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Harry sunk deeper into the couch, exhausted from the long day at work. It was well past midnight at this point. His suit jacket and shoes lie discarded beside the coffee table in a crumpled pile. He tossed his phone carelessly onto the table and fluffed the pillow behind his head.
He was startled by a sudden banging on the window. His head whipped toward the noise, but it was hard to make out anything outside in the darkness of the night. He peered closer toward the window when another series of bangs followed in rapid succession.
The window burst open and Peter Parker tumbled through, barely clinging to the glass beneath. He was wearing his Spider-Man suit, gripping the mask in his other hand. He made casual eye contact with Harry and let a smirk settle on his face as he leapt down to the floor.
“Peter,” Harry started, “I do have a front door, you know.”
“And a doorman,” Peter answered, out of breath. “Y’know, the one that always seems angry.”
“If you really want to climb sixty stories every time you pay me a visit, be my guest, Pete.”
Peter laughed gently at the remark, but his laughter quickly turned to pained coughs. His gloved hand covered his stomach as he looked toward the floor, breaking eye contact. Harry’s eyes trailed down from Peter’s face to his stomach. He went cold.
“Peter, what happened?” Harry stood up forcefully and darted over to his boyfriend. Underneath Peter’s hand was a thick coat of blood, blending in with the deep red of his suit. Harry grabbed Peter’s wrist and tried to remove his hand to get a better look, but Peter winced at the action.
“Just another day in the life of your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” Peter snarked. His smile faded again. “I’m fine, Harry, really. I just needed somewhere to rest.”
“That doesn’t look like ‘fine.’” Harry took Peter by the shoulders and led him toward the couch. He pushed him down to a seated position, gently enough as to not agitate his injuries but forceful enough to make his intent clear.
“Harry, c’mon, I’m gonna get blood on your fancy white couch,” Peter groaned, seeming a bit weaker.
“Don’t care,” he responded, already striding toward the bathroom to grab as many first aid materials as he could carry. He wasn’t sure of the extent of Peter’s injuries yet, but he wanted to make sure all of his bases were covered. He returned shortly, dumping an armful of supplies on the coffee table.
Harry shoved the throw pillows to the floor, kneeling down on the couch next to Peter and turning his body so he could help him remove his suit. He could feel the sweat on his body as he peeled away his clothes. As the suit was removed from his body, Harry’s eyes widened. A long gash ran from below Peter’s left collarbone all the way down to his stomach, with the deepest part falling right above his navel. It had been hard to tell from the mixing of blood and fabric, but the suit was torn down the front in the same place. Harry tossed the suit aside, with it landing in the same crumpled pile as his own clothes. He helped ease Peter into a lying-down position to get a better look.
With a gentle hand, Harry traced alongside the gash, trying to gauge the severity of the cut. He judged that the area near Peter’s stomach was severe, but fortunately didn’t look as though it would need stitches. As he examined Peter’s stomach, though, more blood had already seeped from the wound onto Harry’s hands.
He grabbed a rag from the pile of supplies and pressed it onto the wound. Harry took Peter’s hand and placed it over the rag, his own hand lingering on top for a moment. “I need you to keep pressure on this,” Harry instructed. He grabbed another rag and returned to the bathroom to run cool water over the rag. He needed to clean the area as best he could before going any further.
Harry appeared at Peter’s side once more. He sat down in what little room he could find on the couch. He placed his hand back on Peter’s, his bright blue eyes gazing into Peter’s deep brown ones. He found himself distracted for several moments, rubbing small circles on the back of Peter’s hand.
He glanced back down at the rag in Peter’s hand, the flow of blood seeming to ebb. He picked up Peter’s hand, lacing their fingers together for just a second before setting it aside and removing the dirtied rag from his stomach. Harry took the damp, clean one and began at Peter’s collarbone, removing the blood and dirt from his body.
Peter clenched his teeth, trying to be a good patient, silent and still. He watched as Harry cleaned his cut and thought how grateful he was to have someone here to take care of him. He never liked to worry Harry and found it difficult to admit when he needed help. But Harry was always there, ready to drop everything for him. He let these thoughts fill his mind and push away the stinging pain on his chest. He gazed at the smaller man, memorizing all the curves and angles of his face as it filled with concentration and concern.
Peter’s blood had stained not only the rags, but Harry’s hands, as well. Harry didn’t mind. Peter’s blood could taint every surface in his penthouse and he wouldn’t care so long as Peter made it out okay. As he moved the rag to Peter’s stomach, he focused on keeping his touch light but steady. He could tell Peter was hurting. He had grown used to the little tells, like his distant stare or twitching lip.
“You don’t have to stay strong for me. Not right now,” Harry whispered. “It’s okay.”
Peter let out a heavy sigh, his abdomen moving underneath Harry’s touch. “I’m sorry, Harry. I just…” he trailed off. Harry looked back up at him, pausing. “Thank you,” Peter admitted.
Harry continued to clean the wound. “I want to keep you safe. That’s what matters.”
“I just didn’t want to scare you.”
“Me? Scared? Never,” Harry lied. He reached for the bandages sitting next to him on the table and began applying them. Though he worried about Peter often, especially when he came home wounded, taking care of him made him feel closer to him. He wanted to return the care that he had never been shown from anyone except Peter.
Peter closed his eyes and focused on Harry’s warm touch. The pain had begun to fade already. Once he felt Harry apply the last inch of the bandaging, he sat up slightly and placed a hand on Harry’s thigh. He barely noticed that the blood on his hand left a dark mark on his pants as he touched him.
The reassuring grip had let Harry know that Peter was alright. He had made it through another difficult night, and the worst of it was over. From here on, he could focus on making sure the rest of it was better.
Harry knelt down on top of Peter, straddling his legs. With one hand on the back of the couch for support, he leaned in and gently placed a kiss on Peter’s neck. Peter grabbed on to the back of Harry’s neck and leaned his head back as if to ask for more. Harry’s mouth melted into him as Peter caressed his hand through Harry’s soft hair.
Harry pulled up for a moment, looking deeply into Peter’s eyes as if to ask for reassurance, that what he was doing was okay. He seemed to receive the indication he needed as Peter’s eyes closed and he leaned forward for a kiss. Their lips brushed against each other awkwardly for a moment, and Peter let out a small chuckle, causing Harry to grin too.
Then they kissed. Peter regained strength with every movement of Harry’s mouth against his own. He had grabbed onto him tight, one hand around Harry’s bicep and the other still tangled in his hair. Their kiss grew more passionate, leaving them little time to breathe.
Peter adored when they felt this close. He hoped this would make it up to Harry for causing him so much worry. After what seemed like an eternity, Harry relaxed into him and the pair fell asleep in each other's arms.