm cuddles and hair cardings happen to be right at the top of the list.
"Sure," he mumbles into the leg instead, "but it's really not that bad, Mister Stark. I can get home in it." Although, if he is being honest, he would really rather not. It's one thing to swing through the city being cold already but going back out there after being all warmed up? That is just mean.
So he's kind of glad when his mentor just brushes part of his fringe back and declines the offer. "Yeah, we're not doing that. Leave the suit here and I'll work on it tonight so you can have it back tomorrow. Tonight we're gonna get you warmed up and then I'll drive you home, capiche?"
"Capiche."
They settle into a comfortable silence in which Peter lets his thoughts drift, enjoying the scalp massage.
It's nice, just laying here and not having to worry about anything because there's someone else worrying for him. It's just like when he's doing it with Aunt May while they're watching a movie or just chatting or when they don't talk at all – it's safe and familiar and the best feeling in the world.
He loves that about this time of year. When everyone is slowly getting into the Christmas spirit and is more considerate of each other, gentler with each other. It's like the kindness of the holiday spreads through the city, infecting old and young, poor and rich and makes people come together that usually wouldn't. Love is hanging over everything and it's incredibly easy to imagine a world at peace in December.
It's one of the naïve thoughts from his childhood that he tries to hold on to no matter what. He tries to fill his heart with warm friendliness even when he knows there's cold, biting hatred out there because if everyone loses hope – what's the point anymore?
"Mister Stark?" he asks after a while and he must've startled the man because the hand in his hair is gone for a second. As soon as Peter huffs indignantly, though, a barely audible laugh is shaking his mentor's body and the hand returns.
"What is it, kid?" He sounds sleepy, too. Peter wonders if he hasn't been sleeping again and if he seems just a little bit more on edge than usual.
"Why haven't you decorated the tower yet?"
There's a pause and something in that pause feels heavy. Suddenly the air is a little chillier and the teenager shudders and buries himself further into his mentor's embrace. The hand wanders from the top of his head down his neck and stops on his shoulder before settling on rubbing up and down his arms to generate warmth.
"I mean," he starts because he really doesn't like this kind of quiet where he feels like Mister Stark is protecting him from something that makes him sad and when he doesn't like silence he usually fills it with rambling. "The lights everywhere are a little too much and can you imagine how much it must cost to power all of it? Of course you wouldn't have that problem with having your own clean energy source and all but, I dunno, some of the stuff is kind of nice, don't you think? Makes it easier to get into the Christmas spirit."
Mister Stark barks out a laugh that doesn't sound entirely forced and Peter takes it as a win. He turns his head so he can meet his mentor's eyes who's returning his grin with a small smile but his eyes aren't twinkling down at him like they usually are. There's something somber in them, hiding behind the wall of warmth and softness directed at Peter but it's there and it worries him. He rarely sees the superhero like that anymore, he's been a lot calmer and happier the past few months.
"You're your very own special kind of Christmas spirit, you menace," he jabs lightly, poking the teenager's side who tries to swallow the high-pitched squeal he's forced to let out. For a second the hand settles back on his shoulder and squeezes tightly, before going back to caressing his arm.
"The holiday kind of lost its appeal to me," he sighs after another moment, surprising Peter who was sure that that was all he is going to get, "I just – I don't really celebrate Christmas anymore. Haven't had the time or a reason to celebrate it in a while. I'm usually having a relaxing two days with Pepper or Rhodey or both but nothing that would be worth putting a Christmas tree up for. Who's gonna see it, you know?"
He isn't sure he gets it because Christmas decorations are a Parker principle that is not allowed to be skipped. No matter how awful the past year has been, there's always a brightly shining tree in their small apartment, telling stories of love and hope and it's-gonna-get-better-next-year and we-still-have-each-other. They didn't even break with tradition the year Uncle Ben died and it was oddly comforting to remember him in a setting full of love instead of the cold, grey graveyard they usually visit. He knows, though, that there's a deeper problem than Mr. Stark not having the time to celebrate the holiday and so he doesn't push. Not today.
Instead he smiles up at the man innocently through his eyelashes, "But you're making time for Christmas dinner at our place, right? Aunt May told me to invite Miss Potts and you and you know she doesn't take no for an answer."
Mr. Stark laughs again, a little louder, a little more freely. "Yeah, wouldn't want to get on your aunt's bad side on Christmas. We'll be there."
"Thank you."
And it's not just for coming to their Christmas dinner. It's not even just for getting him warm and driving him home. It's kind of for everything he can't figure out how to put into words yet. It's a thank you for being there and caring and while he knows that Mr. Stark can read between the lines and figure out just how deep his thankfulness runs, he makes a silent promise to tell him, somehow.
"You're welcome, kid. Come on, let's get you home."
