Work Text:
It wasn’t often that anyone bothered Peter at work. May knew better than to visit – she would text or call if she needed him. And Ned was currently out of town, visiting family. Other classmates might text, but no-one else was likely to drop by his work place.
So when Peter got the message that a ‘friend’ was at the front desk, he was puzzled.
The receptionist did not provide a name, so Peter put his work on pause and wandered down to the grand front entrance of Stark tower to see who had called him.
He was dressed as per usual in faded jeans and a plain well-worn t-shirt, plus a lab coat.
His heart bumped a bit when he thought he saw Flash Thomson in the lobby area, but he put his head down and walked quickly to the desk because when he was being rational, he knew better than to jump every time he imagined seeing his high school nemesis in public. New York was a big city. Not every dark-haired teenager in Italian leather loafers was a bully looking to give him grief.
The receptionist was a middle-aged woman with grey-streaked hair who handled drop-ins and lost tourists and down-on-their-luck people and diplomats and CEOs of fortune 500 companies every day. She looked over her half-moon glasses at Peter as he arrived at her desk and tipped her head to indicate with pursed lips two teenaged boys lounging against the counter.
“Wouldn’t give their names,” she sniffed. “But swore you’d know them.”
The dark-haired teenager dressed in designer clothes and RayBans, peeled himself off the counter and looked at Peter in shock. “Holy fuck!” he said. “You’re really here?”
“Jeez Flash,” Peter scowled, realizing that his high school bully had indeed shown up to his workplace just like he’d feared.
“Language,” the receptionist tut-tutted.
Peter crossed his arms irritably. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d see if it was really true,” Flash sneered.
“Seriously?” Peter snorted.
“What - you just dress up in a lab coat and pretend to work here?” Flash said.
“Are you kidding me?” Peter asked in disbelief. “This isn’t high school. You don’t get to show up and mock me for whatever reason …”
“You’re still banging on about that internship?” Flash said.
“It’s a job,” Peter corrected him.
Flash reached out to poke Peter in the shoulder.
Peter pushed his hand away angrily. “Can I ban people from the tower?” he asked the receptionist.
“You certainly can,” she confirmed with a satisfied smirk on her face. Clearly the boys had not impressed her while they’d been waiting. “If they’re interfering with your work. Want me to call security?”
“You can’t do that!” Flash complained.
She pressed a red button on her desk.
The other boy, the one lounging next to Flash, snorted in amusement and Peter was distracted for a moment. He was bad with faces and names, often getting confused if he met someone out of context. The boy was vaguely familiar, but there was something not quite right …
He should be younger, his inner voice whispered.
Two security guards approached and the receptionist pointed at the boys.
Flash pushed away, sneering. “Alright, alright,” he snarled. He turned to his friend. “You coming?”
The other boy was looking intently at Peter. He was dressed in a very not-New York style – faded, dirty blue jeans, scuffed cowboy boots, and a worn checked shirt with frayed edges that screamed “country bumpkin”.
“I know you,” he said with a soft Southern accent.
“Me too,” Peter said, frowning, his brain whirling through his mental rolodex. He’d seen this guy before, in a photo as a kid, as an older teen dressed in a suit …
“You were at the funeral,” the boy said slowly.
Peter nodded. “I saw you.” He remembered the boy standing alone, shoulders hunched, looking absolutely miserable.
“Holy fuck,” Flash said. “You know each other?”
The other guy nodded. “At Tony Stark’s funeral. You were with that beautiful Italian woman with long hair.”
“My Aunt May.”
The security guards stood on either side. They looked to Peter for further instruction.
“He’s banned,” Peter pointed to Flash. “Not him.” he indicated the scruffy teen. “He’s fine.”
The guards nodded and moved to escort Flash away.
“Fuck you,” Flash complained as he left. “I don’t believe either one of you actually went to Stark’s funeral. That’s bull shit.”
Peter held out his hand to shake.
“I’m Harley,” the guy said, taking his hand.
“Peter,” Peter answered. “Parker. I feel like maybe we need to talk.”
The teen shrugged and looked around uneasily. “Not here.”
“There’s a café around the corner,” Peter suggested. “Let me go just … ah change.”
The guy nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets, looking like he’d prefer to hide.
Peter ran up to his office, swapped the lab coat for his jacket and told his lab partner that he was leaving – might be gone a while. She waved lazily, still engrossed in her work and he raced down to the lobby half-afraid that Harley would have left.
They walked the few blocks to the café with Peter babbling about tower security and local parks and the weather because he couldn’t stand silence.
Harley loped alongside him quietly taking everything in, but not saying much. He may have been a few inches taller than Peter, but he slouched as he walked. He had soft curly brown hair and bright curious eyes.
“This is a cool place,” Peter was explaining as they walked. “There was a labor action a while ago cause the boss was really nasty and it ended with the employees buying him out so now it’s employee-owned and run and lots of staff members are LGBTQ and they support all kinds of community events and stuff …”
They stopped in front of the café decked out proudly in rainbow flags and socialist posters.
Harley looked at the entrance with wide eyes and Peter felt a note of trepidation. Harley was giving off a very NRA-card-carrying-member, NASCAR-fan, good-ole-boy-from-Tennessee vibe.
Peter wondered if they should choose somewhere else but the moment passed and they went in.
It was a very odd place – basically a maze of tiny rooms and small tables separated by columns and big plant pots so wherever you were, you could see only one or two other tables. Sound was muffled here so you could have a really quiet, private conversation nestled among the hanging planters and vine-covered walls.
“They have really good dessert,” Peter suggested as they settled at a quiet table.
Harley nodded, looking around like a tourist. There were two men holding hands at a table near the window and the server wore a tag indicating that their preferred pronouns were “they/them”.
“I know you, Peter Parker,” Harley said softly. “Tony used to talk to me about you.”
“Me too,” Peter admitted. “You’re Harley Keener, right? The mechanic?”
“Actually that was my nickname for Tony,” Harley corrected him, but with a smile.
“And you shot him with a potato gun?”
“He crashed into my garage when he was on the run a few years ago,” Harley explained. “I helped him fix his suit.”
Peter nodded. “He told me about you and there’s a photo of you on his workbench. Super smart, really good with mechanics, studying engineering at MIT, right?”
“I fucked that up,” Harley muttered.
“Tony wanted us to meet. Said we’d get on like a house on fire,” Peter remembered.
Harley grinned. “Yeah, he told me something like that too. Said we had a lot in common but he was afraid if we ever met, we’d set the house on fire.”
“How long have you been in New York?” Peter asked.
“Since the funeral,” Harley answered.
“Happy’s been trying to get hold of you.”
“I threw my phone in the lake,” Harley shrugged.
“Holy shit,” Peter said, eyes wide. “You don’t have a phone right now?” He tried and failed to imagine life without his trusty, Stark phone/AI lifeline.
“It’s interesting being on a tech diet,” Harley said. “You learn to read paper maps and figure stuff out.”
Peter shuddered. “And where are you staying?”
“In a shelter.”
“Holy … no, no, no,” Peter shook his head. “We gotta get you fixed up with a phone and a place to live. Tony will leave whatever afterlife he’s found himself in and come and strike me down dead if I leave his protégé running around New York like that.”
Harley grinned.
“Stark industries will find you a place,” Peter promised. “I know who to call. And worst case scenario, you can come stay with me for a while. My aunt May’s cool – she won’t mind.”
“Thanks.”
“He left you stuff in his will,” Peter whispered.
“Like what?”
Peter offered Harley a taste of his decadent chocolate cake. “Dunno,” he answered the question. “But he left me a car and I don’t even have a driver’s license. And loads of other things too. He was generous.”
“Sounds like Tony,” Harley nodded seriously. “Wait, you don’t have a driver’s license? You’re only a year younger than me.”
“I live in Queen’s,” Peter snorted. “I can get everywhere I want by subway. And cars kind of freak me out.”
Harley drummed his fingers on the table. “I know who you are,” he said.
“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “So you said.”
“No, I mean, I. Know. Who. You. Are,” he said slowly and quietly.
Peter frowned, heart thudding.
“You’re Spider-man, aren’t you?” Harley whispered.
“No.”
“You’ve got a terrible poker face.”
“I can’t keep a secret to save my life,” Peter said sharply. “So clearly I’m not … I couldn’t be … what makes you think?”
Harley snorted. “I helped Tony find you.”
“What?”
“I sent him the YouTube video,” Harley explained. “I asked him what the hell was in the water in New York and what was up with another enhanced superhero roaming the streets. We spent weeks passing videos back and forth analyzing things, triangulating sightings …”
Peter looked around nervously. He’d never asked Tony how he’d found him which is stupid in hindsight because if one person (even if that one person is freaking Tony Stark) can find him, so can others and it would be good to know what clues he’d left behind so he could cover his ass a bit better in future.
“Next thing I know, Spider-man is running around in a new suit – CLEARLY built by Stark and Tony is babbling on about another kid he’s sort of half adopted who is super smart and good with science and gonna follow me to MIT …”
Peter groaned. “Not hard to connect the dots, huh?”
Harley snorted. “People in New York think I’m dumb cause of the accent,” he said. Then he leaned over the table and said in a Tennessee accent as heavy as molasses, “But ah ain’t THAT dumb.”
Peter grinned in acknowledgment.
Harley watched him. “We kept trying to figure out what was in the suit, whether you’d built something like another Ironman suit, only … lighter.”
Peter shook his head.
“But that first suit was just … sad,” Harley smiled. “Not much more than a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie. The powers … it’s all you, isn’t it?”
Peter opened his hand and touched the tips of his fingers to his coffee mug. Without obviously holding anything, he lifted it up, sloshed some liquid around and set it down.
“Cute party trick,” Harley said.
“I got bit by a radio-active spider,” Peter said.
“Holy … hell. I have so many questions.”
“Maybe not here,” Peter suggested. “Do you mind if I have more dessert?”
Harley watched a couple of men dressed in sparkly sequins and short, SHORT shorts thread their way through the café to a near-by table. Peter hoped like hell he wasn’t going to make some sort of homophobic comment about wishing people wouldn’t walk around in public dressed like that.
“Have you always lived in New York?” Harley asked Peter.
“Yeah, born and bred.”
“So you have no idea what it’s like to live in a small town?”
“Not really,” Peter shrugged. “My grandma lives in a small town in upstate New York, but I don’t go very often.”
“And when you visit, do the neighbours come to visit and gossip?”
Peter grinned. “I used to hide when I was little. They pinched my cheeks and asked too many questions.”
Harley smirked. “Not used to neighbours knowing your secrets?”
“Grandma likes living there,” Peter said. “Says everyone send her casseroles when she’s sick.”
“That’s what small towns are like,” Harley nodded. “Everyone goes to church, everyone votes for the same racist assholes, everyone knows what everyone else is up to, and if you step out line … well, you get slapped down mighty quick.”
Peter took note of the bitterness. “It’s not like that in New York,” he said. “I mean you won’t get casseroles because no-one knows that you’re sick, but people also don’t care if you wear what you want or do what you like … it’s a trade-off, but it’s worth it.”
“I got bullied,” Harley said a fierce look on his face.
“I’m sorry to hear that …”
“I got bullied because I’m gay,” Harley said quietly.
Peter gaped at him. “Oh, oh,” he said faintly.
“I ain’t never told anyone before,” Harley said.
“What?” Peter blinked. “You’ve known me for all of about an hour and you just decide to … um?”
“Figured I ought to practise,” Harley said with quiet dignity. “If you acted weird, I can just punch you and leave and you’d never find me.”
Peter sat back (out of range of those big fists) and regarded his dining companion. “I gotta tell you that I’m the worst person in the world for this,” he said finally. “I’m terrible at conversation and basic social skills and I’m like 100% certain to say something inappropriate like congratulations when I should say condolences … not that I need to say either in this case, but … um … I think I’m just going to stop talking now.”
He offered Harley a fist bump instead.
Harley grinned and fist bumped him back.
“Seriously, doesn’t change anything,” Peter insisted. “You should still come and stay with me and May.” He offered Harley a bite of his second dessert – an enormous piece of carrot cake.
Harley hummed in pleasure at the sweet frosting.
“You ever told Tony?” Peter asked after a few minutes.
“Nope.”
“He would have supported you, thrown a big party, whatever,” Peter assured him. “He is … was bi.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You didn’t know? If you google him, there are loads of salacious articles about him cavorting around with guys – some famous ones – when he was younger.”
Harley shrugged. “Wild oats.”
Peter laughed. “I don’t think straight guys sow their wild oats at Freddy Mercury-hosted orgies.”
Harley grinned. “Sometimes it seems like everyone in New York is bi or something,” he said.
“Yeah,” Peter agreed. “There’s a lot of us. Mind you, I think it’s just as common in small towns, but if you’ve got to hide, then you don’t know who else is out there …” he waved at Harley, “you know, passing as a straight ole cowboy-type.”
They kept talking.
Harley ordered more coffee; Peter ordered more dessert.
At one point, Peter called the office to report he wasn’t coming back in and left a message with the superhero wrangler to report that he’d found Harley Keener.
They talked about Tony.
Harley had known Tony longer and in a different way than Peter had. He told Peter that he and Tony had chatted frequently by video – almost once per week - or Tony would swing by Rose Hill on one of his lightning-fast visits. One time, Tony had taken Harley and his sister to a Stark expo in Florida and another time, Harley had stayed with him briefly in Malibu.
Peter had known him for a shorter period of time and mostly through ‘work’ which he couldn’t talk about in public.
Harley talked about blowing up things in the workshop.
Peter told him stories about Ned. And about experiments gone wrong and his new job at Stark enterprises.
Harley told Peter about what Tony was like at home with Pepper.
They talked until they felt like they’d known each other forever.
By the time the server’s shift was about to change, Peter had received a flurry of messages from Stark enterprises.
“Change of plans,” he announced as he paid the bill. “I think I know where part of your inheritance is and we can stay there tonight instead of in my teeny-tiny apartment in Queens.”
They went first to the shelter to pick up Harley’s stuff, then to a private garage.
“Holy mother of god,” Harley swore as he surveyed the sleek little two-seater coupe, sitting sad and lonely in a forgotten corner.
“That sounds like a Catholic curse,” Peter laughed. “Is that allowed?”
“You are a godless heathen,” Harley retorted. “While I was raised up going to church every week so I can swear any which way I like.”
“If you say so.”
“This is your car? What Tony gave you?”
“Yeah. I’ve never driven it though.”
“I am so turned on right now.”
“By a car? That’s a bit sick.”
Harley glared.
“Can you drive a stick shift?” Peter asked.
“Can I?” Harley smirked. “What was Tony thinking giving a sweet little baby like this to a guy who can’t be bothered getting his license?”
“Well, you can’t expect me to learn with this, can you?”
They stuffed Harley’s stuff in the inadequate trunk and Peter tossed Harley the keys.
They drove north through the horrendous New York traffic and onto bustling highways.
In the quiet privacy of the car, Harley interrogated Peter about the radioactive spider bite and his fancy new powers. Peter told him about Germany and some of his adventures as Spider-man.
Harley told him about his father leaving and the challenges his mother faced raising two kids on a waitress’s inconsistent earnings.
Peter told him about losing Uncle Ben and how his Aunt May had re-organized her life to raise him. “She never even wanted kids,” he said. “Just got stuck with me because she married the wrong guy.”
Harley patted him on the knee in understanding.
Peter told him about going to space with Tony and a wizard. He’d given Ned a cleaned-up, Coles-notes version and Ned had squealed in excitement about aliens. Now, Peter revealed to Harley the sheer terror of the trip – of the understanding that they had no way to control the flying doughnut and that they were almost certainly on a suicide mission.
“We recorded farewell messages,” Peter admitted.
By the time they reached the lakeside house where Tony and Pepper and Morgan had lived and where the funeral had been held, both boys were rung out and emotionally exhausted.
The house was dark and somewhat dusty.
“They haven’t been back since the funeral,” Harley guessed. He rummaged through the cupboards and came up with spaghetti noodles and a jar of pre-made sauce.
Peter found a bottle of red wine and jokingly suggested opening it.
“Do it!” Harley urged him. “Tony wouldn’t mind.”
“But it’s Pepper’s now,” Peter argued. “Isn’t it stealing? And besides, what if it’s fancy wine that costs $1000 a bottle and you keep it for investment or whatever?”
“It’s probably $10 plonk from the corner store,” Harley answered. “And Pepper wouldn’t mind. Trust me. I know her.”
Peter peered into the pot of boiling water. “You’re gonna need more noodles.”
“They’ll plump up,” Harley assured him.
“No,” Peter argued. “You’re gonna need half a box just for me. I’m hungry.”
“You had like four desserts this afternoon!”
Peter shrugged. “I’m a bottomless pit.”
They ate the spaghetti and drank the wine and neither of them knew enough about wine to tell if it was a $1000 per bottle fine vintage or plonk. Although they both knew that Tony and Pepper wouldn’t buy cheap wine from the corner store.
Harley was a little buzzed from the wine; Peter felt a bit more relaxed, but he didn’t think it was alcohol related. “I haven’t really tried, but I don’t think I can get drunk,” he told Harley. “Crazy fast metabolism.”
“Bummer,” Harley said owlishly.
They went down to the workshop in the basement and Harley held his breath as he placed his palm against the glass security panel.
The lights flickered.
Peter hoped to hell that security in the city had been informed of their presence so that they didn’t accidentally trigger a Shield swat team.
“Hello Mr. Keener,” a familiar Irish voice greeted them.
“Hey Friday,” Harley smiled.
The lights blazed and Peter winced.
“Sorry, Mr. Parker,” Friday murmured as the lights dimmed.
Harley frowned at him.
“Sensory overload,” Peter explained. “The AIs muffle things as much as possible when they detect my presence.”
Harley wandered around the workshop, touching things lightly, opening drawers and closing them.
“Friday?” Peter asked. “Did Tony leave something for Harley? Was he working on something just for him?”
A row of lights like a mini runway flickered on and led them to a cupboard in the corner. Harley opened it reverently and they peered instead.
“It’s components of a suit,” Peter guessed, looking at the metal bits and bobs, the partial faceplate and a set a gauntlets.
Harley glared.
“What?”
Harley tapped the chest section. “No arc reactor,” he said gruffly.
“So?”
Harley glared.
Peter frowned in confusion. And then understanding dawned. “It’s for you,” he said. “He built a suit just for you?”
Harley nodded, looking somber. “So much cooler than a car.”
“It might not be one or the other,” Peter smiled. “He left me a suit AND a car.”
“This is so … amazing.”
“Why don’t I just … leave you to it?” Peter suggested. “Don’t blow anything up.”
He went back up to the main sitting area and took out the sound-muffling earbuds that he’d been wearing all day. The insect noises roared and he could hear the clicks and groans of the house settling like a living thing. He sat on the porch and looked at the sky and the millions of twinkling stars. As a city kid, he didn’t often get to see stars in such multitude. They were pretty, but they also reminded him uncomfortably of space where he’d been surrounded by a blanket of unfamiliar stars.
He told himself to get a grip – it was stupid to get worked up about such a common (and beautiful) sight.
After a while, he heard Harley coming back upstairs and he went to greet him.
“It’s too much,” said Harley softly, looking distressed. “I don’t deserve it.”
“Course you deserve it,” Peter answered gently. “Tony loved you.”
“He loved what he thought I was,” Harley sniffed. “But I’m a total fuck-up …”
Peter reached for him tentatively. “He loved you.”
“It was just dumb luck,” Harley said. “He could have crashed anywhere. I’m not anything special – my own bio dad couldn’t even be bothered …”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter soothed, wrapping his arms around Harley. “Don’t be like that. Tony was meant to find you and he loved you. Pepper once said that Tony used to never want kids cause he was so afraid that he’d fuck up like Howard did, but then he met you and you kind of changed his mind.”
“And you …” Harley reminded him.
“Me later,” Peter agreed. “But you were first.”
Harley sighed.
Peter kissed him, carefully and cautiously.
Harley pulled away and blinked slowly at Peter.
“Sorry!” Peter said.
“What …?”
“I thought, I thought … you’d be OK with it,” Peter said uncertainly.
Harley looked baffled.
Peter waited, his heart thumping.
“You like … guys?” Harley asked.
“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “I’m bi. And I like you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? In the café …”
“I did, kind of,” Peter explained. “I mean sort of … maybe I was too subtle, but you were having a moment and I didn’t want to intrude.”
Harley laughed and then leaned over and kissed Peter. This kiss was a little more firm and he pushed Peter backwards until he was braced against the wall. “You ever do this before?” he asked, his voice husky.
“With a guy?” Peter asked. “Nope.”
Harley grinned.
“Not with a girl either,” Peter hastened to add.
“Why not?” Harley asked, sliding his hands up under Peter’s t-shirt.
“Cause the last time I went on a date, her father turned out to be a crazy crime lord so I had to chase him across town, and crash a plane, and web him up for the cops to take him to prison, and uh … after that … it just didn’t seem like a kiss was gonna happen.”
Harley laughed, nipping hungrily at Peter’s jaw. “Your stories are so batshit crazy.”
Peter tugged off his t-shirt and dropped it on the floor. “What about you?” he asked.
“Jeez Parker,” Harley muttered. “The way you eat, you should be 300 pounds. How’d you get so ripped?”
“Ah!” Peter squeaked as Harley bit him lightly. “Swinging around Queens is VERY good exercise …”
Harley leaned into him. “Not with a girl,” he answered Peter’s earlier question. “But I kinda made out with this guy from church once. Wanted to know what it was like.”
“Uh huh?”
“We didn’t get very far before we got discovered.”
“Oh,” Peter murmured, sounding breathless. “So kind of the blind leading the blind?”
“Kinda,” Harley agreed. “But I have some ideas about what I’d LIKE to do …” He tugged lightly at the waistband of Peter’s jeans.
“Well, I’m game,” Peter said fumbling with the fastening on his jeans. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulled down both the jeans and his boxers in one move.
Harley kissed him hard and fierce and reached down to stroke Peter’s erection.
Peter concentrated very hard on not climbing the wall (literally) and not using his super strength.
Harley grinned and dropped to his knees.
“Errr … Harley?”
“You OK with this?” Harley checked.
“Yeah,” Peter gasped as Harley tentatively licked him and then started to suck. Every virgin boy has imagined what it would feel like, but the actual reality was almost too much to take. He closed his eyes.
“Holy fuck, Harley,” Peter gasped. “Stop. Stop, just a moment.”
Harley pulled away, licking his lips. “What?”
“Imma gonna,” Peter muttered. “I’m super close …”
“That’s the point, dipshit,” Harley laughed, going back to what he was doing.
Peter made a soft sound as he came, pleasure rippling through his body.
Harley grinned, climbing to his feet and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Good?”
“Holy fuck,” Peter groaned. “Why are you still dressed?”
“Dunno.”
Peter peeled himself off the wall and pushed Harley backwards onto the couch. “Your turn,” he said, somewhat breathlessly.
“You don’t have to,” Harley protested.
Peter straddled him on the couch and unfastened the buttons on his flannel lumberjack shirt. “I want to,” he said firmly. The shirt tore like tissue paper under his fingers. “Oops - sorry.”
Harley laughed, yanking the tatters off and then peeling off the t-shirt underneath. “Careful with that super strength, huh?”.
Peter curled his fingers across Harley’s chest. “So what happened with this other guy?” he said. “The one from church?”
“You jealous?”
“Nope. Just curious.”
Harley sighed. “I didn’t really like him,” he confessed. “But I knew he was gay and I was kind of curious.”
“Uh huh?”
“So we were making out in the church basement and the minister walked in …”
“You were AT church?” Peter grinned.
“Yeah, that’s how everyone found out.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Well,” Harley frowned. “Here’s the thing about the South that you guys in New York don’t get. See - we know there are lots of gay people in our community. I mean this guy’s nickname was ‘fairy’ for fuck’s sake.”
“OK?”
“But he played the game,” Harley said. “He confessed that he was a sinner; he agreed to go to therapy, he asked church members to pray for him … AGAIN … and he got kind of forgiven.”
“So it’s OK to be gay in Tennassee as long as you’re sorry?” Peter asked with a frown.
“Pretty much,” Harley agreed.
“But you didn’t?” Peter murmured.
“Nope,” Harley said firmly. “I’m not gonna apologize for being who I am.”
“You’re going to fit right in,” Peter smiled. “Welcome to New York.”
He unfastened Harley’s jeans and Harley lifted his hips to slide them off. Peter watched Harley’s face as he stroked him carefully. Harley’s eyes fluttered shut and he groaned lightly. Peter bent to lick him gently.
“You don’t have to,” Harley muttered. “I mean, just cause I did.”
“You don’t want me to?”
“Umm…?”
“Not that I know what I’m doing of course …” Peter teased.
Harley barked a short laugh. “And you think I did?”
“For a beginner that was fucking fantastic,” Peter assured him.
“Watch your teeth,” Harley muttered as he lay back.
**
Peter woke at the distant sound of the motorcycle turning onto the gravel road.
He climbed groggily off the couch and smacked Harley. “Someone’s coming,” he said, his voice raspy. “Motorcycle coming up our road.”
Harley pulled a throw pillow over his head and groaned. “Whaaa time iss’a it?
“Late,” Peter said. “Do you drink coffee?”
“Hell yeah.”
Peter got himself dressed in yesterday’s clothes (well, he hadn’t brought a change) and went into the kitchen.
The faint rumble of the bike finally reached Harley. “Jeez, you heard that how many minutes ago?” he yawned.
“Super hearing,” Peter pointed to his ears.
He rummaged in the cupboards and found a box of high protein granola bars. There didn’t appear to be any breakfast items.
By the time the motorcycle arrived, they were both dressed and Peter had figured out how to start the coffee machine. They were blearily munching on granola bars and awkwardly not quite looking at each other.
A beautiful woman parked the bike and hung up her helmet.
Peter gulped. He had kind of a mini crush on Darcy (pretty much everyone did) because she was whip-smart and gorgeous and snarky and funny and this morning she was totally rocking the super sexy librarian look with big glasses and a loose up-do. That is, if librarians wore black leather from head to toe.
“Holy smoking …” Harley muttered. “I mean if I swung that way.”
“She bosses Thor around,” Peter told him. “Totally bad-ass.”
“Boys!” she greeted them cheerily.
Peter waved from the counter. “Hey Darcy. This here is Harley Keener.”
“Aren’t you the cutest?” she said, reaching to shake his hand. “I’m Darcy Lewis – superhero wrangler par excellence.”
“It actually says that on her business card,” Peter said idly. “I have one in my wallet.”
“Huh,” Harley said. “But I’m not a superhero.”
“PotaTO, Po-TA-to,” she shrugged, dropping a large red binder on the table. “Let’s see what Tony left you and what else you need. He tended to think of hot rod cars, but not about rent.”
She had lists, she had notes.
Harley looked at the sheet she handed him. “What is all this?”
“Most of the money Tony set up came with conditions,” Darcy said lightly. “A certain sum while you’re at MIT, a gift when you graduate, first patent … etc., etc. but not to worry – we can figure out how to shake the money tree for your immediate needs.”
“He needs a place to live,” Peter piped up.
“Short term, he can stay at the tower,” Darcy said. “In the lower level suites.”
“Oh yeah,” Peter grinned. “The hook-up suites.”
“The what?” Harley asked.
Peter handed him a cup of black coffee. “People who live at the top level have super high security levels so they can wander around the common areas, but if they want to … um … invite someone to visit who doesn’t have such high security, they have to stay in the lower level rooms.”
Harley stared. “Are you saying that if the winter soldier himself went to a bar and picked up a girl …?”
“It wouldn’t be a girl,” Peter corrected him.
Harley spluttered.
“Seriously, I told you,” Peter said easily.
“Ok,” Harley said slowly. “But if he went out and picked someone up, he wouldn’t be ALLOWED to bring this person up to his own apartment?”
“Well yeah,” Peter nodded. “You can’t have just anyone walking in on Banner in his boxers in the kitchen.”
Harley buried his head in his hands.
“So, short term that’s a solution,” Darcy said lightly. “But the suites have only partial kitchens with a microwave, no stove and you might want to be closer to school?”
“School?” Peter asked.
Darcy sighed. “Tony set up a full ride scholarship to MIT for both of you, but shockingly, MIT reserves the right to determine who gets accepted and your buddy Harley here …”
“Failed English,” he said sadly.
“Oops,” Peter made a face.
“So … back to school,” Darcy nodded. “And you need an allowance and we’ll set you up with a part-time job at Stark enterprises to keep you out of trouble.”
“And a phone,” Peter reminded her.
Silently, she slid a Stark phone across the table.
“Can I go to the same school as Peter?” Harley asked.
“I’m sure something can be worked out. Queens right? We can find you a place in the neighbourhood.”
Harley examined the paper. “Oh look, Tony did give me a car,” he said in delight.
“Oh yeah,” Darcy nodded. “The lawyers say since it’s not currently running, we can look into getting it fixed up before handing it over …”
“No!” Harley exclaimed. “Don’t touch her! I want to be the one to fix her up.”
“Okay.”
She handed Harley various documents and told him to sign here and here and here. “Lawyers will be in touch with certain details soon,” she promised.
Harley nodded and signed.
“Did you find what you were looking for here?” Darcy asked.
Peter nodded. “Tony made him a suit.”
“Like an Ironman suit?” she asked curiously. “I’m assuming you don’t mean Armani or something.”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re planning to follow in his footsteps?”
“Dunno,” he shrugged. “I’m not sure I want such responsibility. Tony left pretty big shoes.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Peter said gently.
Darcy squinted at Peter lounging in the kitchen and then at Harley. “Where’d you guys stay last night?” she asked.
“Here,” Harley answered.
“Which bedroom?” she asked.
Harley frowned and snuck a quick look at Peter.
“You have a little … ah ... bruise, right here,” Darcy grinned pointing to her own jaw.
“Fuck, seriously?” Harley leapt to his feet. He glared at Peter and dashed off to the bathroom.
Darcy laughed in delight.
Peter buried his head in his hands. “What gave us away?”
“Intuition,” she grinned. “That was fast work.”
Peter made a face.
Harley returned looking irritated. “I don’t see anything.”
“There’s isn’t anything there,” Peter explained with a sigh. “She was fishing.”
“Fuck.”
Darcy grinned. “You make a cute couple. Do I need to give you a lecture on safe sex – about always using protection?”
“No!” Peter said firmly.
Harley frowned. “We’re two dudes,” he pointed out.
“STDs,” she noted seriously.
“That’s not … a concern,” Harley looked uneasily over at Peter.
“Oh,” she grinned wickedly. “That tells me so much.”
“You know we both spent a lot of time around Tony, right?” Peter pointed out. “Who had no filter and loved to lecture us about not doing what he did? He was not shy about telling us the graphic details.”
“So no need for to tell you that every bedroom in this house is probably stocked with condoms and lube?” Darcy teased
Harley gulped.
Peter rolled his eyes.
She got up and shook Harley’s hand and tousled Peter’s hair. “Feel free to enjoy the love shack for a day or so, but let me know when you get back to the city.”
“Thanks,” they both chorused.