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Being part spider kinda sucks.
Not in the 'oh no my life is over’ kind of way, more in the ‘if I add more layer I am not going to be able to walk’ kind of way. Honestly Peter feels bad for all the spiders, he never really thought about it before. Before he became Spider-man he was more concerned about killing the creatures than if they were going to survive winter.
Maybe that’s why he’s being clingy now, latching onto the nearest person to him. Something about safety in numbers distantly registers in the back of his head, maybe a long spiel MJ went on when she talks about the bull shittery that is independent success.
“Yeah sure, let’s tell an aggressively social species that the key to their success is independence.” It was one of those rants that always seemed to get spurred on by itself, much like how lazy the writing is in some big superhero movie. Peter swears MJ only watches them to drag the writing into the ground.
There was a shift beside him, what must be a satisfying back pop bringing Peter out of his musings.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” the fond voice of Tony Stark chuckled somewhere above him. Peter grumbled, burying his head further into the man’s chest.
Peter would've felt worse about subjecting the billionaire to his clinging if he didn’t know the man was currently working on his tablet at the moment. If the muttering from earlier meant anything, he was currently responding to the multitude of emails he always brushed aside.
“I wasn’t asleep.” Peter mumbled, eyes sliding closed again as Tony rubbed his back soothingly.
“Sure kid.” The billionaire said, the tapping of nails on a tablet started again as the conversation drifted off.
There was something almost hypnotic about the moment, the way manicured nails clicked softly against glass. Peter idly imagine what Tony was typing, probably something snarky yet professional. Peter snickered to himself as he imagined Tony speaking in a posh british accent, maybe in a Sherlock Holmes type way?
“What are you snickering about?” The billionaire asked, poking Peter’s side softly. Peter didn't even have to open his eyes to know the man was rolling his eyes fondly.
“You as Sherlock Holmes.” The responding groan amused Peter way too much.
“Haven’t we already had this discussion?”
Peter propped his chin up on the man's chest, grinning with his eyes closed. “Yes, but we are having it again.”
“Is this what I get for being nice? See a child fighting crime in pajamas once and suddenly you’re being called Sherlock Holmes.”
“Some people would say that it's a compliment y’know,” Peter said, response muffled as he laid his head back down.
Tony groaned again, poking at Peter’s side to distract him. “Keep it up and you aren't getting pizza.”
“Wait don’t threaten my pizza.”
“I’ll make sure to put pickles on it.”
“Ew, not the pickles Mr. Stark. I’ll take pineapple anytime.” Peter whined, letting his arms flop around him.
“That’s why you’re getting pickles, you actually enjoy pineapple on pizza, you heathen.”
“You just don’t have taste.”
Let the record show that Peter would rescind that comment five minutes later, notably with his fingers crossed.