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cagestark · 5 years

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Ok here's my prompt: college winterironspider, established winterspider and they want to do a trio costume with Tony as a way to show him they want him 💕💕

A late Halloween Prompt whipped up in thanks for boosting my friend’s rpg. Thank you! (Also you all say that Halloween is a 365 day event so 3 days late shouldn’t stop you right? ;)

Warnings: homophobia including slurs, some mention of smuttiness but nothing explicit, foul language. WinterIronSpider. 3.6k.

Tony flings open the dorm room door, already toeing off his sodden shoes. New England weather could turn on dime, and it had a habit of turning unfavorable on the 15 minute trek from the Chem labs back to his dorm room. His shirt is sticking to his skin, jeans heavy with rain. He can feel his hair, getting just this side of too long for how Howard likes it, dripping down the back of his neck.

Mother Nature hates him, and she’s not the only one, because Peter Parker is lounging on Tony’s roommate’s bed. Bucky is nowhere in sight, but the bathroom door is closed, so deductive reasoning is barely required. They’ve probably been fucking; the room has that musty scent that makes him twitch in his wet pants. Parker lays among the mussed sheets and blankets like the pillow princess he must be, curls riotous, beaming at the sight of Tony.

“Hey, Tony,” says Parker in the softest, cracking voice that Tony’s ever heard come from a nineteen-year-old. He blinks dazed, whiskey-colored eyes. “Y’re all wet.”

“I know. Where’s Barnes?”

“Bathroom.”

Tony hums. Barnes liked to take ridiculously long showers, conditioning his ridiculously long hair, moisturizing his ridiculously huge and attractive body. The guy was the antithesis to his boyfriend, large where Parker was small, dark where he was light, brooding where Parker was a goddamn ray of sunshine sneaking in through a crack in the curtains and blinding Tony. With Barnes in the shower, Tony is stuck shivering in his wet clothes, wishing he’d stayed out in the downpour and smoked a cigarette. Instead, he just sits on his bed—his sheets have seen worse than some rainwater. Opening up his bookbag, he sees that his textbooks are unscathed. Thank fucking God.

All the time, he feels Parker’s eyes on him. The kid is too pretty for his own good—both he and his boyfriend. When he came to MIT, he had envisioned dozens of nightmare scenarios regarding roommates. Maybe they’d steal his clothes, eat his food, leave their hair in the drain. Instead, he’d gotten a goddamn Calvin Klein model and his twink. Sometimes, Tony had to lay awake facing the wall on his side of the dorm room, pretending he didn’t hear the breathy giggles and dirty, foul whispers as the two fooled around while their roommate was ‘sleeping’. It left him unbearably hard, determined not to rut into the mattress lest they find out that he was still awake (and stop, God, please don’t stop—).

It was all very, very fucked up: how much Tony liked them; how much it made him hate them.

“You’re gonna catch pneumonia,” Parker says.

“What do you want me to do about it, kid?” Tony asks. He’s only three years older than Parker, but the kid seems so young—the enthusiasm, the naivete, the buoyancy. Tony can’t help but call him kid.

Parker raises his eyebrows. “It’s your room. Take off your clothes.”

Tony stops where he’s flipping through his textbook. He lets it fall closed with a thud, assessing Parker’s gaze. He looks innocent enough, maybe a little sleepy, but he wasn’t dumb by any means (a full ride to MIT proved that). Surely he had to know how that sounded, for him to tell his boyfriend’s roommate to undress in front of him.

“In front of you, Parker? I’ll take the pneumonia.”

The kid just grins, shaking his head. “Whatever. Are you going to the Halloween Party at Delta Psi?”

“Everybody is going to the Halloween Party at Delta Psi,” Tony answers flatly.

“Are you going to wear a costume?”

“Fuck no.”

“Because you have no idea what to wear, right.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You’re a shit, Parker. So, what if I don’t? I’m an engineer; what do I need to dress up for?”

“I’m dressing Bucky; I could dress you too.”

“Yeah,” Tony snarks. “That’s just what I want.”

The bathroom door opens. Bucky appears in nothing but a towel around his hips. His abs violate state and federal laws—or at least if they don’t, they should. His hair is wet and up in a bun. Eyes like the ocean iced over drag up and down Tony’s body, making him feel heated despite the goosebumps on his skin. Tony is keenly aware of how his nipples have hardened, somewhere between the icy downpour and the sight of Parker looking fucked out on the twin-sized bed.

“Took you long enough,” Tony mutters. He grabs some clothes from the drawer and disappears into the bathroom, cranking the shower (and the drain is spotless because Barnes is a fucking good guy who cleans up after himself, the asshole) up to hellish proportions and peeling his wet clothes from his body. On the other side of the door are warm voices that are easy enough to tune out, or to tune into when he’s standing under the burning spray with a hand on his cock.

When he gets out of the shower, Parker is gone back to his own dorm. Bucky is eating a bowl of cereal, still shirtless. The words come out of Tony’s mouth before he can stop them: “Barnes, I think your boyfriend hit on me when you were in the shower. I just thought you might want to know that.”

Barnes stops chewing. He’s got the best poker face Tony has ever seen, no hint of anger or jealousy or surprise. His jaw closes again with an obscene, sugary crunch. After he swallows, he says, “Thanks, Tony. You’re a good friend.”

The first package arrives two days later. It’s for Tony, with no return address. He rolls his eyes—that’s just like his mother to be so dramatic as to not even say she’s sending him anything nor leave her mark. When he opens it though, there are no deliciously baked treats, no heartfelt (maybe a little distant) cards with carefully crafted handwriting, no trinkets that are hideous which he will be forced to cherish. Instead, it’s the ugliest pair of pants he’s ever seen: straight-legged and a size too big for him and a dirty gray.

“The fuck, mom,” Tony mutters. He tosses them aside. “Really off your game, crazy old bat.”

But when Barnes gets out of class and spots the box sitting on Tony’s desk, he points to it. “Did you get the first part of your costume?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your costume?” Bucky enunciates more, the fucking asshole, like Tony didn’t hear him the first time. “Peter told me that you said you were cool with him getting you a costume. He gets really fucking into Halloween. I saw this picture of him up in his Aunt’s apartment in Queens—”

Tony holds up a hand. “Stop. Rewind. I in no way told Parker he could dress me up for Halloween. Period.”

Barnes just raises his eyebrows. “That’s not what Peter thinks.”

“I couldn’t care less what he thinks, I’m not some doll for him to play with.”

“Next time he’s over, you can tell him so.” The guy’s pale eyes fucking glitter—glitter—like he knows that’s not going to go over well for Tony. And maybe it won’t, maybe Tony’s going to have to break some fucking hearts, but there’s no chance in hell he’s going to be caught dead in a costume, especially not one picked by a doe-eyed little twink like Parker.

But when Parker arrives for his date with Bucky two hours later, pink-cheeked from the windy cold, he’s got another little box tucked under his arm that he thrusts into Tony’s hands.

Tony thrusts it back. “Nope. Don’t want it.”

Parker frowns, looking up at Tony with those flat brows curled in confusion. “What do you mean? It’s for your costume.”

Barnes watches everything through the reflection in the mirror he keeps by his bed. He’s currently combing his hair like a schmuck (fuck, he looks so handsome), mouth pressed into a flat line, though Tony suspects that it’s more from holding back laughter than expressing any discontent. Tony chooses a point on the wall above Parker’s head and stares at it. The kid’s got eyes like vortexes, and Tony isn’t getting sucked in, no sir, not today.

“No costume. I’m not wearing a costume.”

“Sure you are, I’ve already bought the stuff. It’s started to arrive—did you get the pants?”

“Pants? Is that what they’re called? They’re hideous—” Barnes makes a noise in the corner that has Tony throwing a fuming glare his way. “I’m not going to wear them, or anything else. So return the stuff, kid.”

Parker stares down at the small package in his hands. “I—I can’t. I had it expedited so that it would get here in time for Halloween. No returns.”

“No re—? Well, fuck. That’s not my problem. I didn’t ask you to buy me stuff for a costume. What the hell were you going to dress me up as, anyway? A corpse from the 80’s?”

When Parker looks up, his eyes are a little misty. He rubs at one with his forearm, probably scratching himself with the wool from his coat. “It was gonna be a surprise.”

And yep. There it is. That does Tony in, because as much as Tony wishes he was the no good cruel piece of shit that plenty of people around MIT and the New England area like to label him as, he’s a sucker for tears. He’s seen his mom cry too many times, it just—it gets to him.

Tony snatches the package out of the kid’s hands. He points a finger at him. “No cartoon characters. No cross-dressing. No dorky inanimate objects, like a fork or a wet floor sign. Got it? Swear to God, kid, if you embarrass me in front of the whole school, I will never forgive you.”

“Why would I want to embarrass you?” Parker asks. He holds out a pinky. “It’s not embarrassing. Promise.”

“Fuck your pinky, man. Go on your date. Get out—you too Barnes, I don’t want to see either of your faces for like, two hours or something. Swear to God. I’m at the end of my rope, do you hear me? The end of my fucking rope.”

In the box is a scarf, long and plain and red. Tony rolls his eyes and sets it with the pants.

That night when he returns from his evening class, he finds that Barnes and his boyfriend have dragged all the blankets off of Bucky’s bed and onto the floor creating the warmest, coziest looking nest Tony’s ever seen. It looks like a slice of Heaven after coming in from the brutal cold. The best spot of all looks to be somewhere in between Barnes who is sprawled on his back, one arm behind his head and the other outstretched, and Peter who lays with his head cushioned on that ridiculous bicep. The size different between the two of them makes Tony’s mouth go dry.

On the wall, a Star Wars movie plays: The Empire Strikes Back.

Parker leans his head up, blinking at the sight of Tony in the doorway. He smiles, so soft and sweet that it hurts. “Hey Tony,” he says. He pats the blanket beside him. “Want to join us? There’s room.”

Tony hasn’t the slightest idea what to make of that. Not even a little one. Doesn’t Parker know how awkward that would be? For Tony to just cuddle in a pillow fort with Barnes and his boyfriend? Doesn’t Parker know how much that would hurt—

“No, I’ve got somewhere to be,” Tony lies. He steps out the door he had just came through and shuts it behind him. The library is always open on campus, and Tony falls asleep bent over the table there, cheek pressed into a book about the latest breakthroughs in Artificial Intelligence.

The next day arrives a plain white t-shirt in a plastic bag. Begrudgingly, Tony tries it on. It clings to his chest and the gentle six-pack he sports (nothing like Barnes who spends five days a week at the on-campus gym and drinks protein shakes in the morning). Turning sideways, he eyes himself in the mirror. At least this doesn’t look bad, certainly not with the way it clings to his biceps, but he will be fucking freezing.

Barnes comes in and catches Tony checking himself out in the mirror. For a moment, Tony thinks that maybe Barnes is checking him out, too, but—

“Looks good,” Bucky purrs. Making fun of Tony, surely.

Tony flips him the bird, but the guy just laughs.

“What is he dressing you up as?” Tony asks. Purely out of curiosity. Knowing how whipped Barnes was, Peter could dress him up as anything and he’d take it. Even something embarrassing or emasculating.

Barnes just rolls his eyes. “You know him. It’s a secret.”

The comradery with which he says it, like of course Tony knows how Peter is—something about it itches at the back of Tony’s brain, a mosquito that has landed and started to suck at his blood. But it’s no surprise that Barnes and his boyfriend are weirdos who like to spend more time having ‘dates’ in their dorm room with Tony rather than at a restaurant or the movies or any fucking where else.

But, like all things that Tony doesn’t want to wonder about, he pushes to the back of his brain.

The next day, it is a denim jacket and hideous combat boots.

“Fashion homicide,” Tony mutters.

The day before Halloween brings Tony a red flannel shirt.

“Goddamnit,” he says, holding it up so Barnes can see. “What is he dressing me up as, a lesbian?”

It isn’t until he’s assembling it all in the bathroom that he puts it together—and okay. It’s not bad. Bender was easily the coolest character in the Breakfast Club, though his fashion sense was nothing like Tony’s. The layers—white shirt under flannel under denim—are a little stifling, but out in the cold fall air, it would be perfect. He even combs his hair back.

All in all, Parker could have done far, far worse.

But when he comes out of the bathroom and finds the two of them in the dorm room, he sees that Parker has done worse.

Matching costumes.

Parker is Brian through and through. He looks like a total scrub in his khakis with Nike sneakers on, the long-sleeved sweater that clings to his thin frame. A ballpoint pen is tucked behind his ear, wrist-watch circling the delicate little wrist, and to top it off, a pair of sunglasses are looped over the collar of his sweater.

And Barnes? Forgone are his goth threads. He sits on his bed wearing blue jeans that hug his broad thighs, the whitest shoes that Tony’s ever seen, and a goddamn blue wifebeater that shows off his arms, both heavily muscled. Folded on his pillow is a letterman jacket, and Tony doesn’t even like jocks, but his cock twitches at the sight, thinking of slipping it down off of Bucky’s bare shoulders.

“No—we match,” Tony says.

Peter lights up. “Yes! You got it! The Breakfast Club is a classic.”

“I should have said no matching costumes. We look like—” like boyfriends, Tony thinks, “—like queers. I’m not going out like this.”

“Watch the slurs you throw around,” Barnes says, his mouth an unhappy, flat line.

Tony winces. “I—I didn’t mean it like that. But this is taking it to a whole new level that I’m not comfortable with. Not to mention, three gays all going out in matching costumes? Isn’t that a little suggestive?”

“Suggestive of what?” Parker asks. He’s holding fingerless gloves—the last part of Tony’s costume. It’s the cherry on top. With the cigarettes that Tony plans to be chainsmoking thanks to the stress of this whole event, he’ll be method acting his character all night.

“Come on. Suggestive, suggestive. Like we’re all—” Tony mashes his hands together.

Barnes reaches out, hand flat, arm flexing nicely. He doesn’t even look at Parker and Parker doesn’t look at him, but they slap hands in a high five.

“Am I speaking in tongues? I’m not fucking leaving like this; I’m not going to have the whole campus thinking I’m your loser third wheel.” It would be too painful, when there’s a shameful part of him that would gladly be the third wheel to them, that’s desperate to be between them. This feels like the crudest parody.

“You wouldn’t be,” Peter says.

“Pete, maybe we shouldn’t do this right now,” Barnes interrupts.

“No, Bucky, this was supposed to—supposed to be cute!” Parker turns away from them, towards the wall by Tony’s bed. He drops the gloves there and crosses his arms. It would be petulant if it wasn’t so heartbroken, the curve of his shoulders, his head drooping down morosely. Instead, the kid just looks like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Tony sighs. It takes Herculean strength not to roll his eyes. “Kid. I’m sorry. Clearly this meant a lot to you. Fuck knows why, but—”

Peter turns around, eyes tearful and flashing with anger. He reaches up to his ear, fiddling with the lobe with trembling fingers. Grabbing Tony’s wrist, he puts a little diamond earing in his palm, just like Claire did with Bender.

“What’s this?” Tony says, shoulders hunching. “My ears aren’t pierced.”

“Yes they are,” Peter says through his teeth. “You probably got them pierced five or so years ago, but your dad was an asshole about it and made you take them out. It’s been ages and the holes are hard to see but they still won’t close.”

Tony blanches. He can still hear the way Howard demeaned him, spent the whole dinner talking his Tony’s mother about how ridiculous the boy looked, how it gave people ideas about him, because pierced ears are for women and the only men who have them are faggots. “How the fuck do you even know that?”

“Do you think I’m dumb?” This is the loudest Peter’s ever been, his usual fragile voice replaced by this one that is sure and angry and doesn’t crack. “One: I spend every moment that I’m not looking at Bucky looking at you. I’ve got eyes; I know what a hole in an ear looks like, thanks. Two: your dad is an asshole about everything. He’s probably the reason why you don’t drink mixed drinks, why you call us queers even though you’re bi, why you lie and say you’re going to spend the whole holiday break at home but then come back and spend it here alone in the dorm. Because your dad is an asshole.

“He’s probably the reason why you’re such a fucking dunce too. A thick skull must run in the family, because Bucky and I have been hitting on you the entire semester and even though you go into the bathroom to jerk off every time you come back to the dorm and catch us making out, you won’t make a move or, or let us make the move, and—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tony says, his own voice rising to a shout. “You’ve been doing all this bullshit on purpose? Blowing Barnes when you know I’m awake? Skipping around here in your underwear because, what, you know it turns me on? Because you want to out me? Am I a fucking joke to you?”

“No,” Peter shouts, slapping a hand flat on Tony’s chest. “We like you, fuckface!”

The force of Peter’s tiny hand barely makes Tony sway, but the words—those might as well knock him to his knees. He feels like the scarf around his neck is on too tight, like there’s not enough air in the room. He licks his lips, his eyes moving between Peter’s red-rimmed eyes and nose (he’s an ugly crier) and Bucky who is still sitting on the twin bed watching them, his face white and afraid.

“You like me?” Tony asks. “What does that even mean? You two are together.”

“It means,” Peter says, taking Tony’s fist, coaxing open the anxious fingers to wear the diamond stud earring still rests, cutting into his palm. Peter presses his thumb against it, tenderly. “That we like you. We want you. To get to know you. You—and not your hang-ups.”

Tony shakes his head, taking his hand from Peter’s burning grip. “I—I can’t do that. My dad—”

“—is an asshole,” Bucky mutters.

Tony snorts softly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

“We don’t have to go home with you at Thanksgiving or Christmas or ever, if you don’t want,” Peter says. “We just want a chance. We want you to do something for yourself. Not your dad. Does that make sense?”

The silence lingers around the room. Somewhere in the distance, Halloween music is playing, ghoulish noises and moans and witch-like cackling. Mouth dry, Tony takes the backing off of the stud earing and reaches up, feeling for the holes in the lobes of his ears. It’s been years since he wore them, and his hands are trembling so badly that he can’t even find them—

“I’ll help you,” Peter says tenderly, taking the earring. He has it in in a moment and leans back, taking Tony in from head to toe.

“Well?” Tony asks. He clears his throat—there’s something stuck in it, some lump that he has to swallow away. He holds out his arms. “How do I look?”

“Gay,” Bucky says from the corner, smiling.

“That’s it!” Tony shouts. “I’m not going! Thanks for nothing! I’m out!”

“Tony,” Peter groans. “He was just joking, he’s—”

But Tony is already stalking to the dorm room door and pulling it open. He stops to glance over his shoulder at Bucky and Peter who are watching him with wide eyes. “Well?” he says. “I’m all for being fashionably late, but if we don’t get going, there’s not going to be anything left of the keg—”

The two scramble for their jackets and follow him out the door.

#winterironspider #tw: homophobia #tw: f slur #tw: q slur #college!winterironspider #Halloween prompt #cagewrites #longfic

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