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Peter never considered himself a jealous person. He was protective, sure. He cared about the ones he loves deeply but he’s secure in the knowledge that they love him too, enough to not abandon him just because they make other connections.
(That’s a lie. There’s a festering fear that bubbles beneath the surface of his skin at every given moment that he will lose someone he loves again. And though the losses he has had were through death, out of his control no matter how much he blames himself for it, he can’t help but fear that the next time he is left again will be completely and utterly his fault.)
When he met Harley, he didn’t expect to love him the way he does.
It’s different for his love for Ned. His love for Ned is fierce and all consuming, the feeling of being known so deep that you are not a separate two but intrinsically combined, merged together through time and dedication, influencing the way the other grew and evolved as he grew and evolved with him.
His love for MJ is something steady, something that he considered to be romantic love but didn't quite understand as he felt it. A love that was all butterflies and fireworks yet also a moment of reprieve from his crazy life, a steadying silence and a moment to breathe. Something that didn't necessarily dim or dull but dissipated into something less like a passionate infatuation and more like contentment. A love for a moment, not a love forever.
Harley is... indescribable. What he feels for Harley isn't what he ever understood love to be and that's why he wasn't able to tell what it was. Fleeting moments shared in passing that slowly lingered until the two needed to pry each other apart. The need to listen, to know everything about him, to learn everything that makes him Harley but also the need to be heard and seen and listened to in a way you can't even listen to yourself.
It's a certainty. An unspoken trust built on respect and communication and painstakingly chipping away at the walls that they had built into themselves.
It's warmth and it's safety and it's good and nice and right.
Love for Peter has always been something so big. Love that he would lay down his life for. Love that was expressed in grand gestures and grander words just to prove even a sliver of the sentiment. Because he loves so big and the love he feels is inexplicable, not because he doesn't understand how he feels it, but because there is no way to explain it.
But with Harley, there is no need to address it. It is just known. And somehow, without clarification, he knows that he is loved too.
It's easy. It's simple. It's good, nice, right.
So, when Peter feels a pool of fire in his gut, the sort of burning roaring passion that he had once felt with his first love, for a moment he thinks that what he had adjusted to believe love could be was not all what love is at all.
But it's not the kind of overwhelming emotion, a maelstrom of feeling that pulses and pushes like how he had felt for his first love. It's not kind or love-like at all.
It's an ugly kind of passion. One that he attributes more to fistfights in the moonlit streets, bloody knuckles and bruised ribs, the ache that pulls for him to take a step to far that he can't quite cross.
Peter has never been one whose first resort is violence.
But right now, he wants to punch someone so hard that their stupid face with their stupid smirk caves in.
He and Harley are out at the park both in desperate need of fresh air and sunlight on their faces after holing themselves in the lab for far too long.
Harley had stepped away to get them a treat from an ice cream truck — "They made popsicles of you! They've got gumballs for eyes and there's a less than one percent chance they're in the right place, but I've think I've got good odds." — leaving Peter behind to pet the swarm of dogs that fight to have a spot in his lap.
When Peter hears Harley chuckle uncomfortably, his head immediately snaps up, eyes zeroing in on Harley who stands across the park.
A guy has a hand on Harley's arm, looking him up and down with hungry eyes and smirk that looks more like a snarl. Harley, polite as always, does his best to not engage but considering their positions in the line, there is nowhere for him to escape.
Peter is moving before he realizes he is, legs moving without him, a magnet pulled to Harley, but this time in a way that feels more like a planet being pulled into the gravitational field of a blinding sun.
"Don't touch him."
The guy doesn't move his hand. He just cocks a brow, shooting Harley an annoyed look as if Peter is the one who is unwanted there. "There's a line, buddy."
"I was actually saving him a spot," Harley says, finally ripping his hand from the guy's grasp as his fingers slacken at the statement. Harley wraps an arm around Peter's waist and presses a kiss to his temple. "Remind me what you wanted again, darlin?"
"Whatever you want," Peter says, the double meaning clear in the words.
"Well, I want a Spider-Man popsicle. And I want to be the lucky guy who gets the one with the eyes in the right place."
The guy, now realizing that his attempts at pursuits are futile, huffing petulantly, steps out of line and storms away.
Harley leans his lips down to Peter's ear. "You jealous?"
"No," Peter says quickly.
"Well, I wasn't lyin' when I said all I want is your eyes in the right place." Harley pulls away and looks into Peter's eyes. "On me."