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Peter is all of 20 years old, wrapped in the baggy sweatshirt he stole from Tony’s closet that morning, and slouched in his seat in the lecture hall of what is possibly the World’s Dullest Physics class. It’s not that Peter finds the subject boring, quite the contrary because physics is actually a passion for him, but he finds classes where he’s already learned all the subject material a little... understimulating. Working in the lab of one Anthony Stark, Genius Extraordinaire, had put him quite a ways ahead of his peers and his coursework in general. As such, his Tuesday morning physics lecture isn’t much of an intellectual challenge for him. Peter always does his best to pay attention, but specific mental health issues regarding said attention make that more than a little difficult. The professor is droning on and on, and despite his best efforts, Peter’s focus is elsewhere.
He’s thinking fondly of this morning before he’d left the tower for the day. His mind pulls forth the sensation of a rough goatee scratching against his neck as kisses were trailed down his collarbone. Of warm breath against his lips, of wandering fingers trailing along the dip of his waist. Of strong hands gripping him close, and Peter’s own hand unconsciously wanders to the place on his bicep where he knows Tony left a bruise. He gives a gentle little squeeze, and the faint whisper of an ache pulls him back into focus. He really ought to be listening to this lecture dammit.
Peter keeps his eyes on the board, jots down little, mostly unnecessary notes, and continues to press against the hidden marks on his skin. The gentle sting keeps him grounded, but also makes him wish he was home with Tony. Peter keeps one hand pressed firm on the bruises through the rest of the lecture, but by the time that class is over he can’t even feel them anymore. He knows if he were to pull up his sleeve and check, they’d have surely faded by now. Peter never thought he’d curse his remarkable healing factor, but he finds himself wishing that marks could last just a bit longer.
---
Peter is stretched out on a chair in the lounge of the tower, one game controller in hand as he absentmindedly demolishes Dr. Banner at Mario Kart 10. Somewhere in the background Vision and Sam are having a very one-sided chess match, Captain Rogers is sketching a view of the skyline at the window, and in general the Avengers are enjoying a quiet day free of mayhem. Peter’s grown quite fond of these days, slightly domestic and calmer than the usual chaos they deal with.
The man on the couch next to him is singularly focused on the screen, and as Bruce crashes into yet another wall, Peter zooms past him into the rainbow-colored tunnel that rockets him to the finish line. Another crushing victory in favor of one Peter Parker.
Bruce throws himself back against the couch cushions and lets out a frustrated growl, going a bit green around the neck, but Peter just laughs it off because this isn’t unusual for them.
“Had enough yet, Dr. B?” He says, ribbing the man a bit. Bruce shoots him a sidelong glare, but something about Peter seems to catch his attention, because he goes wide eyed, looking somewhere between very surprised and incredibly amused. Bruce cuts him off before he can ask if he has something on his face.
“Kid... is that a hickey ?” He asks, incredulous but positively thrilled. Peter doesn’t manage an answer, but the blush that blooms immediately on his cheeks is very very telling. Bruce makes no attempt at holding back his bark of laughter, and it seems they’ve caught the attention of the other heros in the room, because he hears Sam call from over at the kitchen table, “ Who the hell gave Babys R Us a hickey??? ”
Steve is trying to politely hold back a chuckle, while Vision tries to helpfully point that Peter is in fact of an age where many humans begin experimenting sexually, and at that Peter is pretty sure the burning rush of embarrassment is going to kill him. Nat and Clint, who had apparently wandered into the room at some point, are congratulating him on his possible exploits and serenading him with wolf-whistles from the other end of the lounge.
Peter snatches a throw pillow from Bruce’s side of the couch, where the man is still completely bemused, and buries his face into it. But despite his embarrassment and attempts to suffocate himself, something his fellow Avenger’s can’t see is the shy, discreet smile on his lips. Because for all their cajoling and good-natured teasing, they don’t know. They don’t know who gave it to him, they can’t imagine who the mark belongs to. That’s a secret that belongs to Peter, Tony, and the lab table they’d screwed on somewhere around lunch time that day.
Later that evening, in his bathroom upstairs, Peter traces his finger over the fast-fading mark over and over in soft circles, relishing the feel of it, praying for it to stay just a little while longer. Permanence, what he wouldn’t give for permanence. He presses his thumb firm against the dark spot, hums to himself at the delicate ache.
Sure enough by the time he’s heading for Tony’s room that night, padding quietly through the halls just after 11 o’clock, the mark has faded completely. Tony doesn’t hesitate to give him another one before morning comes.
---
It’s another month or two before Peter gets the idea, and the semesters ended before he finally works up the nerve to ask Tony for it.
---
“You want me to what ?” Tony asks, looking at Peter like he’s grown a second head.
“Ya know, mark... me...” Peter tries again, a little more shyly this time. He’d sort of blurted it out before, without really thinking about it. They were sitting on their stools across each other from the lab table, working on an upgrade to Falcon’s Red Wings, and Peter had just sort of brought it up out of the blue. He continues quietly, trying to explain himself.
“I just... bruises and stuff just kinda heal really fast for me, like, healing factor, you know, and it’s just, well, I like them, I wish they could maybe stay a little longer and I thought, well why not forever right? So just, I dunno, think of it like a hickey or something. But like. Permanent.” Peter rambles on in that way he does when he’s extraordinarily nervous.
“Do you mean like a tattoo???” Tony asks, completely flabbergasted, but slightly bemused. He’s got a grin on his face saying he’s not entirely opposed.
“... yes ?” And that earns Peter a gentle chuckle, Tony’s shoulders shaking as the light laughter rumbles out of him. But it’s good natured, the kind of laugh Tony gives when he’s really delighted with the kid.
“Okay, okay. Yeah. I can do that one for you,” He says, wiping a small tear from the corner of his eye. He looks up and meets Peter’s eyes warmly, and the boy feels relieved because that all could have gone much more embarrassingly if he’s being honest with himself. Then Tony continues. “But, I’m gonna need you to do something for me too.”
Peter cocks his head to the side, looking for all the world like a confused puppy. Tony grins brighter at that, if anything.
“What? You know I’ve gotta have one too.” He says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Peter chuckles.
---
They spend some time debating about what they should get, scribbling down designs, and then building a machine that can do it for them, because for all their technical knowledge, neither of them would have any idea what to do for giving a tattoo. They program in their designs and FRIDAY runs the machine that marks them both.
In the end, they get matching ones on opposite wrists, directly over the pulse point; Peter’s left and Tony’s right.
Little symbols gracing their skin, but only visible under black lights or in the dark and if you knew what you were looking for. Thin blue lines curling over smooth flesh, glowing faintly. Marks, just for them, only for them.
Tony gets Peter’s symbol, the neat lines of a stylized spider spread out on his wrist. He cant stop grinning at it after the machines all done inking into his skin, even though it’s just the raised red outline of it in the daylight. He’s practically beaming as he runs his fingers back and forth over it, Peter has to keep shushing his wandering hand away or it might get infected or something. But he’s happy with how it came out, really, it’s very cool.
Peter gets the arc reactor, simplified, and they way it glows in the dark reminds him of when he’d seen it as a child, up close and in person, when Tony had saved his life the first time. He traces a finger over the circle, the enhanced sensation in his fingertips just barely picking up the raised edge of the otherwise invisible tattoo. He presses his thumb firm against it and thinks of Tony, Tony, Tony.
Peter will carry this mark forever, they both will, in much the same way that they carry each other in their hearts.