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He didn’t mean to. He really didn’t. It just sorta happened.
It wasn’t a secret that Peter wasn’t good at the whole “romance” thing.
Exhibit A: Flash Thompson. Yes. You heard right. Flash Thompson, kindergarten. Let’s just say that maybe the pool party incident is what makes Flash hold such a grudge on Peter, or at least has continued to help fuel it for all these years.
Exhibit B: Mandy McNeil, seventh grade. While out on their third date at the rollerblading rink, she fell, and being the weak, asthmatic kid he was, he was unable to help her up. She then got her fingers run over by a passerby and they had to go to the ER.
Exhibit C: Liz Allan. You know the story.
So, Peter didn’t have the best track record. He almost went for MJ, but then she met Shuri, and how can you possibly compete with the supergenius, tech wizard, princess of Wakanda?
And now there was Harley. Harley Keener: boy of Peter’s dreams that happened to fall in his life like a gift from the Gods.
However, Peter Parker was awkward and lanky and tended to ramble and stutter and stumble. He choked on his words when Harley pushed his blonde curls out of his face or let out his angelic laugh or God forbid he pushed his flannel up to his elbows.
Harley was smooth. He was intelligent and well-spoken and kind yet also sarcastic and hilarious and completely and utterly drop dead gorgeous. He fixed engines like he could do it in his sleep and he giggled at Tik Toks of birds and he loved to stare at the stars. How could Peter not swoon when he was sitting there, bright grin making his eyes crinkle or arms flexing as he wiped away sweat after a long fight?
Oh right. There’s also that.
Harley was Iron Lad. And Iron Lad was Spider-Man’s crime-fighting partner.
Peter wasn’t supposed to know that Harley was Iron Lad. Their identities were supposed to be confidential. That was, until there was the Aquerios. They were a legion of giant robots that one of Mr. Stark’s enemies had dreamt up. They shot lasers and spears, and when Iron Lad was impaled, and then promptly un-impaled when the robot then pushed the spear fully through his body, leaving a gaping hole in his stomach, Spider-Man had to take pry the shattered and strangled remains of the Iron Lad suit off of him.
So, Peter knew who Iron Lad was.
Spider-Man got to see a lot more of Harley and Iron Lad. He helped with tune ups for the suit and they had deep rooftop chats during patrols and fire escape visits and well… it was easier.
Something about being Spider-Man made it easier to talk to Harley. Harley was the only person who truly understood what he went through as a superhero and the way that it affected his everyday life, and he understood what it was like being overly intelligent, and most importantly, he understood a secret identity.
It had been one of their usual rooftop talks. They were lying on the cement, staring at the stars, Spider-Man’s head rested on Iron Lad’s chest as they talked about the daunting future and what they were going to do in the next steps of their lives when Peter had accidentally let it slip that he wanted Harley to be part of the rest of his life.
Harley asked what he meant.
He said he wanted more from him. To be more to him.
Harley said he wanted the same.
And that’s when things got complicated.
Rooftop talk turned to movies at Harley’s, Peter in his suit, mask rolled up to his nose so he could munch on popcorn (and have lengthy makeout sessions with Harley).
Masks were replaced with blindfolds, Harley being able to feel Peter’s skin on his and his rock hard abs pressed against his (not nearly as impressive but close. Kinda close. A little close) stomach. Now Peter was addicted to the feeling of Harley’s calloused fingers tugging on his brown locks and the way he could feel the vibrations of his hums of pleasure and the way he felt lying in his arms after a long battle.
It wasn’t perfect. It was far from it. But Peter was in too deep and he didn’t want to give it up.
And that brings us to today.
Peter was running on empty. Despite his strict curfew, Mr. Stark let it slide for what he would describe a “world-saving mission.” None of it hit the news, but there were bombs linked in the sewer systems of the entire state of New York, and he was up all night making sure they didn’t detonate and taking down the big bad that placed them.
But he also had a big Spanish presentation he couldn’t miss.
So there he was, eyes barely staying open as he laid his head on the cafeteria table, leftover broccoli sunshine being ignored.
“You okay, dude?” Ned asked.
“Long night,” Peter mumbled in his soft sweater sleeve.
“Tell me about it,” Harley muttered, shoveling another plastic forkful of smashed potatoes in his mouth.
“You look like hell. Why are you here?” MJ asked.
“I had that speech in Spanish today. I couldn’t miss it,” Peter said.
“Well, that was last block and all you have left is gym and physics, which I know you can afford to miss, so why don’t you go home? Take a sick day?” Ned suggested.
“Can’t. Have too many absences. Don’t want it to go on my record,” Peter responded.
Ned sighed. “Then, at least go to the nurse during gym. I don’t want to see you pass out during the pacer. Then you’ll crack your head open on the gym tiles and they’ll have to call an ambulance and everyone will be talking about you and it’ll be so embarassing…”
“Okay! Okay. I’m going to the nurse to take a nap!” Peter said, stirring awake, wiping a sweater paw over his eyes. He shoved his glass container of broccoli sunshine into his backpack and stretched as he yawned. “See you later, babe.” He sleepily pressed a soft kiss to Harley’s lips before walking away.
He was a few feet away when he froze and turned around, a wide eyed stare beaming straight at Harley.
Harley, as awake as if he had just been splashed with ice water, stared back, mouth agape. “Uh… Peter?”
Without another word, Peter rushed out of the cafeteria.
Peter buried his face in his knees as he sat wedged between the biographies and graphic novels.
“Hey, Webs.”
Peter looked up, breath hitching. “Hey, Laddie.”
Harley sat next to him, resting his back against the shelves. “So… you’re…”
“Yeah.”
“Did you… could you not tell me, or did you not tell me? Because there’s a difference and I… I just need to know,” Harley asked quietly.
“I think it was both,” Peter admitted. “How did you know it was me?”
“I know those lips,” Harley said simply. “Also figured there were only so many reasons you’d kiss a guy you knew was in a very committed relationship.”
Peter nodded. “Right.” Peter fiddled with the fraying hem of his sweater. “I’m sorry for lying. It’s just I… I never meant to use Spider-Man to get to you, but it was just… it was easier? Because I knew that you liked him. He’s a hero. He’s brave and smooth and funny and he’s… he’s him. And I’m… me.”
“And how’s that a bad thing?” Harley asked. “Because Peter Parker? You? He’s a pretty great guy. He’s compassionate and dedicated and tenacious. He’s sweet and smart and silly and… other words that start with S.”
Peter chuckled wetly.
“He can talk about thermodynamics for hours and yet make me want to listen to it for hours after. He protects his friends and he is courageous and he is undeniably kind.” Harley placed a hand on Peter’s. “I wouldn’t want you to be anyone but you.”
Peter looked up to his blue eyes tentatively. “Are we gonna be alright?”
“We can be. If you’d like.”
Peter placed a gentle hand on Harley’s cheek, running a soft finger over his bone.
Harley took a moment to savor the sight. A face to the feeling. And suddenly, it all felt right. It all made sense. He leaned in, pressing his lips to Peter’s in a slow but passionate kiss. It was brief but it said more than he could. It said “we’re gonna be okay.” It said “I forgive you.” But most of all, it said “I love you.”