Tony can't finish dressing by himself.
Broken arms fuck up a lot more than he expects. No matter how often he fucks up his arm or his shoulder or his elbow, it always surprises him. Buttons? He's lucky he's had a lot of practice undressing one-handed. Zippers? 50-50 shot towards manageable but he has been traumatized from the last time Pepper had to detangle him from his slacks. Now he's a little gunshy.
Ties, though. There's no hope without a second set of hands.
He doesn't wear many ties these days. He's semi-retired, after the whole death thing. The charming romp that resulted in his broken arm was an unexpected exception involving a set of French doors, some ill-advised molotov cocktails, and ten sets of stairs. And also an assassination attempt, once Tony finished laughing his ass off. It was immediate karma, although Tony maintains he didn't deserve it.
Pepper has begged him to show his face in public more. They think he faked his resurrection, which is funny because they thought he faked his death, too, and the resurrection was, like, three years ago -- Tony doesn't have the kind of patience for a long con.
Speaking of patience: "Hey, Pete?" Tony gives up trying to strangle himself with the silk monstrosity Pepper set out on his bed this afternoon. "Mind helping out an invalid?"
"One sec!" Peter's voice bubbles from down the hallway. He's excited in a way one can only be when they haven't been to too many fancy events in their life. Pepper was smart about sending Peter as his plus one. At least then,some of Peter's enthusiasm might rub off. "Let me wash my hands. This shit gets everywhere, every time."
It'll be a fun event, as much as it could be. Not black tie, and the invitations swing a little camp. Tony is wearing a crimson red suit, clean cut but bright as all hell, with gold embroidery. He tends to prefer classic ensembles (although he has fond memories of the 90s) but he can't deny the chance to dress up. Peter hadn't even let Tony buy him a suit. He said he'd rather do something more fun, and had begrudgingly taken Tony's credit card and promised to buy something pretty.
That's what he'd said, once his protests had died. Okay, Mr. Stark. I'll use this to buy something pretty, if that's what you want.
God, Tony is a bad man. He doesn't think about lace or leather at all. He doesn't. Isn't.
"Are you in here trying to end it all? Give the tie a break, mister." Tony startles as hands magically appear before him, pulling the tie out of his grip. To be fair, it looks less like a tie and more like a knot, now. Peter snorts, fingers picking at the mess. "Tell me you have a steamer or something. Can you use steam on silk?"
Tony opens his mouth, blinks, and then shuts it.
There's gold on Peter's eyelids.
Gold. Eyeshadow. Probably. Tony's worn makeup before. Peter has gold eyeshadow, and some dark liner smudged around his eyes. A little concealer. His browns are darker. His lips are glossy, maybe just a balm. Glossy. His lips are glossy. His eyes are gold.
"Yeah." Tony doesn't remember what he was saying, but Peter is just looping the tie around Tony's neck and getting to work.
Tony is the one who taught Peter how to tie a tie. May tried, but Tony is particular. He taught Peter how he likes his ties tied. Not to have Peter tie his ties or anything, but because everyone should know how to dress slick and easy. That's all.
Something pretty. Peter is wearing dark red shot through with gold thread pinstripe and a sheer shirt. Sheer. There isn't much skin to show, with the jacket, but if Tony took his good hand and used all those years of unbuttoning, pushed aside the lapel, he'd see Peter's bare nipple.
Peter smells like Tony's cologne. He probably borrowed some, since Tony's collection is huge. When he tilts his head, Tony smells it on his skin, hot. It's heavier around the cooler, which is open and very visible. Lots of skin. And cologne. Is it hot in here? Where is he right now.
Peter crosses the knot a bit too tight and it jolts Tony back to earth. "You're staring," he says, eyes focused on his hands as they work silk around Tony's neck. His eyes are shiny and gold. Gold. His lashes are long, too. Did he use makeup on them or has Tony just not noticed before.
Tony clears his throat. "No."
Peter makes a small sound of agreement, even though his mouth quirks in that way he does when he doesn't believe a thing a Tony says. "Okay." Over, under, tighten the know. Smooth the silk down the front of Tony's chest.
Tony swallows thickly. "If I was staring, you'd know."
"Okay," Peter says again, slipping the tie into the clip and smoothing it down again. "I wonder if I'd even notice." Tilts his head, even though his eyes are still focused on his hands. Tony is also focused on Peter's hands, because they have stilled and are still on Tony's chest. "You staring, I mean."
"Like I said, you'd know."
"Maybe I'd even mention it to you." Peter looks up now with a secret little smile. "And you'd tell me you weren't, and then where would we be?"
Tony's good hand wants to press Peter in close, but he can't, so he doesn't. Why can't he? He keeps forgetting. It settles on Peter's elbow instead, light and teasing through the jacket. Unintentional, probably. His fingers flit over the seam. Peter doesn't move away. Tony keeps forgetting that he should.
"Are you ready to go?" Peter asks, changing gears, and Tony slumps with either relief or disappointment. Either way, it's the first breath he's taken in a year. "It's almost time for us to be fashionably late."
"Right." Tony wipes a hand over his face and grabs his jacket from the bed. Peter steps close again, helping him drape it nicely over his sling. "Wouldn't want to disappoint anyone."
"You could never. Oh! By the way." Peter is setting the shoulders straight, but then he's pressing closer -- his body a firm line against Tony's back -- and slipping his hands over Tony's chest. "Thanks for something pretty." He kisses Tony's cheek, all mischief, even though his cheeks are blushing red. There's a smear on Tony's skin. Definitely gloss.
When Tony recovers, Peter is already out the door. Tony finds his credit card in his breast pocket when he's hurriedly shoving in the pocket square and trying to follow him out the door.
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