Work Text:
It all started with a hashtag.
A fucking hashtag.
Peter hadn’t thought much of it until his phone started blowing up, and there were so many notifications on his Twitter account he briefly thought he had gotten hacked, or his app was going haywire. It was right about that time that a call from MJ flashed across his screen. He answered the call, still a little in shock.
“Okay, so don’t freak out,” was the first thing out of MJ’s mouth, and well.
It was already too late for that.
*
As it turned out, Brad had posted a picture of him onto their official NASA Headquarters account. And yeah, Peter could admit it was a pretty good picture, all things considered. It was right after they had their first successful test with the Rover.
There were a few people taking pictures, and after the initial cheering, Peter had flipped around, smiling brightly, unknowingly right at the camera. It had been one of his good hair days, where his hair was fluffed up and curly, and he had even been wearing the NASA t-shirt May had gotten him as a joke.
The original caption had been:
@NASAAmes: Our team’s looking happy after a successful test run, and also because it’s Friday!
Innocent enough.
That was until an account retweeted it with their own caption:
@hopesforheart @NASAAmes: I’d like to take him for a test run. #HotNASAGuy
The tweet had garnered hundreds of thousands of likes, while the original pic of Peter from their official account went viral as well. Almost overnight the hashtag went crazy, and Peter had to lock down his Twitter after people started flocking to it.
He was going to kill Brad.
*
Unfortunately, Brad wouldn’t let him get away with a nice clean homicide. He had guilted Peter into reactivating his Twitter and maybe giving the facility some good publicity. He even had the nerve to suggest he: “get some kids excited about science,” like Peter was a cold-hearted bastard for wanting some privacy.
He complained as such to Harley once he got to his station and managed to balance Harley’s mugs on one of the many scattered folders piled high on his desk. It was ridiculous.
“Coffee,” Harley said, seemingly in a trance, and reached for the mug.
Peter rolled his eyes. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Brad’s killing you with kindness,” Harley said, taking a dramatic slurp. “Again.”
“I hate it when you call it that.” Peter said, wrinkling his nose. “I just don’t know why I have to be the sacrificial lamb.”
“Oh boo hoo,” Harley said flatly. “You have a bunch of people on the internet who wanna suck your dick, what a travesty.”
“You’re such an asshole,” Peter replied, but with no real heat to it. “It is a fucking travesty, I can barely use my phone.”
Harley moved a few of his folders around in a balancing act he only half-paid attention to. It always impressed Peter. He wondered idly if he knew how to juggle.
“You call me an asshole once a week ‘cause I tell you the truth, darlin’.” He sat his coffee mug down. “And you love getting kids excited about STEM, what’s up?”
Peter huffed out a breath. “He didn’t have to make me feel like I was crazy for being annoyed.”
Harley tapped his nose and started fluttering through files on his desktop. “Because he was gaslighting you.”
“He wasn’t gaslighting me,” Peter said automatically and glared as Harley mouthed along with him at the same time as the words came out of his mouth. “Fuck you, he’d probably gaslight you too if he was your boss.”
“And the fact that he isn’t is something I am grateful for every day,” Harley took another sip from his coffee before he opened one of his desk drawers. He pulled out a Snickers and threw it at Peter. “Have a Snickers, calm down. You’re fucking with my energy.”
“Whatever,” Peter grumbled, but he did rip open the candy bar, and took a bite, simply out of spite. “Oh hey, tell Abby I started Sense 8. I would DM her but...you know,” He said, affixing Harley with a glare once again.
“Y’all and your shows,” Harley snorted, then waved his hand. “Yeah, I’ll tell her. I’m sure she’ll be over the moon.”
“Well…” Peter started, getting a sick, twisted grin on his face. “I would hope she’d be-”
“Don’t,” Harley said in holy terror. “Parker, don’t-”
“Over Mars!” Peter finished delightedly.
He ducked when Harley threw a folder at him, but did help him clean up the papers that flew everywhere. He was nice like that.
*
“The problem is,” Peter complained as MJ put her feet in his lap. “That all my replies and notifs are from potential suitors. And that’s annoying.”
“Because you’re perpetually single.” Finished for him, and Peter squawked in indignation.
“That’s not true!”
“That’s completely true.”
“False.”
“Peter,” MJ began like she was speaking to a small child. “I’m the last person you fucked, and that’s sad.”
“That’s also not true! There was that one guy at-”
MJ cut him off. “Mutual handies in a club bathroom do not count.”
“Ugh, you suck,” Peter groaned, resigning to his fate and tossing his head back onto the couch.
MJ snickered. “Clearly, more than you do.”
“Thanks J, you’ve been so helpful.” Peter bitched, while MJ sighed theatrically.
“Why don’t you just tell the internet you have a boyfriend?”
“But I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Right,” MJ said, and got up from the couch. “But the internet doesn’t know that, Peter.”
“Who would I even ask!” Peter cried, throwing his hands up. “It’s not like I have a convenient hot boy sitting around who owes me a favor.”
Peter froze at the exact same time that MJ smiled at him, sharp, like a shark.
“No!” Peter objected. “Absolutely not!”
“I’m not the one who called him hot.” MJ said sardonically as Peter sputtered.
“I don’t remember saying ‘hot’,” Peter denied weakly.
“Freudian slip, huh,” MJ mused as she started digging through his cabinet. She was probably going to steal all his peanut butter.
“So what’s your plan?” Peter said a little hysterically. “I somehow get Harley on board and tell the internet that we’re dating? There’s no way he’d go for that.”
“You’re right, tricking people on the internet is something Harley hates.” MJ got out a spoon and briefly brandished it like a weapon. “What are the downsides?”
“Umm, it would be incredibly messy?” Peter offered, trying to convince her of how much of a bad idea it would be.
“The internet moves fast, Peter. In a week nobody will care. You can always do a heartfelt notes app breakup in a month if you’re that concerned about his honor.”
“I don’t know if he’s out!” Peter said suddenly, like a light-bulb going off. “He’s probably not out online, and I don’t want to pressure him.”
“I’m on his NSFW Twitter, he’s out.” MJ said offhandedly, cracking open the jar of peanut butter she hijacked from him.
Peter’s brain screeched to a halt. “I’m sorry, his what now?!”
Instead of replying MJ stuck the whole spoonful of peanut butter into her mouth.
“Why does he have you on his NSFW Twitter?” Peter asked, just a little bit hurt.
“What’s Twitter?” MJ said as she came back over to the couch.
They lasted about five minutes before MJ sighed.
“We found each other by accident,” She said cryptically. “Just so you don’t get in your head about it.”
“Get in my head about what?” Peter replied, only to be a brat. MJ stabbed her heel into his ribs. It was deserved.
“You’re lucky you’re cute, Parker,” MJ quipped right before she saved the TV remote from sudden death in-between the couch cushions.
*
Peter logged out of his desktop and stuffed the last of his shit into his backpack. He still was getting used to not grabbing a coat or hoodie with him on the way out. Of all the things he thought he would have to get used to in LA that wasn’t one he had considered.
MJ came over, her own messenger bag slung over her shoulder. “We still going to dinner?”
“Yeah,” Peter told her. “Go ahead to the car, I'll be down in a minute.”
“I’m picking the movie after,” She informed him, pulling out her keys and walking backward, past the other mostly deserted stations.
“You always pick the movie!” Peter grumbled, but MJ was already mainly out of earshot.
Peter zipped his backpack with finality and glanced up, and was startled to see Harley looking at him.
“What?” Peter asked, suddenly antsy and nervous.
“Nothing,” Harley said, turning back to his computer.
That had Peter narrowing his eyes. Harley never refrained from voicing his opinion about anything.
“Just,” Harley said when Peter continued to stare at him, not moving. “You and MJ have been hanging out a lot again.”
“It works out,” Peter said, a bit unsure. “We’re both single again, so…” He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders. “Gotta have someone to complain to.”
“Oh,” Harley said quietly. “I guess that makes sense.”
Peter pursed his lips together and was going to ask what he meant by that, but was distracted by MJ sending him a flurry of texts. It would only piss her off to keep her waiting.
“Oh by the way, what’s Abby’s Instagram?” Peter asked, slinging his backpack onto his shoulders. He opened up the app and waited for Harley to pull out his own phone. “I was thinking I could just message her on there. I wanna know her thoughts on the beginning of season two.”
“You know this is depressing,” Harley told him candidly as he loaded Abby’s Instagram. “Should I be worried that you’re asking for my sister’s Instagram and not mine.”
“I already have yours,” Peter said before he could think twice about the words falling out of his mouth. His eyes widened. “I mean-”
“But you...don’t follow me?” Harley said, confused, and his eyebrows knitted together. Then his expression cleared. “Peter Parker, do you have a Finsta?”
“I gotta go,” Peter said taking a quick picture of Abby’s Instagram from Harley’s phone. He wouldn’t have time to type it in now. “Gonna be late with MJ. Bye!”
God, MJ was going to flame him alive in the car.
*
It took two more days of Twitter harassment for Peter to reach his final straw. He’d never been more flattered, or concerned for thirst tweets in his entire life, and he was willing to do anything to make it stop.
Anything, indeed.
It was bright and early on Friday morning, exactly one week one on the dot since Peter’s life went to hell, when he threw his backpack down onto his desk and pulled out his phone. He had barely gotten any sleep the night before and would have deleted his Twitter if he wouldn’t have to hear shit about it from Brad. He was at his wit’s end.
“I need you to take a picture with me,” Peter declared, and then kicked Harley’s rolly-chair. Harley was halfway comatose, and it was partially Peter’s fault because he hadn’t brought him his coffee yet. However, Peter had more pressing things on his mind than Harley’s caffeine intake. Oh the horror.
“Why?” Harley mumbled, barely looking over at him. “I look terrible.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Peter said a little manically.
He talked himself up in his head and braced for it as he plopped down into Harley’s lap. Harley made a soft grunting noise, but caught Peter by the hips easily enough. It was nice. Peter tried his best not to focus on it. He wrapped an arm around Harley’s shoulder and snapped a pic. He tapped Harley’s cheek and then hopped off his lap, pulling up the picture for inspection. As soon as he confirmed it wasn’t blurry or absolutely terrible, he loaded up his poor, poor, Twitter app.
“Peter?” Harley intoned, his voice coming out like a croak.
Peter glanced up at him from his phone. “Harley,” He said desperately. “I need you to be my boyfriend.”
“I- what?” Harley stuttered.
“People won’t leave me alone on Twitter, Harls,” Peter pleaded. “And MJ said I need to just announce that I’m not single. So I’m just going to tell everyone that you’re my boyfriend and they’ll stop harassing me.”
“You want to tell everyone you’re my boyfriend?” Harley sputtered, sounding aghast. Peter was getting even more frustrated.
“Yes. If you have a problem, speak now. I’m cashing in on my raincheck from orientation.”
Harley’s eyes widened. “We’re pulling orientation right now?” He slid his phone out from his pocket. “Shit. Well, let me make a burner account, I guess, before you go crazy.”
Peter waited, jiggling his leg until Harley gave him the go-ahead. He didn’t spend much time dwindling over the caption, and quickly sent out the tweet. When he did he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let’s hope that worked.”
@parkerbpeter: Sorry to tell everyone I’m taken. Boyfriend’s been loving the tweets.
*
Peter maybe hadn’t thought it entirely through.
He realized it when he went to the break room to grab lunch and about half the crew congratulated him on being with Harley, and “finally getting together.”
Peter ate his lunch at one of the labs instead of at his desk and wondered how bad he had just fucked up.
*
“So,” Harley said, once he found Peter in one of the labs later.
Peter lifted up his goggles frantically. “Yeah.”
“Everyone on the crew thinks we’re dating.”
“Looks like it,” Peter said miserably. “We can call the whole thing off if you’re uncomfortable.”
Harley shoved his hands into his pockets. “And make you go through a terrible public breakup? I ain’t that mean.”
“Thank you for your generosity,” Peter rolled his eyes. But he was grateful; some of his anxiety and guilt began to dissipate. It was good to know Harley wasn’t regretting it, or hated him.
“Anything for you darlin’,” Harley smirked, and ducked, much to Peter’s dismay, when he threw a screwdriver at him. He sounded way too smug.
*
Believe it or not, the boyfriend tweet actually worked.
Peter’s Twitter died down a little bit, and people seemed to thankfully be moving on.
It was a relief. They would probably only have to keep up the charade for another week or two at most.
Peter didn’t know why the thought made him so sad.
*
Another day passed and Peter was headed to bed when he got a notification from Instagram. He saw that it was Abby and his face lit up.
He opened up his DMs and was about to ask her about season two, when he read her message and stopped in his tracks.
Hey! I just saw your tweet! I’m so happy for you guys. H has had a crush on you forever. He said you just started Sense 8, and I want to know everything!
Peter stared down at his phone, reading the message over and over again.
His brain faltered over, “H has had a crush on you forever.”
He-
Why would Abby say that unless it was true?
Peter flicked over everything. How he knew how to make Harley’s coffee better than his own, how Harley had a stash of Snickers, kept in his desk, even though he didn’t really like chocolate, but because they’re Peter’s favorite, and he’s bitchy when he’s sugar deprived. How Harley always called him “darlin’,” and finally, the noise Harley made when he had sat down onto his lap.
All of those clicked together and Peter realized with slowly dawning horror:
He worked at fucking NASA and he was a goddamn fucking idiot.
*
This was ridiculous. Absolutely 100% ridiculous. Peter should just go home.
It was 3am on a Saturday night and he was standing outside of Harley’s apartment like a basketcase. He only knew where his apartment was because of the time a few of them had crashed there after bar-hopping when one of their grants had gotten approved. And also the time Peter had brought Harley soup after he got a nasty case of bronchitis, and Peter had been concerned he was going to find him kneeled over.
God, Peter was an idiot.
He knocked on the door before he had time to lose his nerve.
As soon as his knuckles made contact with the door a rush of panic whipped through him. Harley was probably sleeping, there’s no way he was going to answer the door. He probably-
Peter’s spiraling was abruptly cut off by the door opening, just a crack.
There was an awkward moment of silence before Harley said, “Peter?” His voice was hoarse and it sounded like he had just woken up. “What are you doing here?” The door creaked open further. “It’s 3am, are you okay?”
“No,” Peter said before he could think better of it.
Harley opened the door all the way then, so Peter could get a good look at him. “No? You’re not okay?” Harley pressed with alarm.
“I’m not okay,” Peter told him, his tongue feeling like cotton in his mouth.
“Shit, darlin’,” Harley murmured, but took a few steps back so that the entryway was clear. He gestured for Peter to come inside. “C’mon.”
When Peter toed past the threshold he couldn’t help but nervously take everything in. He didn’t remember much about the apartment, but it looked the samewhat he recalled. There were movie posters lining the walls and random tech bits scattered all over the place, seemingly taking up every corner. Peter loved it.
Harley went over to the kitchen and pulled out two mugs from the cabinet. “Pick your poison. Coffee or cocoa?”
“It’s 70 degrees.”
“Did I stutter?”
“Cocoa,” Peter replied, and had to bite his lip to hold back an unbidden grin.
It was 3am, Peter had come banging on his door like a loon, and Harley didn’t even seem phased. He had welcomed Peter without a second thought. Peter’s chest was suddenly so full he couldn’t stand it.
He waited until Harley was done fixing their mugs. When Harley slid his over to him, Peter avoided it completely. Instead, he sidled up close to him, so that they were only a few inches apart.
“You asked me if I was okay,” Peter started softly, his mouth dry. “And I said I wasn’t.”
“What’s wrong?”
Peter closed his eyes, just for a second, enough to gather up his courage.
He stared up into Harley’s eyes. “I asked you to be my fake boyfriend when I should have asked you to be my real boyfriend.”
Harley let out a whoosh of breath. “What brought this on?”
“I know how to make your coffee,” Peter blurted out, before he could think of a better answer. When Harley raised a brow at him, he continued hastily. “I like when you’re being an asshole ‘cause you only do it when you’re listening, and you care. You can barely remember deadlines but you can remember to stash extra pens because I chew them and ruin them. And I let you put your shit in my drawers because you’ve run out of room and I like it when your stuff mixes with mine.”
Peter’s lips trembled around a smile. “I don’t want you to be my fake boyfriend.”
“I-” Harley said, and his hand twitched up, like he wanted to cup Peter’s cheek, but wasn’t sure. “I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend either.”
Before Peter could say anything else Harley was leaning down and kissing him.
It was even better than Peter could have ever imagined. Harley’s lips were warm and molded against his own like they were made to be there. Peter wrapped his arms around his neck, and pulled him in as close as possible.
“Fuck, baby,” Harley swore once they broke away. The pet name had Peter’s spine dissolving as he melted. He tilted his head up to chase another kiss, while Harley obliged, pressing him back into the counter. “I’m never gonna stop putting my crap in your desk if this is what it gets me.” Harley teased. Peter laughed, but it wasn’t for long, and then he was kissing him again, already not able to get enough.
“We’re so,” Peter said in-between kisses. “Stupid.” He pecked his mouth. “Space Engineers and we could’ve,” kiss. “Been doing this,” kiss. “Months ago.”
“I should’ve kissed you at the office Christmas party,” Harley said forlornly once Peter let him up for air.
“God!” Peter exclaimed. “You should’ve kissed me at the office Christmas party. I would’ve let you.”
Harley groaned, and kissed over Peter’s mouth like it pained him not to.
Their makeout session was broken up once again by quips, but this time, Harley yawned into Peter’s shoulder. It was so endearing Peter was sure the grin on his face was close to splitting it.
“You should go back to bed, baby,” Peter said, sickly sweet, and carding his fingers through Harley’s hair.
“Wake up and have this all be a dream? Not likely,” Harley grumbled, which made Peter laugh.
“You could ask me, you know,” Peter offered, suddenly shy.
“Yeah?” Harley prodded, peering up at Peter from his shoulder.
Peter laced their fingers together. “Take me to bed, Harley,” He whispered as Harley exhaled a breath against his collarbone.
Harley’s grin was heart palpitating, and his hands were as warm as the sun as they held onto Peter’s hips. With their hands still laced, Harley tugged him forwards, towards the hallway.
Peter followed.