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Peter is a bundle of nervous energy. He’s given up on trying to be anything else
Mr. Stark had invited him to the tower to spend the holidays, and by some miracle May had agreed, shooting Mr. Stark a smile over FaceTime and helping Peter stuff his suitcase to the brim for the two weeks he’d be spending among the Avengers.
So here he is, standing in front of the massive Stark tower in all its phallic glory, gleaming windows reflecting the pale December sunlight back at him. The snow crunches loudly under his Docs as he makes his way to the entrance, hating the way the wheels of his suitcase squeak, leaving twin trails in the fresh powder behind him. Definitely not the impression he wants to make, but it is the only suitcase he has considering his lack of travel experience. No
Peter shivers as he steps inside, the heating melting the puddles of snow on his boots as he tries and fails to wipe his feet on the mat by the rotating doors. The lobby smells like peppermint mocha and ink, bustling with noise as employees and visitors alike head toward meetings and exhibits and all the glittering things Stark tower has to offer other than the six Avengers that occupy its top floors. It’s a sensory overload, it always is, and Peter hunches into his denim jacket, crossing the lobby as fast as he can.
Mr. Stark is standing by the elevator, looking crisp in a dark blazer over a red graphic tee with a cat on it. He has sunglasses on, his body a rigid line as he taps away at his phone. His shoulders are tense, betraying his straying focus as his eyes flick up, probably scanning the room for him. Peter can see the people around the lobby shooting him furtive looks, probably wondering what the Tony Stark is doing out of his workshop, but no one attempts to approach him.
“Mr. Stark!” Peter tries not to squeal, enjoying the way Mr. Stark’s eyes light up as he sees him.
“Hey, kiddo.” Mr. Stark hits the button for the private elevator and the doors slide open to allow them both into its glassy expanse. Mr. Stark relaxes against the wall, his phone disappearing in his pocket as he focuses his whiskey gaze on Peter. “How was the drive in from Queens?”
“It was incredible, Mr. Stark,” Peter grins, trying not to show how excited he is. It’s no use though. He can feel himself vibrating like an enthusiastic puppy, fingers drumming against his thigh as he tries not to babble. Mr. Stark doesn’t mention it so he figures he’s in the clear.
“I hope you don’t mind that I also invited Harley to spend Christmas with us.”
The words are like a bucket of ice water thrown over his body. It isn’t that he hates Harley. Mr. Stark talks about him so often and always in such a fond voice that Peter can’t help but be jealous of the kid. Not to mention he thought that he would get to spend the whole break with his mentor, getting better at the whole superhero gig, but now he is learning that he will have to share Mr. Stark’s valuable attention with some annoying Southern belle. Harley doesn’t know he is Spider-Man which means that Peter will have to sneak around all break and that is the last thing he wants.
“I don’t mind at all.” Peter lies through gritted teeth.
He wants to make the most out of this trip and learn as much as he can from Mr. Stark. Even if it means playing nice with Harvey. There is no way he is going to be friends with the kid, though. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.
The elevator doors slide open and Peter’s thoughts die a sad death in his throat at the sight of a tall blond boy standing in the middle of the living room. His hair is a brilliant wavy halo around his head, curling around his ears and into wicked pretty blue eyes, the kind of colour that has to have been stolen from the bottom of the sea. He is wearing a black tank top, an odd choice for the middle of winter, but one that Peter is grateful for as it shows off his straining muscles as he holds a beige throw pillow above his head.
Peter is awestruck, and that isn’t even taking in the vignette of the scene before him, one that makes even Mr. Stark pull his sunglasses off his face and stare in shock. There are throw pillows strewn across the living room, the couch cushions rearranged into what looks to be a pretty structurally sound fort. Steve is on the floor on his back, a red blanket tangled in his legs, as Hawkeye perches on the fort, ready to hurl another throw pillow at him.
He doesn’t have time to wonder what they’re doing in Mr. Stark’s penthouse. He’s stayed over enough times to know that they come and go as they please like superpowered house cats. Mr. Stark likes the company and Peter likes knowing that Mr. Stark isn’t on his own when his wife is away on business.
“I was gone for five minutes,” Mr. Stark groans but there is an amused smile on his face. He finally seems to snap out of his shock, tucking his sunglasses into the pocket of his blazer. “Five measly minutes and you turn my living room into a Chuck-E-Cheese.”
Peter follows closely behind him into the living room, sidestepping cushions and blankets, dragging his embarrassingly squeaky suitcase after him. The sound is loud in the relative silence of the room and Peter’s cheeks burn as he wishes for death.
Steve sits up, untangling the blanket from his legs with a sheepish smile. “Sorry Tony,” he says, not looking remotely sorry as he heads toward them. He grabs Peter’s suitcase out of his grasp, lifting it up by the handle to stop the annoying squeaking. “Let me get that for you, kiddo.”
“Thanks, Cap,” Peter grins up at him, happy to not be carrying around what was essentially a very annoyed mouse.
There are fresh baked cookies on the counter, the aroma surrounding Peter like a warm hug. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice them before considering how inviting the smell is. They’re probably Bruce’s doing, and Peter eyes them, wondering if it would be rude to just reach over and grab one.
Before he can ask, a hand is reaching out around him, grabbing two out of the pan before disappearing back where they came from. Startled, Peter whirls around to find Harley shoving both the cookies in his mouth, shooting Peter a wide grin. “Hey there, beautiful,” he says, his mouth full of cookie. Peter resists the urge to cringe or swoon, taking a step back and wincing when his back hits the counter. Harley swallows, seemingly not noticing Peter’s wide eyes. “You must be Peter. Tony didn’t tell me that you were so adorable.”
“I’m-” Peter stutters, feeling his cheeks heat as he lowers his gaze. He can’t exactly tell if Harley is being genuine or just making fun of him. Either way, he knows he’s going to be dreaming about that southern accent for a while.
“Harles!” Mr. Stark grabs onto the older boy by the back of his shirt collar, pulling him away from Peter with a jerk.
“You want a cookie?” Bruce rounds the counter to gently touch Peter’s shoulder, distracting him from Mr. Stark berating Harley in a hushed whisper.
Peter nods, grabbing the biggest chocolate chip cookie off the sheet and stepping away from the counter and Harley to head over to the fort where Clint is still crouched. “‘Sup, birdman.”
“Spider-child,” Clint nods in acknowledgement. Peter whips around to see if Harley heard, but the kid is busy rolling his eyes at Mr. Stark, arms crossed over his chest. Peter briefly wonders what it would be like to lay his head on it before shaking himself out of it and focusing on the resident archer. Clint snorts, following his gaze. “Don’t worry about Harley. He’s not a bad kid.”
Peter raises his eyebrows in disbelief but doesn’t respond, crawling into the fort with his cookie and drawing his knees up to his chest. It’s nice in here , he decides, dark and warm, with a large, window-like opening to see the television screen.
“JARVIS?” Peter calls looking up at the ceiling. Mr. Stark teases him endlessly about it, his AI doesn’t live in the roof, but Peter can’t shake the habit. “Can you please pull up the movie selection?”
Steve appears in front of the screen, grinning down at him before crawling into the fort to sit at his left. Even though there’s a good couple of inches between them, he can feel the warmth radiating off him like a space heater. “Hey, kiddo. I put your suitcase in your room.”
“Thanks, Cap.” Peter nods in acknowledgement as he scans the screen with all the movies displayed on it. Knives Out looks like a good one, and one of the main actors looks a lot like Steve but with darker hair. Peter is about to tell JARVIS to select that one when another voice cuts in.
“Play Peppa Pig,” Harley instructs JARVIS, ducking into the fort with them. He slides up against Peter’s other side, no shame in the way he presses his arm against Peter’s, warmth seeping through the layers of their clothing. Shooting him a wide grin, Harley snuggles even closer, his chin resting in his palm. His blond curls are falling into his eyes.
The contact is not totally unwelcome, Peter is just surprised, his blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck to warm his soul. He wants to cuddle closer to his warmth, but he also doesn’t want Harley to get the wrong idea. Or the right idea in this case.
Peter’s augmented hearing picks up Mr. Stark sighing in the background before his lower half is blocking the view of the television’s screen. That’s when Peter notices that Mr. Stark has kicked off his expensive Italian loafers, exposing his green socks with small grey kittens patterned across them. Peter really needs to get his hands on Mr. Stark’s sock drawer, it’s probably filled with all sorts of precious gems. Mr. Stark ducks down to look at the three of them in the fort, his gaze fixed on Harley. “Maybe you should let Peter pick the movie.”
Harley opens his mouth to argue, but Peter cuts in before he can. “It’s okay. We can watch this instead.”
Maybe if he shows that he really doesn’t care, Harley will stop trying to get a rise out of him. Peter bites into the warm cookie in his hand, letting out a soft satisfied groan as he chews slowly, savouring it. His eyes slide shut in pleasure as he takes another bite. Bruce had somehow baked heaven into the cookies, each chocolate chip like a warm burst of sunshine as it melts in his mouth.
When Peter comes back to himself, he looks up at the television screen. Peppa and her brother are jumping in a large puddle, irritating laughter spilling out of both of their mouths. Peter wonders what Harley’s laugh sounds like. If it’s deep and melodious, or high and snorting. Does he wheeze between breaths, or take deep gasps. Why does it matter to Peter, though? He doesn’t get this sudden feeling of wanting to make Harley laugh.
Peter needs to clear his head. He must have eaten something funny if he was considering how attractive the other boy is without really knowing the first thing about him. Besides, even if Peter did like Harley, the taller boy was way out of his league and would never like him back. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’d like to get to know Harley a little better but he doesn’t think he can get through sixty seconds of conversation without blushing to his toes.
He’s so beautiful. Harley, that is. Peter’s heightened senses can pick up every inhale and exhale of his, the way he shifts his weight, fidgeting in a way that Peter is familiar with. Though Harley is probably not anxious the way Peter is. He needs a second to breathe without the distracting weight of Harley pressed up against his side.
Wiggling out from between Harley and Steve, Peter ducks out of the fort, passing Clint a forced smile as he heads toward the bedroom he stays in when he visits Stark Tower. It’s in the penthouse, two doors down from Mr. Stark’s room. It’s decorated minimally with a spare change of clothes for when Peter has accidents in the lab. There’s a picture of him and Mr. Stark on the dresser, taken after a particularly hard battle. Mr. Stark has the faceplate up, one hand on Peter’s shoulder as he laughs at something Cap had said out of the frame.
Stepping into the room, Peter grabs the suitcase Cap had left by the door, pulling it open. Aunt May had packed one of his suits and refolded his disaster of a suitcase into something manageable. There are enough clothes in there to fill a small thrift store. Peter has no idea how he will get all the clothes back to his house after the week. He’ll probably end up tucking most of them into the dresser and coming back for them over time.
Pulling open the closet, Peter tosses the Spider-Man suit aside to deal with later, grabbing a couple of hangars for his shirts. May had made him pack a three-piece suit just in case, and he smooths out all the wrinkles before hanging it up on the dresser so he can ask Mr. Stark or Cap to help him steam it later.
Peter startles when the door swings open, throwing the closest thing to him- the picture frame- before he can even look at who is coming through. It’s Harley that he ends up clocking right in the face, the boy’s surprised expression burned in Peter’s lids as he steps back into the door, falling hard with a surprised oof.
Rushing over, Peter gets to his knees, one hand on Harley’s shoulder. Sure, he didn’t want to spend his winter break with the boy, but that didn’t mean he had to go and accidentally kill him. “Are you okay?”
Blinking, Harley sits up, rubbing his forehead and frowning at the bump already forming on his face. He winces, before dropping his hand and looking up at Peter with a widening grin. “You’re quite a knockout.”
Peter’s jaw drops. Because what the fuck? There is no way those words just came out of Harley’s mouth. Jerking back, Peter drops his hands to his sides. His cheeks are on fire as he looks everywhere but at Harley’s face. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Darling,” Harley’s hands come up, soothing, as he feels again at his face. “Hey, I was just joking. It’s okay. I’m sorry I startled you. I should have knocked.”
Dropping his head into his hands, Peter resists the urge to let out a sob. He’s fucking up everything and the last thing he wants is for this break to go horribly because Harley hates him for giving him a concussion. “I’m so sorry. It was a reflex. I didn’t mean to hit you.”
“Do you think I have a concussion?” Harley asks, grabbing onto the door frame to haul himself up. Peter follows suit until they’re face to face. Or more like face to chest considering Harley is a whole head taller than him.
“Uhm,” Peter hesitates, looking at Harley from beneath his lashes. He forces himself to meet Harley’s eyes head on, checking his pupils. “You don’t have a concussion, but it might bruise.”
“Bruise?” Harley sounds mildly upset, but then he sighs, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a derisive peal of laughter. “I guess it’s what I get for being a dick to you. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
“Thank you,” Peter blushes, scratching the back of his neck. “And I really am sorry about your face. I didn’t expect you.”
“I shoulda knocked first.” Harley waves him off, stepping back out into the hallway. “But if you really want to, you can apologize by allowing me to take you out to dinner.”
Harley smiles at him, and Peter knows he can’t resist, especially not with guilt hanging heavy on his heart. “Sure.”
Instead of returning to unpacking his suitcase and risking Harley seeing the suit, he follows the blond back to the living room where Natasha has appeared and is sitting on the cushionless couch with her feet in Thor’s lap, sipping on a tall glass of chocolate milk. Despite the fact that she is the perfect picture of nonchalance, Peter knows that anyone who tries to change the channel on the show will not be waking up tomorrow.
Mr. Stark is balanced precariously on a stepping stool by the entryway, his hands buried in the ceiling, pulling wires as he frowns at them. His hands are moving fast as he follows a plan in his brain only he could understand, Steve looking up at him skeptically as he spots him, arms out to catch him if he falls. Peter is always inspired by watching Mr. Stark’s brain work. He has so many brilliant ideas and always manages to flawlessly execute them. Well, almost always.
“Check it out,” Mr. Stark grins, hopping down from the ladder and setting his screwdriver on the kitchen counter with a clatter. There’s a dark blue mini projector attached to the ceiling and even Peter questions its purpose.
“What is it?” Clint comes up behind Mr. Stark, squinting up at the projector. “Is this another one of your games? I swear, if I get attacked during breakfast again, I am telling the government that JARVIS has gone into Hal territory.”
“JARVIS?” Mr. Stark calls, already doing jazz hands as the projector lights up with holographic mistletoe that sparkles. “Isn’t this the perfect way to get into the holiday spirit?”
“Sure thing.” Clint tips his head toward Mr. Stark, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before looking up across the room to where Steve is standing, arms crossed over his broad chest. He quickly drops his hand from Mr. Stark’s shoulders with a disarming smile. “Looks good, Tony.”
Mr. Stark beams proudly, a light dusting of secondhand excitement mirrored in Steve’s face as he looks back up to the projector. Then again, knowing Steve, anything Mr. Stark makes is fantastic in his eyes.
Peter looks up at the mistletoe as fear settles into his heart. He absolutely can not kiss Harley because then there is no way the guy won’t know how pathetic his crush is.
***
Natasha is next to be subject to the mistletoe, walking in right as Mr. Stark is stumbling into the kitchen from the workshop dressed in a three-piece suit. He’s got a tie on with a matching pocket square, beard trimmed to perfection despite the fact that his hair is a bird’s nest. Dark bags underscore Mr. Stark’s eyes, proving that despite the early hour he hasn’t been to sleep yet, and, knowing him, he probably won’t be going to sleep anytime soon despite how exhausted he looks.
Mr. Stark is so tired he doesn’t even notice that he and Natasha are both under the mistletoe at the same time. Peter watches with bated breath as she stops under the archway, reaching to grab Mr. Stark’s arm and pointing up at the ceiling. Mr. Stark squints when he looks up and then he looks down at his shoes and back up. He hasn’t had his coffee yet, no one can really blame him. Natasha sure doesn’t because all she does is pass him a spectacular eye roll before she leans forward and pecks him quickly on the lips.
“Thank you, Nat,” Mr. Stark grins at her widely.
Unfazed, Natasha enters the kitchen, pulling open the fridge to grab her morning chocolate milk. Mr. Stark follows after her, slumping into the chair beside Steve and leaning against his arm with a warm sigh. Steve’s hair is still damp from his morning shower, wet strands falling into his face as he spreads jam over his toast. The moment Mr. Stark sits down though, he offers it to him before reaching over to brush Mr. Stark’s bangs out of his face with a small smile on his face.
“FaceTimed the missus yet?” Clint asks from across the table. He’s stirring a mug full of golden grams with a Black Widow themed spoon, intently watching the squares bob in the milk.
“Not yet, but she just got back from Tokyo so I’ll see her at the board meeting.” Mr. Stark pushes himself up on his elbows, tucking his hair behind his ear. The motion leaves a streak of motor oil on his face and Steve reaches over with a napkin to gently wipe the smear off. “Speaking of, I’ll be out of the tower for today so you lucky ducks get to be in charge of two hooligans.”
“Can we go ice skating today?” Harley asks, dropping into the chair beside Peter. He grabs a slice of toast off of Peter’s plate, taking a huge bite out of it. Instead of objecting, Peter lets it happen, grabbing another slice of toast off the tall tower of them Steve had made.
Mr. Stark had gotten distracted with something on his phone and he looks up startled with toast hanging from his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles around the food, taking a bite and swallowing quickly before continuing. “The two of you with knives strapped to your feet on a slippery surface? So much can go wrong.”
“You have jam in your beard,” Harley points out.
Before Mr. Stark can instinctually wipe it off with the sleeve of his white dress shirt, Bruce is wiping a towel across his face with a huff. Without missing a beat, Mr. Stark is back to totally composed, fixing Harley with a hard stare. “I’ll let you go if you promise not to hurt Peter.”
Peter furrows his brows in confusion, about to protest. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but-”
“I don’t mean physically,” Mr. Stark rolls his eyes, before tipping the last of his coffee into his mouth.
Harley seems to understand though because he ducks his head, his red ears betraying...embarrassment? With a deep breath, Harley side-eyes Peter before fixing Mr. Stark with a glare. “I promise.”
“Alright.” Mr. Stark digs into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. Peter watches in awe as he fishes out two fifty dollar bills, reaching over to press them into Peter’s hand. “Go ice skating. Go get dinner. Pete, please keep Harles out of trouble, and both of you need to be back before midnight.” Mr. Stark cocks his head to the side before turning to Steve, “Midnight is a good curfew, right?”
Steve looks up from his morning crossword, pencil paused against his lips where a dark graphite smudge is forming on the pink. He looks up at Mr. Stark from under his bangs before his gaze slides to the two boys and back before shrugging. “I dunno. Closest I got to kids is the team we lead.”
“Well.” Mr. Stark pinches the bridge of his nose, looking at Harley from around his hand. “At least this is good practice for me. Midnight it is.”
Harley pumps his fist, grabbing Peter’s hand and pulling him toward the elevators with a wide grin. Peter isn’t entirely sure if he should be worried yet, but he has his suit in his backpack just in case and the watch Mr. Stark made him is firmly secured around his wrist.
“Stay warm,” Steve calls from the kitchen table before going back to his breakfast.
The doors slide shut with a ping, plunging Peter into the silence of the elevator. Harley hits the button for the ground floor and the sound is loud in Peter’s ears as he tries to drown out the input from his heightened senses. Peter looks down at the two bills in his hand before pulling his wallet out of his pocket and tucking them in.
“Who are they?” Harley’s finger taps against the plastic sleeve of Peter’s wallet where he keeps a Polaroid of him, Ned and MJ from homecoming.
Peter slips his wallet back into his pocket with a shrug. “Just my friends. They’re kind of ridiculous, but I love them.” Peter shrugs and Harley mimics the movement, his shoulders loose and easy. Peter scrambles to find something to say to keep the conversation from dying. This is the perfect chance to get to know Harley better and maybe be friends. “What are your friends like?”
Scratching the back of his head, Harley looks at Peter from under his bangs. Peter is struck by how blue his eyes are, brighter than Steve’s and far more beautiful. They remind him of the sky when the sun is laughing, birds flirting with the clouds. It’s a content kind of colour that Peter—
“Are you coming?” Harley has his hand holding the elevator doors open as Peter stares into his eyes. As Peter- his thoughts halt, he needs to start moving right now, he realizes with a start, stepping out of the elevator after Harley with a mumbled apology. “Anyway, I don’t have many friends. Most kids stay away from me cause they think I’m crazy for making up the time I met Tony Stark.”
Peter frowns, his heart hurting for the blond. He can’t imagine life without Ned. All those days building legos and trading dumb science puns. He’s so glad he met Michelle too, her sarcasm is sometimes the only thing that gets him through the day.
“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers as he follows Harley out onto Park Avenue.
“It’s whatever,” Harley shrugs again, feigned nonchalance in every line of his body as he looks up and down the street to avoid making eye contact with Peter.
“Well,” Peter slips his hand into Harley’s, squeezing it tight. “I’m your friend now.”
Harley eyes him before bursting into beautiful laughter, low and melodious like honey washing over Peter’s skin. Normally, Peter would hate laughter after what he just said but It’s okay because it’s the kind that makes Peter feel like he’s in on the joke instead of the butt of it. “I can’t believe you just friend-zoned me, Petey.”
Peter blushes something fierce, ducking his head into the collar of his denim jacket as the wind rushes by. Harley wrinkles his nose, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Steve might have been on to something when he told us to stay warm.” Harley winces, looking down at his own red bomber jacket before frowning at Peter’s denim jacket.
“We could always go back for warmer clothes,” Peter suggests, biting on his lip. He looks back up at Avengers Tower, craning his neck so he can see the landing deck.
“And have Tony say ‘I told you so’? No, thank you.” Harley shakes his head and Peter sighs, grateful for his powers that make sure he won’t freeze if it gets too cold. Harley on the other hand is human so Peter swallows back his anxiety, steps closer to the taller boy, and slides an arm around his waist.
“Let’s go.” Peter grits his teeth against another relentless gust of wind. Flipping his collar up with his free hand, Peter ducks into it, pulling Harley tighter against him.
“Why hello there, handsome.” When Peter looks at Harley, the boy is grinning something adorable, blue eyes brights and playful. “This is an interesting turn of events.”
Peter rolls his eyes with a laugh, pulling Harley along toward the rink.
Ice skating goes surprisingly well. Peter only falls once and Harley is absolutely hopeless at it. They grab dinner at a small Italian restaurant on Park Avenue and Harley tries to Lady and the Tramp their spaghetti with minimal success.
Despite the fact that they lose track of time, they manage to make it back to the tower five minutes before their curfew, cheeks red with laughter. The living room is dark, the team plus Pepper all spread out on the couches as the credits roll for some movie. There’s popcorn on the floor and a couple of soda cans on the coffee table where Thor is splayed on the floor snoring.
“Stop right there,” Clint yells, a gleeful grin plastered across his face. Peter startles, stopping in his tracks, and Harley bumps into him with a mumbled curse, hands on his hips to steady the both of them.
Mr. Stark looks up from where’s he’s curled against Pepper’s side, expression painted with confusion before he laughs, pointing toward the ceiling and making Peter’s blood freeze in his veins.
Peter looks up, his breath catching in his throat as he sees the mistletoe shining above them. No way this is his life. This is something straight out of a shitty romance novel.
Eyes fluttering shut in preparation, Peter turns to Harley who is already leaning forward, lips parted as he slots his mouth softly against Peter’s.
It’s like a million fireworks explode in his vision as Harley cups his cheeks, stepping impossibly closer as he wraps his free hand around Peter’s waist, pressing their hips tightly together. Harley licks the seam of his mouth open, sliding his tongue past Peter’s lips and sending shivers right down his spine.
“They look like they’re trying to eat each other,” Peter’s augmented hearing picks up Clint whispering to Natasha.
Pulling away from Harley, Peter ignores a whine from the taller boy to glare at Clint. “Say it louder birdbrain,” Peter yells in his direction.
“Ugh, seems like Harley is rubbing off on you,” Clint remarks, popping another Dorito in his mouth with a loud crunch. Natasha glares at him like she’s contemplating stabbing him in the neck.
“In more ways than one,” Harley whispers in front of him and Peter loses it, stepping back and bending over with the force of his laughter.
Bruce looks up from his phone at the noise, his gaze moving from Peter to Harley and up to the mistletoe with a knowing smile. He’s about to say something when Clint cuts him off.
“They already did it,” Clint informs him. “Don’t make me watch them kiss again. They look like two seals fighting over a grape.”
Mr. Stark snickers, before setting his head on Pepper’s shoulder and slipping his feet in Steve’s lap. “It’s okay, kiddo. Rhodey said the same thing about me once.”
Peter’s brows raise and he vows to ask Mr. Stark about it later when they’re in the workshop together because he has to hear that story. It’s hard to believe Mr. Stark is bad at anything, especially kissing.
“So,” Harley whispers as they cross the room to the last available couch. JARVIS is already queueing up Not Another Teen Movie when they sit down, hips pressed together. Harley leans over, his voice low and blue eyes glittering. “I would very much like to do that again as soon as possible, especially after I take you out on a date.”
Red spreads across Peter’s face and he looks up at Harley through long lashes. “I would like that very much.”
Harley nods, biting his lip adorably. “It’s a date.”
And it was a very good one, too.