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“I’ve got it,” you murmur into your earpiece, glad for the skill of not moving your mouth when you talk that you picked up when you got obsessed with ventriloquism in elementary school. “Heading out now.”
“You’re not even going to dance with me?” Comes over the headset.
“Yeah, yeah, Iron Boy. I’m sore and ready to sleep.”
“I can make you more sore.”
“Oh my god, Harley, could you be any more-” You and the man-child in question are on a mission to a party in Vancouver, thankfully only a two-person mission. Harley took care of security cameras and hacked into the target’s phone to download sensitive information onto a USB that required close proximity to the phone to work, which you planted by turning it into a lipstick-appearing device and keeping it by his phone while flirting with the man to distract him. In order to do so, you ended up having an impromptu make-out with the rich old guy, and… next time you’re switching with Harley because that was one of the grosser things to happen.
“Suave? Charming?” Harley finishes your sentence teasingly.
“Sure. Let’s go with that. Whatever you need to tell yourself, Scottish Boy.” You roll your eyes, even if he can’t see you.
In all honesty, you have a pretty big crush on Harley Keener, but he’s like your deceased father—the infamous Tony Stark—two point oh, flirting with anything he meets with a pulse and two legs, regardless of whether or not there’s anything hanging between them. You know he’s just joking, that that’s his default setting, when he flirts with you, so you know better than to get your hopes up.
Apparently, you follow the age old adage of ‘find someone like your dad’ because that’s what you did, in terms of crushes; sarcastic mechanical geniuses with daddy issues, a crap load of trauma, PTSD, a guilt complex the size of the Mississippi, self esteem problems, and the second fakest giant ego of anyone you’ve laid eyes on (the first being your father himself) seems to be your type. Specifically, ones who wear iron suits and tend towards superhero-ing.
Yeah, you might have some issues.
You tune back in to Harley’s rant, able to catch most of it. “Okay, A, it’s Iron Lad and you know it, and B, you’re one to talk; what kind of a name is Agent Iron?”
“A dumb one. The difference is, I didn’t pick out my aforementioned dumb moniker; you did pick yours out.” You pause in the middle to knock some idiot who tried to steal the USB from you down, returning fire against another two and hitting them in non-lethal areas that would still incapacitate them. “Where’s our hotel, again?”
“MJ booked us a room down tenth street. I’ll meet you downstairs?”
“I’m calling a cab. Be there in time or you’re calling your own. These heels are killing me.”
“You wear them all the time.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like them. Now get down here or I’m throwing them at you.”
“Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t you like that, weather boy.”
“That’s-” You’re at a loss. “That’s not the right phrase and you know it.”
Harley just cackles on the other end of the comms line.
“So,” you say as you flip on the light to the hotel room, finding Harley where you left him laying on the couch on his phone, “Apparently there’s been a mix-up with the rooms, and they’re booked full, so we’re stuck with this one.”
Harley raises an eyebrow, not looking up from his screen. “Did the words ‘Stark’ and ‘money’ not do any good?”
You flop down beside him. “A, you know I’m not going to do that sort of thing-“ He interrupts you with a pointed scoff, which you ignore, “-and B, no, they did not.”
“Yeah, sure,” he teases, moving to lay perpendicular to you so he can dump his feet in your lap. You kick them off, moving to sit on the back of the couch with your feet on the seat cushion instead of sitting normally so as to avoid that happening again.
“So,” you start. Harley doesn’t respond, too enthralled in his soccer game.
You snatch the phone from his hands, turning it off and causing him to pout and make grabby hands. “Hey, I was playing that!”
“And I’m sure J.O.C.A.S.T.A. saved your progress. Now, who gets the couch?”
Harley stares at you in confusion. “I thought it was obvious.”
“You’re right.” You scooch back to the normal seating level of the sofa, staring at him as you wait for him to move. He just stares back. Finally, you sigh, exasperated. “Are you going to move to the bed now or make me stay up longer?”
“No, I thought- wait what? No, I meant I’m taking the couch, you get the bed.”
“Is that because I’m a girl?” You cross your arms, eyes narrowing.
“No?”
“Oh my- you know what, we’ll settle this like adults.”
Harley nods sagely, sitting up in agreement. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Rock, paper, scissors,” you confirm seriously.
“Winner gets the bed?”
“Winner gets to pick.”
“Gotcha.” Eyes narrow from either side as you settle in to do battle.
“Rock-”
“Paper-”
“Scissors-”
“Shoot!”
When you slam down paper to Harley’s rock, he pouts. “Best out of three?”
“Nah, keeping my streak.” You smirk. “Okay, now get going, you’re in my way and I want to get some sleep.”
Harley sighs in over dramatic acquiescence, grabbing his clothes from the bag and going to the bathroom to change. While he’s doing that, you ring room service to bring some bedding, which doesn’t arrive quickly enough for you to manage to make your ‘bed’ while he showers. Instead, you are informed that there’s no bedding to be had—which, how?—and end up finishing Harley’s game for him and beating his high score.
You two switch out after Harley helps you get all the bobby pins out of your hair, and when you come back out, hair tied up in a turban and sweats sticking to your body, he’s already in the bed, texting someone.
Harley looks up. “You know, we can put some pillows in the middle and share if you want.”
“Nah, I’m fine on the couch.”
“At least let me have the couch then. I’m pretty sure this is my fault.”
“What do you mean?” You’re confused; you managed to figure out that this was probably Peter and MJ’s way of trying to get you and Harley together after you told them about your crush.
“I told Peter I liked you and I think this is him trying to set us up via MJ.”
“Wha- no? I told him I liked you and so I thou-” You finally process his words. “Wait, you like me?”
“No, no, no, go back a second. You like me?”
“I mean, yeah, it’s been pretty obvious I thought, but since when have you liked me? Are you joking? Like, like like me?”
Harley gapes at you. “Of course I fall for an idiot. Yes, I like you, I’ve been flirting with you for months.”
“I thought you were just joking!” You splutter. “You do that with everyone!”
“Not anymore, I haven’t for a while. How have you not noticed?”
“Uh, wh-“ you sit down on the couch, still staring at him, before something clicks. “Wait, so why not suggest the bed sharing thing before now?”
“Because, I’m respectful, I’m not going to suggest that when you obviously didn’t like me back and would be uncomfortable with it.”
Suddenly, you laugh. “We’re both idiots. That’s why I was trying to sleep on the couch.”
Harley starts laughing as well. “You’re not wrong. Oh my god, how have we survived this long? You’re an agent and I’m supposed to have an eye for details, how did neither of us figure this out?”
“No idea and I don’t think I want to know.”
You two finally calm down, and Harley is the first to speak. “So, you good with sleeping here now? We can still have pillows in between us if you want.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to do-“
“I’d rather have you sleep up here than on the couch. As long as you’re comfortable with that.”
“Oh, uh, yeah.”
“Good.” Harley rolls his eyes suddenly. “If this is going to be us from now on I’m not sure I appreciate MJ and Peter meddling.”
“Yeah, no, this has their finger prints all over it,” you agree as you climb into the bed.
“So, pillow wall: yea or nay?”
“I’m good with whatever.”
“Look, whatever your comfort level is is the same as mine. So. It’s your choice.”
“I mean, as long as you’re comfortable without it I don’t see the point of a pillow wall-“
“Okay, then no pillow wall.”
“You’re not just saying that? You’re sure you’re good with that too?”
Harley rolls his eyes again. “I’m sure. If I’m not comfortable with something I’ll say it and you know that.”
“You’re right,” you agree, turning to flick off the lamp beside you as Harley does the same. “‘Night, Harls.”
“‘Night, Y/n.”
The next morning, you wake up tangled in sheets, cuddling with Harley—definitely a very different position form the conservative one at either end of the bed you two went to sleep in.
Your head is laying on his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist as you two lay half-on your backs, half-spooning. It’s pretty comfortable, you’re not going to lie, and you don’t have the energy to move, much less get up yet, instead opting to go back to sleep.
Unfortunately, you’re not quite drifted off again yet before Harley stirs with a groan, shifting in a manner that forces you to roll onto your side to maintain the warmth.
You open your eyes in a bleary, half-hearted glare and thump his chest lightly. “Go back to sleep,” you mumble against his chest, arms still wrapped around each other’s sides in a weird but nevertheless comfortable hug.
“Nah, I’m going to be creepy and stare at you first,” he teases.
“Stare at me while you sleep then, I’m tired.”
Harley chuckles, his laugh reverberating through his chest beneath your head. “So, while you’re working on the going back to sleep thing-“
“If you ask me something when I’m this tired it counts as under duress,” you interrupt.
“Yeah, yeah, so if I ask you to go with me on a date after we get back-“
“It’s a yes, but I agreed under duress.”
Harley laughs again. “Then go back to sleep and I’ll ask again when it won’t be under duress.”
“I’m always tired, so it always will be.”
“Then I’m taking the yes.”
“Smart man.” You snuggle closer, Harley shifting to allow you to. As you’re both about to drift back off to sleep, though, you murmur, “We’re totally getting MJ and Peter back for this, though, right?”
You can hear his answering smirk in his voice as he responds. “I’m hurt you’d even consider I might say no.”
With that, you fall back asleep, content in Harley’s arms around you.