Archive of Our Own ^beta

The thing is, Harley knew his boyfriend was dangerous. Unlike everyone else in the world, who couldn’t seem to look past Peter’s persona of being a good boy with good grades who goes to the local community college to save some money and takes photos for the school newspaper and The Daily Bugle, Harley doesn’t fall for it. He didn’t before they started dating, and when they started, it became even clearer that Peter Parker was dangerous . 

A part of him knew that the reason Peter loved him so much is because of that. He’d always been able to see Peter for everything he was. The anger, the tiredness, the exhaustion, the love, the excitement. To him, Peter was an open book that was never closed, always open for Harley to read. It’s what drew Peter to him in the first place. 

But now, he was sort of fucked. 

You see, there are a few rules he was aware of when it comes to Peter’s…world. The first rule was that you couldn’t piss the other branches off, because they’ll come for you. Peter’s broken this one time and time again- he was a mob boss, sure, but he had morals. He didn’t want people doing shit to kids or selling to them either, and he has definitely kicked other mobs in the ass for doing that. He’d always rambled to Harley about how he refused to let other mobs take over poor areas of New York because these were his people and his to protect. This had caused…trouble…in the past, but Peter didn’t let anything happen to his people. 

The other rule Harley was actively aware of is that no one else in New York was allowed to touch what Peter considered his. His family was completely off-limits, and the one person who had made the dumb mistake of trying to touch his aunt had met a mysterious end that Harley doesn’t look too much into. Peter’s people were off-limits. He didn’t like anyone fucking with his territory and he did his best to offer protection to everyone in his grasp. Queens was off-limits. Delmar’s bodega was off-limits. His old high school was off-limits. The alleyway where his uncle was shot was super off-limits. The graveyard, the hospital, the parks- all of it was off-limits. 

But most importantly of all, Harley was off-limits. 

It wasn’t like he minded. They had a very, very healthy relationship, where they had sat down and talked it all through when Harley’d first found out about everything that had been going on. Peter had told him about every person he’d killed, and everything he had to do to become the head of the mafia in Queens, and every single part of himself that he didn’t want to share.

Peter had laid that out to him because Harley could see it anyway. 

And they both knew that whatever they had was too deep for anything like Peter’s job to stop it. So Harley…didn’t mind the way that he was off-limits. When he went into restaurants that were part of Peter’s domain and every staff-member avoided his eyes, it made him upset, but at the end of the day, Peter was doing what he had felt that he needed to do to maintain the information that Harley was off-limits. 

However, Harley had always subscribed to a very particular rule of thought. It boiled down to this: if you tell someone not to touch something, they’re going to touch it. He had thought that this wouldn’t apply to Peter’s world. After all, his boyfriend was the literal boss of thousands of members of a mob and he was a well-liked man in the community around them. Peter was dangerous and while everyone liked to forget it, it came out when he was in boss mode or just around those who were purely mafia members and not just his friends. So, Harley had thought that because he was off-limits, no one would touch him. 

Of course, he was wrong. 

“You really think Parker knows where you are?” The goon's voice was gruff. “Get real, kid. All we know about you is that you’re the key to him.”

Harley fought back the urge to roll his eyes. They had already hit him a few times, and he wasn’t in the mood for more. “I’m telling you, let me go now and I’ll be able to calm him down when he gets here.”

“Fat chance.”

“Look,” Harley breathed out slowly. His annoyance at them didn’t make up for the fact that they had already hurt him and that his life could very well be on the line. “It’s date night. He’s gonna know something is up, and he’s gonna go feral until he finds me. You really should let me go and I can help calm him down.” 

The goon scoffed. “Parker doesn’t know shit. ‘sides, he won’t come for you. Not till we tell him what we’ve got planned for you. And then- then he won’t come for you. Not when he knows he could be the reason you die.”

“Right, and I’m telling you-” The words fell flat on his tongue and every part of him screamed at his mouth that saying this was a bad idea. “He knows where I am. He knows where I am and He knows I’m missing. You won’t have time to tell him what you’ve got planned! He’ll come and rip you to fucking shreds.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Maybe it was true, but he shouldn’t have said it, especially not when said goon was the only thing between him and imminent death. Which seemed to be coming ever closer as the goon learched off the wall, fists clenched. “Fuck, Parker sure likes them mouthy, huh?”

This time, he chose not to speak. The goon glared. “Answer me, you fucker. Parker sure likes them mouthy, huh?”

“Yes,” Harley spat, glaring up at him, despite his better judgment, “Peter does in fact like me mouthy.”

The goon surged forward, and his rough and grimy hand made its way around Harley’s throat, restricting his air supply. For a second, he genuinely couldn’t breathe, and panic overwhelmed him. Then he clenched his eyes and remembered that Peter had to be on his way right now. Their date night was at six and it was seven. Peter had to have sensed something was off by now- he had to have-

Opening his eyes again, Harley wheezed, “I get choked harder than this on a good night. Don’t be a pussy.”

Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Why was he such an idiot and why did he always say the wrong things? Why did his mouth work faster than his brain and force him to say thing that were incorrect and the wrong thing to say?

The goon threw him against the wall and Harley bit his lip until he tasted blood to stop himself from screaming as a metal pipe was slammed directly into his spine. He refused to give in, and instead struggled and forced himself up, spitting the blood on the floor. “He’s not gonna like that. He’s really not gonna like that.”

“Shut the fuck up.” The goon stalked towards him again. “I don’t listen to anyone, least of all Parker’s little bitch.”

Hands were around his neck again but it wasn’t like the long nights with Peter where he was taken care of- no- this was the sickening feeling of someone cutting off his air supply with the intent to kill him. Once again his mind panicked- panicked with fear and terror and an overwhelming urge for Peter to get there, to be there, to help him, he couldn’t do this alone, he couldn’t get through this alone- 

And then Peter was there because he was always there when Harley needed him. 

“Unhand my fucking boyfriend.”

“Peter,” Harley gasped as the man let go of his neck, and left him gulping for air, “Peter-”

“Like I just told your slut…” The goon grinned. “I don’t take orders from-”

The goon’s first mistake of the night had been kidnapping Harley and beating him up. The second had been choking him. The third had been making the mistake of talking when an angry Peter was in front of him ready to take revenge on someone who had touched what was his. 

Harley forced his eyes closed. 

He wouldn’t open them until Peter asked him to. 

The sounds of shuffling- a shout- a fight- someone hitting the floor ensued. He kept his eyes closed. Harley knew from their first time talking about it that Peter never wanted him to see the actions he took. Peter hadn’t come in with a gun, but he knew his boyfriend didn’t need a gun to be lethal. He also knew that later tonight Peter would clutch at him and whisper prayers for the man who had now fallen to the floor. 

Peter’s footsteps ran to where he was kneeling, and his hands were suddenly cupping Harley’s face. 

“Hey- hey- breathe. Breathe. I’ve got you.”

“I’m breathing just fine.” Reaching, Harley felt blindly for his boyfriend’s jacket, and tugged him closer. “I’m breathing just fine.” 

“You’re not.” Peter’s voice was rough, and Harley held onto that.“You’re not breathing fine. God, sweetheart-”

Hands cupped his neck, but unlike previously, the touch was gentle. Peter’s fingers traced over the skin, trailing on his Adam’s apple. “You’re already bruising- I- fuck, Harls-”

“You like it when I bruise,” Harley mumbled, because the touch felt really really nice and he might’ve been a little emotionally exhausted, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help how this is the only thing grounding him to reality because he wasn’t allowed to open his eyes and how this touch would keep him going for days, months, years. 

“Not like this,” Peter said, voice strained, and one of the hands moved to brush across his face. “They hurt you, love. I said they’d never hurt you and they did.”

“They weren’t supposed to touch me.” Leaning into Peter’s touch came easily. “I know they weren’t. I’m yours. They’ll never touch me again.”

The hand on his neck shifted, and suddenly, Peter was scooping him up. His legs were guided around Peter’s waist, his head being gently brought to rest on Peter’s shoulder, his arms wrapping around Peter’s neck, and not for the first time, Harley marvels at how strong his boyfriend is. 

Peter’s voice is quiet and firm when he speaks next. “Keep your eyes closed. Don’t open them until I tell you too. I- I don’t want you to see the scene around the base.”

It hadn’t occurred to Harley that he’d be in a heavily guarded base full of other mafia members when Peter walked in. It definitely hadn’t occurred to him what his boyfriend would have to do in order to get in. The thought makes his heart hurt- he knows Peter hates killing. Has always hated killing. Doesn’t like the process of taking a life and reaping a soul, because his Peter might be dangerous, yes, but he was still Peter. He still loved life.

“I won’t,” he whispered and tucked his face in Peter’s neck, instead of voicing what was in his head. “I won’t.”

They moved in silence until Harley heard a car door slide open and Peter whispered, “Open your eyes.” 

He listened to the command, and the sight that greeted him made his stomach turn. Peter’s eyes were rimmed with tears, and the dark scowl on his face was prominent. The anger hadn’t faded from his posture and the fear probably wouldn’t ever fade from his gut. He was stunning and beautiful and Harley needed him like he needed air, but Peter wasn’t meeting his eyes. 

Instead, Harley let Peter’s hands guide him. Force him this way and that way, taking off his shirt and stripping him in the back seat like it was a happier time, but nothing dirty happened. No, Peter took his time trailing his hands up and down every corner of the man he loved, and Harley knew he was reassuring himself that Harley was alive. 

“I really am okay.” Peter shook his head, leaning over him to brush kisses to the hollows of his collarbones, and Harley closed his eyes again- not out of necessity this time, but because he knew he was safe. “You saved me. They didn’t get to torture me or hurt me or-”

“Stop talking.” 

It was a demand as much as it is a plea, and it occurred to Harley that those things must still be running through Peter’s mind. 

“Please. Stop talking.”

He listened to this command too. Not because it was a demand, but because he knew where it came from and he wouldn’t break the steady trust they’ve built up over four years of dating just to keep reminding Peter of what if or what might have happened. 

Peter’s face pressed closer to the skin of his chest, and he felt his boyfriend’s lips drag along his skin. It was a prayer for safety and for love, and he knew that by the way that Peter’s voice picked up halfway through the words because he was sobbing too hard to finish it. “Oh caro Dio, tienilo al sicuro-”

Oh dear God, please keep him safe. 

“I am safe,” Harley whispered, hands coming up to cradle his lover's face. “I’m safe. I’m with you. I’m yours.”

Peter held onto those words as tightly as he did his prayer, and melded himself to Harley, pressing into him and making the words true. The anger was still just beneath Peter’s skin, and Harley can sense that it wouldn’t be the end of this event- this trauma- and that the danger that was always held in Peter’s shoulders was more prominent than ever but none of that mattered. 

None of that mattered, because he was with Peter. 

He was with Peter, and he was safe.