Work Text:
1
Summer vacation. The relief after the hell of two semesters of American education. And now, after weeks of standardized testing despite the world wild panic to shift to normality after what they were referring to as the “blip,” the one thing Harley Keener wanted to do was wind down at the pool with a cold glass of iced tea.
So, when Tony invited him and his family to join him at one of his many beach houses for a couple weeks of relaxation, how could he refuse?
However, there was something he hadn’t expected, and that was Peter Parker.
Tony owned three houses on the beach side, one for Rhodey, one for Happy, and one for him and Pepper. However, since Rhodey was unavailable, the house was open and ready for the Keeners.
Harley had met Happy in passing when he was visiting with Tony, but he didn’t know him well. So, when he found out that he had a wife and a kid — a kid his age — he was pretty surprised.
“That’s not Happy’s kid. Or at least, not biologically,” Tony had said. “That’s my intern I’ve told you so much about. Peter Parker.”
And told him he did. Over the last three years, Peter Parker had snuck his way into Tony and Harley’s sparse conversations. At first, Harley thought that he was his replacement and resented him for it. But, instead of pushing farther away to spend more time with this Peter kid, Tony had made even more of an effort to keep in touch with Harley.
When the world ended, or at least, went on it’s whole disappearing act, Tony stepped it up even more. Video chats and Christmas presents became impromptu visits to Rose Hill and all-paid trips to New York for Harley and his folks.
But in these trips, he never met the infamous Peter Parker.
That was, until now.
And, oh boy, was Tony holding out on him.
Peter Parker was cute. He was so damn cute that he can’t possibly be real because how can someone with that smile and those eyes and those curls and those arms — good God those arms — exist?
And then he heard it. His voice, soft and light and bright. Thick Queens accent and hint of a stutter in his babbling. And, if he wasn’t in love already, that laugh.
Harley was a goner.
Before Harley could go introduce himself, his mother turned him around, face thunderstruck in shock. “Harley. You wouldn’t believe what Tony just asked me.”
Apparently, Tony found out about how his mother was slowly taking courses at the Rose Hill Community College for her culinary arts degree, and offered her free tuition at the Institute of Culinary Education in New York.
“We’re moving to New York! You can finally go to a school that moves fast enough for you, and we’ll get a nice apartment in the city, and Abby can do community theatre. It’s gonna be so great.”
And it sounded great. It almost sounded too great to be true.
When he approached Tony and asked him about it, Tony shrugged and played it off as “a kind act of a good samaritan.”
So, with a new excitement bubbling in the Keener family, they enjoyed a rare time off, biking in the cooler mornings, trying restaurants and food stands, and lounging in the sand.
And Harley? Harley may have been relaxing, but he had a mission, and that mission was none other than a Peter Parker.
His first attempt gave him the realization that though extremely intelligent (and he was ridiculously smart, which was not only intimidating but also incredibly sexy), he was also cripplingly oblivious. Any attempts of flirting with Peter Parker went over his head, or he was very good at avoiding and ignoring. Either way, Harley wasn’t going to get through to him easily.
His second, third, and fourth attempts were accompanied by long talks and thoroughly intriguing conversations ranging from heavy, tragic backstories to scientific jargon filled rambles on current projects to which Pixar/Disney twist villain was the best.
Peter Parker knew how to make you fall hard and fall fast. His laugh was bubbly and warm and his smile was bright and his eyes were kind. He leaned when he talked and his nose wiggled whenever he got something new to eat and he hummed every first bite and sip he’d take.
They could talk for hours and they wouldn’t realize they had until their stomachs rumbled or their throats were sore and they needed refills.
He was damn good at beach volleyball and could surf real well, though he wasn’t much a fan of the sand or the water, but he did love the warmth of the sun and fruity smoothies with little umbrellas and mountains of nachos.
So, that’s where they stayed. Going back and forth from the sweltering heat and under the shade, sharing different dishes and talking for hours.
It was sunset and the two had just gotten back from supper, when they were lounging on a towel, staring at the sky blurring into a masterpiece of oranges and pinks and purples.
Peter was staring wide eyed at the sky, mouth slightly agape as he smiled and leaned against Harley’s side.
When he turned to say something to Harley, their faces were so close, their noses touching.
“Peter…” Harley started, but was cut off as Peter gasped.
“Harley!” he whisper screamed. “Don’t make any sudden movements, but look !”
Harley, dejected and slightly annoyed, turned around, not seeing anything. “What?”
“The baby turtles are hatching. Look!” He took his hand and turned Harley’s head as he pointed in the distance. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Harley took another look at Peter, eyes filled with awe and wonder. “Yeah. Real beautiful.”
2
Harley hadn’t meant to become a superhero. He really hadn’t.
Tony and him had crafted the suit for emergencies. Protection for dire situations where he would otherwise be left incapacitated.
But, when a hoard of aliens from space that could control things with their minds crash landed on the football field of Midtown School of Science and Technology, he couldn’t just stand idly by.
The fight turned into a full on city wide battle, and he was surprisingly good in the suit, and even more surprisingly, he clicked with Spider-Man in the field and they fought in perfect tandem, speechless communication like secondhand nature.
Then, one fight, turned into more. Late night patrols together, sometimes taking turns to finally give Spider-Man a break for the first time in the three years he had been out in the city. Taking down drug rings and human trafficking schemes and protecting the city together.
A fight gone wrong leaving Harley impaled by a six foot dagger led to a forced reveal, Spider-Man sitting at his bedside holding his hand for hours while he recovered.
When he was lucid enough, Spider-Man pulled off his mask and revealed himself to be the sweet, amazing, perfect boy that he had fallen for, and Harley once again thought it was too good to be true.
They stayed like that for a while, hand in hand, Harley’s head lying heavily against his pillow, Peter’s trembling fingers interlocked with his.
And then, all of a sudden, Harley’s lab partner that he was head over heels for also happened to be his superhero superpartner, and he was suddenly spending a lot more time with a certain Peter Parker.
One of these new things he did with the certain Peter Parker was Saturday morning training. Friday nights were spent with Tony, whether it be in the labs working on their suits or binging movies (Tony leaning towards classics, Peter leaning towards sci-fi, and Harley forcing them to watch his horrible movie list featuring cheap remakes of Disney movies, Christmas movies with identical plots, and obscure movie musicals), and it was something that Harley awaited eagerly every week in hopes that he could “casually” wrap his arm around Peter’s shoulders or Peter rest his head on his chest while he carded his fingers through his hair, and oh God, he’s got it bad.
The night before, they enjoyed, well, tolerated and heckled “I Kissed A Vampire” while inhaling super salads jam packed with healthy proteins and soaked in pesto dressing that didn’t actually have pine nuts so “really, it’s not pesto, it’s just basil and spinach in oil and at that point just call it a green sauce.”
Peter snorted, unattractive and loud, when Harley sang along to the songs, lyrics obviously memorized.
“How many times have you seen this?” he had asked.
“Too many times,” Harley had responded. “It’s catchy music. And I mean, c’mon, Lucas Grabeel and Drew Seeley.”
Peter nodded, curling up into Harley’s side, curls tickling his chin, Harley’s sing-a-long shifting to a soft, low hum that reverberated in his chest.
He scratched and massaged Peter’s scalp making his eyes flutter shut, the movie a distant jumble of words and melodies as he drifted under Harley’s touch.
Harley ended up carrying Peter to his bed before the movie had ended, tucking him gently and carefully, a routine he had become accustomed to.
The night morning, the obnoxious alarm that he programed FRIDAY went off at 6:30 AM sharp, the tinted windows switching off abruptly, streaming warm morning sunlight in his room, blasting a heavy metal song he didn’t know the name of that was loud, aggressive, and definitely not something he drift back to sleep to.
He jolted up, turning off the alarm, a button on the other side of his room.
Head foggy and fuzzy, he brushed his teeth and retainer, slipping on his underarmor and Pinkie Pie socks.
When he arrived to the kitchen, Peter was already preparing his breakfast of three breakfast burritos.
“Morning. You ready for training?” Peter asked.
Harley groaned. “Am I ever?” He grabbed a slice of banana bread from the pantry. “What’s on the agenda?”
“I think we’re sparring,” Peter said, snacking on a piece of bacon.
“Oh, nice. We haven’t spared in a while.”
“I know! It’ll be especially interesting with the new suits.”
And interesting it was.
It started slow and easy, fighting like a dance, a routine that they had memorized, reading each move the other would make. It became more intense, Peter with the advantage as per usual, working the defense as Harley worked the offense. Blasts blocked, motions maneuvered, hits hardly landing.
Harley had thought he was finally getting one over Peter, when he suddenly flipped around him, pulling him by the arm midair, knocking him off his axis, and slamming him to his back on the ground, pinning his arms over his head and torso down under his thighs, straddling his hips.
Harley disengaged his mask, head light as he breathed heavily, Peter doing the same.
Harley, though very grateful that his suit was made of impenetrable titanium alloy, was feeling warmer than before, and that wasn’t just because of the excessive sweat from their half an hour of intense workout.
Peter panted over Harley, hair falling damply on his forehead as he loosened his grip on Harley’s arms, holding his weight up by his elbows, face hovering over Harley’s.
Harley pushed back his wet hair and rested his hand on Peter’s back, chest heaving beneath Peter.
“Harley…” Peter breathed.
“Peter,” Harley said back, eyes flickering down at Peter’s lips.
There was suddenly a mist of water being squirted in their faces.
“Thanks, HYDR-8,” Harley said to his eager bot.
The bot chucked a water bottle at his head with full force.
“Oh, fuck. Thank you, HYDR-8,” Harley groaned.
Peter chuckled, dismounting from atop Harley, sitting beside him, still catching his breath.
The bot then shot a water bottle straight to Peter’s crotch.
“Ow, ow, okay, we definitely are going to adjust your launch strength,” Peter squeaked.
The bot beeped happily, and bonked them both on the heads before rolling away.
3
How it happened? He wasn’t sure.
He had been building himself up to ask Peter out for weeks. Okay, months. But, in his defense, things kept popping up.
Like the time he wanted to ask him to see a movie! There was that big Calculus test and he Peter needed to study and he couldn’t let Peter get a bad grade, right? And then there was the time he wanted to take him to dinner, but then he had gotten that throat injury that made him go on a liquid diet for a month (which really sucked by the way), and dinner was off the table. And then there was the time he was really going to ask Peter out to a concert that weekend, right until Ned brought it up before he did and they all went as a group.
So, he tried. He really had. And he was going to! He really was. It was just… finding the right time.
Homecoming was coming up, and it was a perfect opportunity. Well, it should’ve been. But, the pressure was building in Harley’s mind to make it the perfect proposal.
He knew that Peter wasn’t one for a spectacle, and he knew that. But he also wanted it to be special and memorable and perfect. Because that’s what Peter deserved. He deserved perfection.
So, when Peter was waiting in his AP Gov class with a handful of balloons (magenta, purple, and silver) and a box of doughnuts, bashfully biting his lip as he shoved the box in Harley’s hands, Harley could hardly process the loopy letters reading “I donut want to go to homecoming with anyone but you.”
“So?” Peter had asked quietly.
Harley, mouth still agape in shock, nodded a miniscule nod, eyebrows still furrowed, and realization dawning on him. “Yes! Yes, I’d love to go to homecoming with you!”
Peter grinned, relief evident as he relaxed his tense muscles. “Oh, I, good. That’s good.”
“Doughnut?” Harley asked, handing Peter the chocolate frosted rainbow sprinkled one.
Peter took a slow bite, savoring the taste with a hum the way he always did that made Harley’s heart sing.
Homecoming came quickly, and really, dances weren’t really either of their things. So, they got out before nine after getting the obligatory photos and pounding headaches from the oversaturated bass.
Peter grabbed Harley’s hand, giggling with a scheme building in his mind, pulling him out of the crowded auditorium and out to the bustling streets of the nightlife of the city.
Sweating in his suit, Harley couldn’t help but smile as Peter excitedly pulled him to his favorite evening spots, ones they could never go to on patrols because of their suits and the inconvenience of them being in Midtown.
First he took him to a 24 hour pizzeria where they shared a sweet onion and sausage pizza and jalapeno poppers, though those were mostly for Harley since Peter could not handle his spice and ended up having a bright red face and two empty glasses of chocolate milk.
Then, they strolled around the streets, hand in hand, Peter leaning against Harley’s side and window shopping, laughing loudly to everything and nothing.
They stopped at a late night creamerie when their stomachs settled and got an “Everything But The Kitchen Sink” sundae, something meant for a party, but was devoured mostly by Peter.
Somehow, they found themselves on the roof of Peter’s apartment building, Peter’s head rested comfortably on Harley’s shoulder, Harley’s thumb tracing patterns in his side where his arm was looped around his waist.
“This was really nice,” Peter said softly.
“Yeah, it was,” Harley replied.
“Harley, I…” Peter turned to face Harley, but stopped, his face inches away, the sweet scent of his warm breath on his lips.
Lips.
Harley’s eyes darted down, swallowing heavily. Tentatively, he cupped Peter’s cheek in his hand, slowly leaning in.
BOOM!
The two jumped back, eyes darting across the city skyline, spotting the mysterious purple fire erupting in the distance.
“Duty calls,” Peter said, shimmying off his suit.
Harley, following in suit, trying to hide the twinge of disappointment in his tone and diverting his distracted stare, switching into fighting mode, nodded. “Duty calls.”
Peter, tapping on his watch and equipping his suit, turned to Harley. “See you out there, Laddie.” And with that, he jumped off the roof, and shot a web into the distance.
4
Harley had been dating Peter for a month, and he was still slowly uncovering the many layers of Peter and his comfort.
They could cuddle and hold hands (though not in public, something that both of them agreed on) and when it was just the two of them, they fell back into a natural ease of casual intimacy. Legs brushing legs, tangled together as they watched YouTube or careful massages after long fights.
And though they didn’t go past that, Harley was content where they were, content with what they had, and he didn’t want to push it until Peter was ready.
So, there they were, their usual Wednesday, Peter sitting criss cross at the coffee table and Harley sprawled out on his stomach on the couch, leg hanging off the side of the cushions, his hand clicking and scrolling and occasionally typing.
“Done!” he announced, making Peter jump in his seat. He slammed his laptop shut and tucked it into the cushion, rolling over to his back, and let a long and loud sigh. “Thank God. I’m done.”
“That bad?” Peter asked with an amused grin.
“Worse. Pompeo gives the longest post-lab evaluations. The digital graphing is a nightmare, but the format grade is astronomical and could easily tank the whole grade.”
“Well, I am…” Peter scribbled on his page, “done! with my physics pretest packet, so I am all yours.”
“All mine, huh?” Harley asked, sitting up.
“Well, as much as I can be now that my brain is practically fried.”
“Tired?” Harley asked. He looked up, finger on his chin with a lopsided frown. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to wake you up !”
Before Peter could attest, Harley was lunging forward and fluttering her fingers on his ribs and under his arms, making Peter squirm and screech in laughter.
“No! Stop! It… Stooooop!”
Harley, knowing to respect Peter’s wishes, stopped. “You more awake now?”
“Yes! I am awake! Please! No more tickles!”
Harley chuckled, leaning against the couch, resting his arm on the cushions.
Peter, still breathless, leaned into Harley’s side, under the space he had made for him.
Harley pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, Peter smiling softly at the motion. “I love you,” Harley mumbled into Peter’s hair.
The brown haired boy looked up, eyes wide and bright. “You…”
Harley stopped. “I… yeah. I do.”
“I love you too,” Peter said, taking his hand and pressing a soft kiss on his knuckles.
His lips lingered as he looked up to Harley, hesitant and innocent.
“May I?” Harley asked gently.
Peter nodded, slowly leaning in, but suddenly stopped, jumping onto the couch and pulling Harley up with him, turning on the TV quickly before throwing the remote on the table.
The front door opened, May throwing her keys onto the glass dish. “Hey boys. You hungry? I was thinking we could go grab some Thai tonight because I cannot imagine trying to cook tonight.”
Harley leaned back into the couch, heart still pounding. “Thai sounds good.”
5
The two laid on the hardwood floor of Harley’s bedroom, colored pencils in hand as they shaded an intricate coloring book, the soft sounds of late 2000’s pop playing on the Alexa.
“No. No! I disagree.”
“What do you mean you disagree?”
“I mean, you’re wrong! You are absolutely, completely, totally and utterly wrong!”
Harley raised an eyebrow, sipping through his swirly straw of Arnold Palmer. “Please. Educate me, then.”
“The Star Spangled Banner is a perfect representation of American patriotism! The flag, against all odds, still standing after the Fort of McHenry was bombarded and destroyed by Britain during the War of 1812? The land of the free and the home of the brave? How can that not represent America and American values?” Peter asked.
“Because musically, it doesn’t represent the majority of American people!” Harley exclaimed exasperatedly. “The Star Spangled Banner has a vocal range of 12 notes. That’s an octave and a half! If you’re doing it in the key of G, then you’re passing through, not one, but two of your passaggios. The average American can’t just casually sing a song that passes through two passagios comfortably. A national anthem should be something that every citizen can sing to represent their country, not something that even professional singers struggle to belt out. A national anthem should be less than octave. It’s that simple. Six note range realistically.
“O-o-oh and don’t even get me started on the key situation, because there is no way to find a comfortable key for this song because it’s rather comfortable and boring, or it’s too high and you’re switching into your falsetto and you’re making a fool of yourself at a little league baseball game that your mom forced you to sing at.”
Peter snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You can’t tell me that you can actually sing the Star Spangled Banner.” His head snapped up. “No, wait, don’t — ”
“ OH SAY CAN YOU SEE—”
“I revoke my hypothetical, you don’t have to — ”
“THAT SO PROOoOOooOOoUDLY WE HAILED— ”
“My ears! Oh my ears!”
“ WHOSE BROAD STRIPES AND BRIGHT STARS—”
“Please, I’ll do anything. Just spare me and my ears. Punish me, not my ears. They’re innocent.”
“AND THE ROCKET’S RED GLAaAAaRE! THE BOMBS BURSTING IN AaAaaAIR!”
“You could at least be taking diaphragmatic breaths to support the —”
“GAVE PROOF THROUGH THE NIGHT THAT OUR FLAG WAS STILL THERE—”
“You really just had to choose the key of D, huh?”
“OR THE LAND OF THE FREE…”
“Did you know it’s actually ‘o’er’ like ‘over’ —”
“ BRAAaaAAaaAaVE!” Peter slid up to the highest note he could muster, a shit-eating grin on his lips.
“My neighbors hate you. You do know that, right? Jameson was right. You’re a menace.”
“You love me,” Peter sang.
Harley smiled softly. “Yeah. I do.”
Peter’s playful smirk dissipated, cheeks heating to a pink twinge.
“You’re beautiful,” Harley said, nearly a whisper, low and warm. He scooted to sit next to the smaller teen, fingers tracing patterns up his arm.
There was a scratching at the door.
Harley ignored it, fingers finding their way to the back of Peter’s neck, thumb tracing his jaw.
There was a loud bark.
“You gonna get that?” Peter questioned quietly.
“She’s fine,” Harley mumbled, his voice smooth and rumbling, lips so close to Peter’s ear as it trailed his cheek and headed to his…
The door opened with a slam, the fluffy puppy jumping on Peter’s lap and attacking his face with her slobbery tongue.
“Hi, Barbara,” Peter said with a laugh.
She rolled on her belly, gaining Peter’s full attention.
“I can’t believe she learned how to open doors,” Peter said with a chuckle.
“Yeah. Me neither,” Harley replied, flat. However, his disappointment and annoyance couldn’t linger too long as he watched the bright grin grow on Peter’s face as he pet the excited puppy.
Another time.
+1
Peter rested nestled himself between Harley’s legs, head resting on his chest as he slowly enjoyed a large bowl of brownie batter ice cream, Harley sucking on a fudgesicle above him as they enjoyed an episode of Kids Baking Championship.
Peter’s eyes drifted up, meeting Harley’s bright blues, as his bright pink lips slurped and sucked at the fudgesicle, almost fallically. He pulled it out of his mouth with an obscene pop. “What?”
Peter’s eyes stayed glued to Harley’s lips. He tugged the treat out of his hand, sticking it into his bowl, earning an unappreciative whine from Harley, and tossed the dish to the coffee table, and climbed onto him, legs around his waist, pulling him into a demanding, impatient kiss.
Harley groaned beneath Peter, tangling his fingers into his brown curls, tugging at the locks to gain more control.
Peter whimpered helplessly at the sensation, going loose like putty.
Harley grinded up against Peter, tugging at his hair again, overwhelming Peter’s senses again as he pulled away from his lips to suck at the sensitive skin on his neck.
“Oh, Harley,” Peter gasped.
Harley hummed in response, nipping masterfully at his jaw, leaving Peter limp under his touch.
He crashed his lips back to Peter’s, languidly rolling his hips against Peter’s, savoring the sweet lingering taste of chocolate on his cold lips. He flicked his tongue on his lower lip, grazing his teeth on the soft skin, making Peter gasp again.
Harley tentatively licked at Peter’s tongue, but Peter closed his mouth again, settling for just lips on lips.
Harley, understanding Peter’s warning, became comfortable with the smooth and repetitive motion, mouths working almost in sync, sometimes clinking teeth, sometimes bumping noses.
Peter’s fingers found the hem of Harley’s shirt, and he pulled away. “Is this okay?”
Harley nodded, pulling it off with one slick motion, and went back to Peter’s lips. They parted momentarily as Peter shimmied off his sweater, arm getting caught in the sleeve.
When their lips met again, bare chest against bare chest, Harley moaned at the warmth, and hard pressure of Peter’s abs against his stomach. His hands explored Peter’s body, fingers trailing up and down his torso, fingernails slightly scratching at his back earning a low, guttural groan from Peter, making Harley smirk into the kiss.
Peter’s fingers were dragging down Harley’s stomach with a feather light touch, and were heading lower and lower when he suddenly threw his head back in laughter, covering his mouth in embarrassment.
“What? What is it?” Harley asked, mind still foggy and distracted.
“Sorry, this stupid Geico clog commercial makes me laugh every time,” Peter said, still losing himself to a fit of giggles.
Harley turned to the TV, confused. “Oh?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I ruined the moment, didn’t I?” Peter asked.
“It was a nice moment,” Harley reassured.
Peter leaned in and pressed one gentle kiss on Harley’s lips. “The ice cream isn’t melted.”
“We’d better finish it,” Harley said with a weak smile.
“Or,” Peter kissed up Harley’s neck and leaned close to his ear, “we could just let it melt.”
Harley’s eyes fluttered shut as his head fell back. “Oh, God, yes.”