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Lasers. It just had to be lasers.
As much as Peter would like to think he was a master at dodging hits, he was a little preoccupied with fighting off swarms of laser shooting bees to escape every blast of searing shots that they sent.
And sadly, that is how he got to where he was now, suit completely torn and shredded, leaving his bare (and slightly charred) skin out and his banana boxers peeking between the red and blue of his suit, which frankly, was nearly falling off of his body, and will leave him embarrassingly exposed in front of the hoards of cameras.
Once the bees were (thankfully) disarmed and littering the grimy streets of Queens, Peter relaxed, chest heaving from the arduous fight.
“Good fight,” Iron Lad said, turning to face the teen when he froze at the sight.
“Yeah yeah, laugh it up, Laddie. You have an impenetrable suit, and I have a glorified bikini.”
Iron Lad cleared his throat, voice raising an octave. “No, yeah, uh, that’s, mhm.”
“Laddie?” Peter asked, voice filled with amusement.
“You need clothes,” Iron Lad blurted out.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You need clothes. And I have clothes. I’m wearing them. But I can not if you’d like me to. Because you would be wearing them. Because I would give you my clothes to wear. Not for any other reason at all. Ha…”
Peter nodded awkwardly. “Right. I… are you sure? I mean, hopefully you’re not going commando under there too.”
“NOPE! I am not. I am wearing underwear. AND CLOTHES. Which I’m going to give to you.” He nodded, closing his lips tight. “Here, let’s… let’s get to somewhere more secure.”
The two headed to a deep alley, passing through the narrow maze until they hit a dead end.
“I’m gonna take off the suit so I can… so… don’t look,” Iron Lad instructed.
Peter nodded. “Promise.”
Peter didn’t know Iron Lad’s identity, and he didn’t plan to today, though it was very tempting. They had been partners for nearly a year, and they had bonded over late night patrols and long, grueling training sessions.
Peter liked Iron Lad, but it was sorely outweighed by his hopelessly enamorment of Harley Keener, lab partner (both in school and out). Peter’s endless rambles on chemical compounds and pendulum physics were nearly met with Harley’s babbles on auto-mechanics and arc reactor intricacies. He was a family guy (best big brother and son of the year), a scientist (though he focused mostly on the mechanical side while Peter focused on the chemistry), and though he may prefer Star Trek over Star Wars and liked cherry licorice, Peter was hopelessly in love with him.
“Can you close your eyes?” Iron Lad asked.
Peter shut them tight. “Closed.”
A heap of warm clothes were placed in his gloved hands.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Iron Lad said awkwardly. “Get home safe, Webs. I’ll be checking in later to make sure you’re alright.”
“I will be graciously awaiting your call, my sweet.”
Though he couldn’t see his eyes, Peter was sure Iron Lad rolled his eyes beneath his mask.
“I mean it, Webs. Get home safe,” Iron Lad said seriously.
“Have some faith, Laddie. I’ll be fine.” He smiled softly. “Thanks for the clothes.”
“Don’t mention it,” Iron Lad said before blasting away into the sky.
Peter shimmied off the remnants of his suit (Mr. Stark will definitely have a fit about this one) and slipped on the soft long sleeve sweater, the fabric large and loose, and sweatpants, sliding dangerously low on his hips, and bundled his suit into a pile. He took a moment to let the scent of Iron Lad’s clothes overwhelm his senses. It was almost familiar, and made his body relax just at the notes of Old Spice and Ocean Breeze.
With a sigh, he rummaged through the dumpsters, grabbing a large shopping bag, and slipped the suit into the stained paper bag (again, Mr. Stark will have a fit about this) and strolled home, muscles weak and aching, and eyes drooping from lethargy and exhaustion.
As he entered his room through the fire escape, he collapsed on his bed, sleep overtaking him immediately, and his mind drifting to sweet dreams.
“Peter! PETER! You’re gonna be late!”
Peter stirred awake, groggy and sore. “What?”
“C’mon. Time to get up.”
He turned to face his clock, eyes widening as he caught sight of the time. “Crap.” He hopped out of bed, not bothering to change as he swished a heaping swig of mouthwash and ran his fingers through his messy curls.
He shoved his homework from his desk in his folders, and rushed to the kitchen, snagging four protein bars from the pantry for his subway ride, and gave a quick kiss to May’s cheek.
“Have a great day, May. I love you.” Before she could respond, he was already slipping on his untied Converse on his feet and rushing out the door.
It was only when he was pushing the oversized sleeve of his shirt as he was gripping the filthy pole did he realize that he was still wearing Iron Lad’s clothes from the night before. He didn’t think much of it though, considering his wardrobe was mostly composed of extra larges.
When he entered AP Lit with Ned, MJ, and Harley, the three of them stared at Peter with wide eyes, mouths agape in silent shock.
Peter chuckled uncomfortably. “What?”
Ned and MJ then snapped their heads to stare at Harley, who was blubbering at the focus.
Peter, now concerned, repeated, “Guys. What is it?”
“When did this happen?” MJ finally asked.
“When did what happen?”
“Did you not realize what you were wearing today?” Ned asked.
“My friend let me borrow his clothes,” Peter said with a shrug.
“Yeah. We know.” They stared at Harley again.
Peter furrowed his brows and took a closer look at his shirt, only to notice that it was a Rose Hill High shirt, one that Harley wore one many occasions.
Peter’s eyes met Harley’s, a shared look that could only be complete panic, and Peter broke the silence. “Well shit.”