Tony's Bay Lab: Peter/Tony/Gwen
[Tony walked in. Walked. On tennis shoes. He had on a button up shirt without all the buttons done, sleeves rolled high enough that fifty years ago he would have fit in perfect at a frat house--which he had, actually--revealing two sleeves of healing burns that were, in a word, disgusting. The skin was scaly around the edges and the discoloration made him look like a snake trying to shed from the elbows down.
The glowing lines weren't as visible under the loose shirt (cotton weave, light blue lines, conservative except the man wearing it had on jeans), but a gleam of silver was visible between the seams crossing his chest. He didn't look like a hero or a scientist just then, just a rich guy on vacation who got his arms stuck in a vat of acid.
He walked through the door and toward her in a straight line, focused and curious, and came to a stop a few feet away from her, the "glass" between them. He stared at her, eyebrows aloft, and waited to see what she'd say.]