Chapter Text
~ Harley ~
“You know the plan, right?”
Peter rolls his eyes and snatches Harley’s duffel bag off the conveyor belt before he can get a hand on it. Harley glares as Peter effortlessly throws it over his shoulder to join his weather-beaten backpack, the straps frayed from abuse.
“Yes, dear. Your complex, multi-faceted plan is on lock.” He ticks off the steps on his fingers. “Be the perfect boyfriend for a week so your family doesn’t find out you’ve been lying to them then go back to New York and pretend this never happened. I’m a genius, remember?” He taps his temple then turns on his heel.
He’s going the wrong way. For a moment, Harley considers letting him go if only to grant himself some peace after enduring his presence for the entire flight to Tennessee. Unfortunately, Peter has his bag. “Hey genius, you’re going the wrong way.”
Peter doesn’t turn or slow. “Weird,” he calls over his shoulder. He either doesn’t notice or care that he’s attracting attention. New York, this is not. “All the signs for the food court point this way. You’re buying, right? You said all-expense-paid as long as I put out in front of your mom.”
“I did not—,” Harley growls in the back of his throat and reluctantly stalks after his ‘boyfriend’ without meeting any of the stares that follow him. While Peter is in line at a burrito place, Harley claims a high-top table for two and pulls out his phone. He has a few texts from Mama and Abbie but he opens Gwen’s contact first.
Sent Message - 8:31 PM
Friendship revoked
Next, he responds to Abbie, letting her know they landed and they’ll meet her in the pick-up lane shortly after Peter’s done stuffing his face. Gwen’s response comes in while he’s replying to his mom, letting her know he’ll see her after the couple hours it’ll take to get from the city to Rose Hill. There’s a lot to love about his little town in the foothills of Appalachia, but the travel time it takes to come and go doesn’t make the list. Another reason he’s been putting off this homecoming.
Gew Wish You Were Me - Received 8:34 PM
That’s the third time today you’ve ended our friendship. When can I expect the texts to stop?
Sent Message - 8:34 PM
I can’t believe I let you talk me into this
Gew Wish You Were Me - Received 8:34 PM
I’ll take that as never
Sent Message - 8:35 PM
I’m suffering he’s so annoying
Gew Wish You Were Me - Received 8:35 PM
I’m familiar with the feeling
Sent Message - 8:35 PM
If you love me you’ll adopt Fish when I inevitably drop dead in a desperate ploy to get away from him
Gew Wish You Were Me - Received 8:37 PM
Noted.
He sighs and sets down his phone. It’s so hard to find good friends these days.
“Sweetheart,” Peter sings out, “the total is $10.59.”
~*~
“So what’s the plan?” Abbie demands while Peter dumps their bags in the back of the old family station wagon.
Harley shrugs. “I’m kinda tired but I can drive if you don’t wanna—,”
“No.” She rolls her eyes. “About whatever bullshit you two came up with. How’d it happen and how long have I known about it?”
Harley stares at her. He doesn’t dare look at Peter despite the weight of his stare. “Uhh…”
“Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you thought this little sham would fool me.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Wow.” She levels a disgusted stare at him. “That don’t sting or nothin’. What’re you telling Mama? She’s heard about Peter plenty. You gonna take back all the complaints and pretend you’ve been seeing each other this whole time?” She snorts. “That’ll go over like a fart in a spacesuit.”
He groans and rubs his forehead. He did not think this through.
“You told your mom about me?” Peter asks.
Abbie laughs and gets in the driver’s seat. She slams the door.
Ohhh she’s pissed. He’s gonna have to do so much damage control. “It’s not too late to get a flight back to New York,” he tells Peter without looking at him. He can’t stand to look at his dumb doe-eyed face while in crisis.
“Are you kidding?” Peter says. “And miss out on you looking like an ass when everyone finds out? You know, no matter how this goes down you still have to do my laundry for a month.”
“I’m gonna kill Gwen for putting that on the table.”
“Gwen? Tony said that was your offer. That and paying for everything.”
Harley turns to face him slowly. “What? Tony had nothing to do with this.”
Peter’s eyebrows are high and his dumb brown eyes are wide. “Tony said you begged him to talk me into coming. Gwen had nothing to do with it.”
“Begged? I didn’t even— Hold on. Why would he— I told him I was going home for a family reunion and—,” Indignant, he exclaims, “He told you this bullshit was my idea?”
“Well then whose idea was it?” Peter demands.
Harley opens his mouth with Gwen’s name on his lips, but that can’t be right, can it? Not if Tony lied to Peter about it being Harley’s plan. Not if Gwen never talked to Peter like she said she did. He narrows his eyes. “Those scheming bastards.” He whips out his phone.
Message Sent - 8:59 PM
What did he bribe you with
It was Tony’s idea, it had to of been, but Gwen, oh she played Harley so good. She waited until he brought up the trip and started spouting off half-assed ideas like staging a breakup to get the pity treatment all week rather than a heaping mound of shit. She led him by the nose when she jokingly suggested he could bring someone from their friend group and pretend to be in a long-term relationship. She suggested herself first, which of course couldn’t work because he specifically told his Ma ‘boyfriend’ and they all know he’s gay, but it got the ball rolling.
They laughed together when he suggested Flash. Neither of them could imagine him out in the country roughing it with his crew of rednecks. They laughed some more when she brought up Ned and imitated him trying to tell a lie. Then he laughed as he suggested Peter—Peter who he can’t be in a room with without arguing, Peter who is so married to Spider-Man that he can’t leave the city for an hour let alone a week—but she went quiet and told him he was onto something.
She played him.
Gew Wish You Were Me - Received 9:00 PM
AAAAAYYYYOOOOOOOOO
Gew Wish You Were Me - Received Picture Message 9:00 PM
[Image ID: A photo of a blonde woman with a short bob laughing at the camera while holding up a key printed with the BMW logo]
Gew Wish You Were Me - Received 9:00 PM
Miles owes me five bucks he didn’t think you’d figure it out until Wednesday lmfaoooo
Message Sent - 9:00 PM
Friendship REVOKED!!
~*~
“So for real, what’s the plan?” Abbie asks after an hour of tense silence while she navigates the dark back-highway that weaves them ever closer to Rose Hill.
Harley sighs. “I don’t even know anymore. This is stupid.”
“Can’t disagree with that,” Abbie says with an unhappy sideways glance at him. “I can’t believe you thought I’d fall for this.”
“Obviously I didn’t think it through,” he snaps. “Sue me for thinking Tony would have my best interests at heart for once.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter demands.
“Don’t play dumb. This whole thing is to keep you grounded. It ain’t about helping me at all.”
Peter doesn’t say anything to that and Harley doesn’t turn around to see what his face is doing. He’d guess pouting. Peter hates being grounded but this time he earned it. Serves him right for showing up at Harley’s apartment half-dead. The official reason Peter’s grounded is to give his body time to heal after Kraven ran him into the ground, but they all know deep down that Peter’s fine. It’s Tony and May that need time to emotionally recover before he goes and throws himself head-first into danger again.
“You gonna fess up?” Abbie asks.
He sighs. He probably should. It’ll only make everything worse if they find out him and Peter are faking to cover up that there was never a boyfriend keeping him from coming home. Better to stop while he’s behind. He should have stayed in New York. He should have come up with another excuse, anything. He should have broken his leg for real to avoid getting on that plane. It’s not that he doesn’t love his family, he does. Well, he loves Mama and Abbie. He ain’t exactly overjoyed about putting up with the rest of ‘em for a full week.
The boyfriend lie was only supposed to be a one-time thing. It was Thanksgiving and he previously said he’d be home for it, but that was before Tony entered him and Peter into the intern BattleBot competition that was going down that same weekend. He knew having a competition two days after Thanksgiving wouldn’t be good enough to get him off the hook but he needed those extra days to keep up with the competition. So yeah, he said his new boyfriend asked him to go to his family’s for the holiday and that he was real sorry but he didn’t want to miss out. It was dumb and impulsive and he swore he’d never do it again…
Until the Fourth of July rolled around and he overheard Peter telling Tony about his entry for the summer Stark Expo and realized his entry would look pathetic sitting next to Peter’s. He needed the extra time to pull together something comparable. It snowballed from there.
“I guess, yeah I’ll tell her the tru—,”
Peter scoffs.
Harley pivots around. “What? Got somethin’ to say?”
Peter holds up his palms in faux surrender. “Nope. Just the first time I’ve seen you give up this fast.”
Harley sets his jaw and inhales sharply through his nose. “If you’ve got any gold star ideas rattlin’ ‘round that super noodle, now’s the time to share with the class.”
“What have you told her about me?”
“About you or about fake you?”
“About…” Peter makes a face. “About Peter Parker. Whichever one of me that is.”
Harley pulls in a deep breath and then looks at Abbie. “You’d know better than I would, I think.” To Peter, he says, “she knows you ‘n me intern for Tony and that we don’t get along.”
Peter juts out his bottom lip and flutters his lashes. “You don’t think we get along?”
Harley rolls his eyes and sits so he’s facing front again. “Fuck off.”
Abbie clears her throat. “Now that I’m considerin’ it, I don’t think it’ll be as hard to sell as you think. Just tell her you guys have been on again off again and you’re golden. With the bickering y’all do she’ll believe it in a heartbeat and if it’s a shaky relationship, it’ll make sense why you felt like you couldn’t miss holidays with him without jeopardizing it.”
“And she’ll buy me never tellin’ her that the boyfriend was Peter the whole time?”
Abbie shrugs. “She will if you tell her you didn’t want a lecture about him not bein’ good enough for you. You know how protective she gets over her little boy.”
Peter sits up straight. “Hold on, how protective does she get?”
Harley and Abbie trade knowing smiles.
Maybe there is a silver lining after all.
~*~
The headlights of the station wagon swing across the driveway as they pull in, briefly illuminating the face of the garage where Harley spent his childhood. Dirt crunches and pops under the tires then Abbie parks and cuts the engine, bringing the scream of the cicadas into focus. His chest is heavy with the feeling of home. Now that he’s here, he doesn’t remember why he was so adamant about staying away.
“Who all’s here?” he asks Abbie as they clamber out into the night.
Peter goes around to the back and grabs their bags without asking or being told. He’s been quiet but Harley doesn’t care what’s going on with him. He’s home.
“Just you two but come morning they’ll be descendin’ down on us like the second coming.”
“May the Lord have mercy on our souls,” Harley murmurs.
“Amen.”
“Umm, how many of your relatives are going to be here?” Peter asks, voice pitched.
Harley sighs. “Well, there’s Aunt Candy’s crew. She’s got four kids.”
“Five,” Abbie corrects, “and she’s mighty sore you ain’t met little Bruiser yet so brace for that. I hear her latest beau refused to come and now they’re on the rocks so you can expect her to be in a mood.”
“Great,” Harley grumbles.
“Bruiser?” Peter asks weakly.
“Bruce, Bruiser, Brucie, Brucie Baby, Little Boy Bruce—he don’t listen no matter what he’s called so take your pick.”
“He’s only like, two,” Harley says.
Abbie lifts an eyebrow. “Just turned four.”
“Shit.”
“Yup.” She pops the ‘p’. “Your little scheme is the least of your troubles.” She pats his shoulder in a way that isn’t meant to offer comfort. “Ready to face trial number one?”
“No.”
“Too bad. Looks like she’s coming to you.”
He experiences a moment of panic as he spins to face the house and finds his mother stepping out onto the porch. The light shines about her like a golden spotlight. She pauses for a moment but then she’s hurrying down the steps and across the dirt in her house slippers.
“Harley James Keener,” she croaks. She throws her arms around him.
Harley closes his arms around her back and squeezes as tight as she’s clutching him. He breathes in the scent of her hairspray and under it, that scent that’s unique to her. The one that brings back movie nights huddled together on the couch and being snuggled in bed while she sang to him low and soft. “Hey, Ma,” he says, just as low, just as soft.
“You’re not allowed to stay gone this long ever again. You hear me, young man?”
“I hear you. I won’t, Mama. I’m sorry.”
She tightens her arms then reluctantly lets him go and swipes hastily at her cheeks. “Alright.” She sniffs. “Where’s this boyfrie—,” She cuts short as she turns and finds Peter standing at the back bumper, his backpack on one shoulder and Harley’s duffel on the other. Her face crumples in confusion. “You brought Peter instead?”
Harley clears his throat. “Don’t be mad but, uh, Peter is my boyfriend.” He almost laughs at how ludicrous the statement sounds rolling off his tongue but he catches himself in time.
Peter sticks out his hand and steps forward. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Harley talks about home all the time.”
“No, I don’t,” Harley argues reflexively as Peter and his mother awkwardly shake hands. God, a handshake? They’re in deep shit. Mama’s always got a hug for everyone.
Peter shoots him a sidelong look. “Then why do I know the names of all your chickens?”
“You don’t.”
He lifts a challenging eyebrow then lists them off on his fingers. “Spud, Pebbles, Chickpea, Pamela—,”
“Pam is a goat,” Harley interrupts, tone scathing.
“Whatever! My point stands!”
Mama clears her throat. “I’m sure you boys are tired. Harley, why don’t you show Peter up to your room.” She shoots a pointed look at the bags. “I’m sure you can manage the bags for… your boyfriend.”
“Oh I’m good, Mrs. Keener,” Peter says. He makes no move to set aside the bags. “Lead on, sugar plum.”
Harley shoots him a dirty look then turns an exasperated stare to his mom. “He can’t be reasoned with. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
“I was raised to have manners,” Peter says pointedly.
A dangerous look crosses Mama’s face. “And you think my son wasn’t?”
“Wha— No!”
“C’mon Ma, you know that ain’t what he meant.”
“My aunt told me to be a gentleman!”
“You told May?”
Peter looks at him like he’s stupid. “Of course I did. I wasn’t going to leave the state without telling her.”
“But you told her—,”
“That I was going with you to your family reunion.”
“And she didn’t…” He licks his lips and very deliberately doesn’t look at his mom. “She didn’t think that was… strange?”
Peter flounders and then his eyes narrow. “You don’t think—,”
“Oh, I think. I think for a genius you’re not that sharp.”
Peter scowls. “Yeah? Maybe I should entertain your family with some lab stories. I think I’ll start with the hydrochloric acid mix-up.”
Harley glares. “I can give as good as I get, Parker.”
“Sure, but only one of us will have to deal with the lasting fallout.”
“So you ain’t plannin’ on stayin’ together long?” Mama butts in sharply. Her accent is thick like it gets when she’s about to pop off.
Fuck. How does Peter get under his skin so easily? He can’t go two seconds without stirring the pot.
Peter’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. When he manages to get words out they’re a half-octave higher than his normal speaking voice. “No— I mean, yes! I… We were just messing around,” he finishes weakly.
Mama’s lips are pursed tight. “Mhm,” she intones. “Harley James, how ‘bout you get settled and then meet me in the kitchen. I’d like a word.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ma turns on her slippered heel and marches into the house.
Abbie sets to snickering not a moment after the door bangs shut then skips past them, casting a smirk over her shoulder. “This is gonna be a hoot.”
~*~
As much as Harley doesn’t want to leave Peter alone in his childhood bedroom to snoop to his heart’s content, he doesn’t wanna test Mama’s patience more. So with a stern but futile, “Don’t touch my shit,” he leaves Peter and shuffles downstairs to the kitchen.
Mama is waiting for him at the sink, putting elbow grease into the pot she’s scrubbing. Without a word, he slaps the towel from the refrigerator door over his shoulder, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to rinsing the dishes she has already washed. He’d say it’s just like before he left only he doesn’t remember it being this quiet or near this uncomfortable.
He’s the first to fold. “I’m sorry, Ma,” he says as softly as he dares, hyper-aware that even though they’re on different levels Peter is going to hear every word. He towels off a plate and sets it in the cupboard. “I shoulda gave you more on what to expect. I…” There’s nothing else he can say without lying to her face. “I’m sorry.”
She sets the sudsy pot in his side of the sink and reaches for his towel. Her hands are thoroughly dry before she hands it back and responds. “I just don’t understand it. You haven’t had a kind word to say about that boy in all the years you’ve known him and now I’m to understand you’ve been seein’ each other this whole time?” She shakes her head and looks at him, her hazel eyes dark with worry, lips downturned.
He rubs the short hairs on the back of his head. “I know. I just… It’s how we are, I guess. He… He gets under my skin somethin’ awful, Ma,” he admits. “Like nobody else.”
Her lips pinch. “I dunno that that’s the ringing endorsement you think it is, sweetheart. From what I saw in the drive, you don’t seem like a fit match.”
He winces. “You’d say that about anybody, Mama. Nobody’s good enough for your kids.”
She doesn’t smile. “You heard what he said. He doesn’t care to make a good impression with your family and he don’t plan to see us again from the sound of it.”
“Aw Ma, he didn’t mean that. He only said it to get at me. I’ve said worse to him that I didn’t mean. It’s just—,”
“—how you are,” she finishes for him. She shakes her head. “I’ll hold my tongue for the sake of this reunion not turning to a circus before the clowns arrive, but you better talk some sense into him about the kind of behavior we expect around here. This ain’t the city where you can run your mouth and expect to skate by without consequence. I wanna see some courtesy from that boy.”
“I promise he can shape up and be tolerable when he puts his mind to it.”
She sighs and unstops the sink. “Honey, your word choice ain’t exactly inspirin’ confidence.”
~*~
He returns to his room to find Peter sitting on his bed disassembling the potato canon he made when he was nine. It was before Tony upgraded his lab and before he convinced Mama to buy him some decent tools so it’s rudimentary at best.
Harley shuts the door and crosses his arms. “You got all that?”
Peter nods without looking up. “Noticed you didn’t exactly try to talk me up.”
Harley shrugs. “You normally do enough talking for the both of us.” He runs his tongue over his teeth. “I don’t like lying to my Ma.”
Peter looks up, jaw ticking and eyebrows crushed together in a low ‘V’ over his eyes. “You couldn’t think of a single honest thing to say about me that wouldn’t make me sound like a huge jackass? Wow.”
“Nothin’ you’d want me tellin’. Can’t exactly talk up your extracurriculars, can I?”
Peter opens his mouth hotly but then sucks in a breath and mashes his lips together. He shakes his head and turns back to his project. Harley watches him. His fingers are sure and steady as he swiftly disassembles the canon. Each screw goes in a pile with its mates while every removed piece is laid out neatly in the layout of the assembled version of the canon. Once Peter has removed everything he can without cracking apart the fused housing, he reverses his process, swiftly and efficiently putting it together again. Harley couldn’t tell you how many times he’s seen him do this. How many times he’s done it himself. Sometimes all you need is something to occupy your hands and to keep your brain from running you someplace you don’t wanna be.
When it’s fully assembled but before Peter can restart the disassembling process, he asks, “Wanna go out to the garage?”
Peter looks up at him, silent, wondering.
Harley shrugs. “Tony gifted me some equipment years ago. It’s outdated compared to what you’re used to but it’s somethin’.” He shrugs again as though to communicate it doesn’t matter to him one way or the other if they go even though he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep despite the fatigue that weighs his mind and body after a long day of traveling. Not in a bed with Peter. He was surprised Mama didn’t bring up a cot but then again, she probably jumped to all kinds of conclusions about what their supposed five-year relationship entails. She knew he was… active before leaving Rose Hill. She’s got no reason to believe that would change with a committed relationship.
Peter ticks his head to the side like he’s considering his options, or listening. “Alright, fine but we have to go now before your mom comes out of the bathroom.”
A sharp smile flicks across Harley’s lips. “You scared of my Mama, Parker?”
Peter shoots him a flat look. “I’m not stupid enough not to be.”
They spend the next several hours co-existing in the safest place Harley knows. Except for a little corner it seems Abbie took over for some fabric crafts, it’s unchanged from how he remembers. Neither of them brought any work with them but that’s never stopped them before. Besides, it’s not about the results, not really. It’s about exercising his mind and keeping his hands from stillness. He doesn’t have to ask Peter to know it’s the same. It’s the one thing they don’t fight over. The one quality they share that they don’t contest. It’s about building knowledge and it’s about pushing limits, but more than that, it’s about surviving in a world that doesn’t give a single shit if they flourish or fall to pieces.
They stay up recklessly late, per the norm. He thinks the single digits of morning would be surprised if the pair of them ever weren’t around to welcome the new day. Then his screwdriver slips. “Shit,” he mumbles as a bubble of blood breaks the surface of his thumb and oozes to rest along the bed of his nail. It throbs but he’s had worse.
Peter picks up his head out of his welding project and flips back his mask. He rolls his eyes when he spots the problem. “Where’s your kit?”
“Inside. Downstairs bathroom cabinet.” He sticks his thumb in his mouth and, one-handed, tries to tighten the screw.
Peter plucks the screwdriver from between his fingers and tosses it into the tool chest. “You’re done. You can’t even see straight.”
“Nothin’ ‘bout me is straight,” he mumbles around his thumb.
“C’mon. I’ll grab you a band-aid and meet you upstairs.”
“‘M fine.” He pops his thumb out of his mouth and squints at the damage. There’s a tiny prick where the screwdriver got him. It hardly counts as an injury. “It’ll stop in a minute.”
“At least get some ointment on it. Unless you developed a healing factor when I wasn’t looking, it can still get infected.”
“Since when do you care?”
Peter rubs his forehead and says tiredly, “Just do it, Harley.”
“This your way of tryin’ to butter up my ma? It ain’t gonna work if she’s not around to be witness, genius.”
Peter frowns at him for a long moment then shakes his head and walks out without another word.
Harley watches him go. Once the door closes behind him, he takes his time cleaning up the shop before he follows. When he ducks into the bathroom for the antiseptic ointment it’s to stall for time more than it is to treat his puncture wound. His bed ain’t that big. When he moved to New York he splurged on a king size so maybe it’s because of that that when he looks at his bed here in Rose Hill it looks awful small. Too small for two grown men to squeeze into without curlin’ up on each other.
He doesn’t see a way out of it though. Even if he gets out of it tonight, come tomorrow they’re going to be asses and elbows with the rest of the Keener-Mullins-Reynolds crew. There ain’t enough beds for even half of everyone that’ll be here. Aunt Candice’s crew will likely take over the living room with their sleeping bags and Uncle Joe and his lot will bring their RV and camp ‘round back. Gramma and Grandpa Mullins will race to get here before the Reynolds’ so they can claim the spare room for themselves and then loser gets the pullout couch in the front room. That still leaves Grandpa Carter to bunk down with Candice’s kids and Trinity to crash with Abbie down the hall while Tristan, Jasper, and James cram in with him and Peter.
Tonight will be awkward even if they somehow pull through without touching, but tomorrow they’ll have an audience in the room all night, expectin’ them to act all lovey-dovey and crap. Not for the first time, he wonders what the hell he was thinkin’ agreein’ to any of this.
With the air of a man condemned to the gallows, he starts up the steps. He doesn’t bother to knock before pushing open his door so it’s his own damn fault that he catches Peter with his pants around his ankles. Peter’s back is to him as he steps out of his jeans and kicks them against the wall. He doesn’t react to Harley’s sudden presence.
“Sorry,” Harley blurts. He grabs the doorknob but can’t seem to decide if he should shut it with him outside or inside the room. If they were fucking like his mom thinks they are this would be nothing to him. But they’re not. So it’s not nothing.
“It’s whatever,” Peter mutters as he hikes his leg through a pair of polka dot pajama pants that appear suspiciously feminine. “You should have a first aid kit in the lab. You know that.”
Woodenly, Harley shuts the door with him on the inside. “Why do you care?”
Peter turns to face him, fully clothed once more, and throws his arms wide. “Why do you think—,” He cuts himself off and digs a hand through his hair. “Never mind. I’m going to bed. Are you going to sleep on the floor or what’s the plan?”
Harley licks his lips. “We’re sharin’ actually.”
Peter turns and looks at him, expression unreadable. “Seriously?”
“Tomorrow we’ll have company in here so we may as well get the awkwardness out of the way tonight. Gotta… Gotta seem like it’s not our first time, you know?”
“Dammit, Harley.” With one hand on his hip, he’s rubbing his forehead again like he’s got a headache. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this in advance? How many people are going to be here?”
He thumbs his lip thoughtfully. “Hm, uh, ‘bout two dozen. Yeah. Twenty-three includin’ us.”
Peter goggles at him. “What—,”
“You wanna back out? You don’t gotta do this. It’s nothin’ to you if we come clean now.” Even as he makes the offer his stomach clenches with anxiety. It’s nothing to Peter if they come clean, but it’s very much not nothing to him. Still, he wouldn’t feel right to force him into a situation that makes him uncomfortable, even though it’s just Peter.
He holds his breath as Peter scrapes both hands through his hair and turns his back to him. His pajamas are low on his hips and with his arms over his head like that, his shirt lifts to reveal smooth unblemished skin above a hint of underwear. His back and shoulder muscles bunch under his boxy t-shirt in a way that Harley’s gay little heart can’t not notice. Sharing a bed with this man is a bad, bad idea. Again, he kicks himself for letting Gwen talk him into it. He should have seen through Tony’s scheme from the start. Peter should have cottoned on that something wasn’t right when May didn’t blink at him coming with him. How many people were in on this? How many warning signs did they blow past without stopping to think ‘em through? It should have never gotten this far.
Peter releases a long breath and lowers his arms to his sides. Facing him, he says, “We’ve come this far, might as well see it through.”
Harley was afraid he’d say something like that.
~*~
As expected, Harley wakes the next morning to an arm slung over his waist and a cold nose in his armpit despite having fallen asleep on his own side of the bed. He goes rigid as soon as he becomes aware of his predicament and all notions of rolling over and going back to sleep flee his mind. Against his side, Peter hums and curls closer, nose pressed against the soft flesh just below the tuft of hair under his arm.
The thing is, Harley’s not dead, okay? Peter’s gorgeous, he’s Spider-Man, he’s funny and smart. So you can imagine the kind of stress Harley is under day in and day out seeing him, working with him, competing against him. If it was anyone else, he’d be dying to get his teeth on those trap muscles, to bathe his tongue along his spine, to taste every delicious inch of him, but he’s Peter so he can’t even think about it. Not for more than a second anyway.
He kicks Peter’s leg off of him and rolls to freedom off the side of the bed. Or he tries to. Seemingly on reflex, Peter’s hold tightens and he comes awake with a start, arm like an iron bar around Harley’s waist dragging him back, tight against Peter’s chest, unable to move so much as an inch. Despite himself, Harley finds his heart racing and an incriminating heat building low in his gut. He needs to get out of here now.
“Let. Me. Go.”
Peter releases him immediately. “Sorry, I thought you were fall—,”
Harley doesn’t hear the rest. He’s already in the hall and closing the door firmly behind him as he makes a bee-line to the bathroom. It’s going to be a long week.
~ Peter ~
Hell descends upon them at eleven in the morning.
With only a few hours sleep to buoy him, Harley is surprisingly active. Peter’s used to long, late nights but normally Harley drags the day after an all-nighter. It must be something about being home or the fresh country air which isn’t quite cool despite being October.
Peter trails after him as he hops around the property doing chores and little fixes that his mom penned down for him before banning them from the kitchen so she could meal prep for the week without them underfoot. He tries to help but Harley hasn’t so much as looked at him since he locked himself in the bathroom this morning and… Well, Peter put in his earbuds so he can’t say for sure what he did in there but he knows what the start of it sounded like.
If he’s being honest, he’s not sure how to feel about it. Years ago if you’d told him Harley had to jack off after one night spent cuddled beside him he’d be over the moon and plotting how to get him in his arms again, but knowing Harley as he does now—that he barely sees Peter as a person much less a prospective partner, that Harley rarely ever gets those urges taken care of—he only feels a strange combination of disappointment and annoyance.
Hell arrives in waves.
The first is while Harley is replacing a busted hinge on the barn door and Peter is feeding Pamela one strand of hay at a time to watch her pull in each one like a paper shredder. Peter looks up at the popping of gravel under tires.
“Someone just pulled up.”
Harley stills in his work and doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look at him. Instead, he peeks out the doorway and squints up the hill at the house. “Granddaddy and Gramma Suze,” he says then clicks his tongue. “Grandma and grandpa Reynolds are gonna be a trip.”
“How come?” Peter asks. It’s the most words Harley has said to him all day.
“First ones here get the guest room. It ain’t much, but it’s better than the pull-out couch. Granddaddy and Gramma lose gracefully but Grandma Reynolds…” He shakes his head and sets aside his screwdriver with a sigh. “We should go help with the luggage.”
Peter gives Pam a pat on the head and dusts off his jeans. His palms are already sweating. Yesterday was a disaster. Abbie and Harley got him all in his head about meeting Ms. Keener and he bombed it. He was all nervous babbling and Harley certainly didn’t help by egging him on. He’s not ready for round two but round two is here whether he wants it or not.
You wanna back out? You don’t gotta do this.
Doesn’t he though? What’s the alternative? He asks someone to make the two-and-a-half hour drive back to the airport? Somehow he doesn’t think he’ll convince a Lift to come way out here and not charge him college tuition for it. Even if they did, would he abandon Harley to face his comeuppance? It’s not that he doesn’t deserve it but… It’s dumb, but he sees this week as his last chance. If he can’t get Harley to see him while they live together and pretend to be the thing Peter has wanted since he first clapped eyes on Harley, then it’s never going to happen and he can finally move on.
He hopes he can move on.
He wipes his hands on his thighs and follows Harley out into the glaring sunlight. “Should we hold hands or something?”
Harley shoots him a look. His cheeks are pink from exertion as they trek up the hill and the roots of his hair are dark with sweat. He looks at Peter. Then he ruins the moment by saying, “We ain’t newlyweds, genius.”
Peter releases a breath of disappointment and slows his stride so Harley arrives at the top first. He hangs back as Harley’s grandparents greet him with enthusiastic hugs beside the old but well-kept beige sedan and all of the sudden, Harley is different. His smile is wider as his grandpa clasps the back of his neck and gives him a shake. His laugh is bright as he dodges his grandma’s playful attempt at mussing his hair and crushes her in a full-bodied hug that nearly lifts her off the ground.
Peter’s heart aches.
Then they’re all turning to him as Harley sweeps out an arm and says simply, “This is Peter.”
He isn’t prepared for the same enthusiastic greeting to be directed at him. Harley’s grandma gets him first and he finds himself enveloped in a lavender embrace. His arms instinctively close around her back.
“Peter, so lovely to meet you. You can call me Gramma Suze. This is my husband, Greg.”
Gramma Suze releases him and then Greg claps a hand to his shoulder and says, “Welcome to the family, son.”
Peter blinks rapidly, blaming the brightness of the sun for the moisture in his eyes. “Thanks, I— I’m happy to be here.”
Gramma Suze slings an arm around Harley’s waist and squeezes. “We worry about our Harley all alone in the city. It’s good to know he has someone looking out for him.”
“I— Yeah, of course. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t sleep in the lab every night.”
His grandparents laugh and Harley mutters, “You’re one to talk,” but Peter knows better than to rise to the bait in front of his family now.
“We can carry your things up to the guest room for you,” he offers. “I hear it’s the most coveted room in the house.”
“Why young man, that would be lovely.” She pats Harley’s cheek and tells him, “Good choice.”
A bubble of happiness explodes in Peter’s chest. She thinks he’s a good choice? For Harley?
Harley scowls at him over his grandma’s shoulder and says, “Dammit, Peter, you’re making me look bad.”
“You don’t need my help with that, sweet cheeks,” he says reflexively, still turning over the revelation that he might have an ally here. Then he cringes as his brain catches up with his mouth, but Gramma Suze lets out a delighted peel of laughter and ruffles his hair as she breezes past him towards the trunk.
“You’re good for him,” she declares on the spot. “Our Harley has always liked a challenge.”
Peter’s face turns hot. He ignores the look Harley levels at him and follows Gramma Suze, his new best friend, to the trunk. Distracted as he is by the whirling thoughts in his head and the budding hope in his chest, he doesn’t realize how heavy the suitcases he’s effortlessly lifting from the trunk are until Harley’s hand clamps around his elbow and he says in his ear, “Easy, darlin’. Don’t overdo it trying to impress my gran.”
Peter looks up and loses his breath at how close he is. Harley seems unaffected as he raises his eyebrows meaningfully.
“Right,” he says airily. “Didn’t want you to strain anything. I know how long it’s been since you hit the gym.” Damn his mouth!
Internally, he kicks himself as Harley rolls his eyes and breaks away. He takes a suitcase and what looks like some kind of stringed instrument case and leads the way into the house with Gramma Suze behind him chattering about strong witty men and hanging onto them forever. Peter watches him go with his pulse thundering in his ears. He forgets about Greg until the man clears his throat.
He jumps and whips around to face him. An excuse jumps onto his tongue but he swallows it. He’s allowed to look at Harley here. Expected to. “Sorry,” he apologizes anyway. “I uh, I can get the rest.” There are only a couple of garment bags, a briefcase, and a second suitcase.
Greg shakes his head and, after glancing at the closed-up house, opens a side pocket on the briefcase. “I could use your help with somethin’ if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” he agrees without a thought. He peers curiously at the box Greg removes. A ring box. But… he’s already married. Isn’t he? To Gramma Suze?
“Suzanna and I are renewing our vows this weekend. That’s what this whole shindig is meant for and why Macy worked over Harley the way she did to get him here.” He levels Peter with a serious expression. “Now, Suzie don’t know I’m plannin’ this. In fact, most of ‘em don’t so I need your word that you’ll keep this between us.”
“Absolutely. I won’t tell anyone.” Oh God, he hopes he can keep this a secret. With as much practice as he has, you’d think he’d be better at it.
“Good, I was hopin’ you’d say that. Harley don’t know so you can’t tell him neither.”
Peter swallows. Well, it won’t be the first secret he’s kept from him. “What do you need me to do?”
“Everything is worked out except I’ve been having a heck of a time getting out of her what song we should dance to. There’s one that she keeps humming but she won’t say what it is. She’s turned it into a guessing game, God love her, but I ain’t got it yet and the clock’s runnin’ out.” He wags a finger at Peter. “She’s taken a shine to you.”
“You want me to figure out what the song is.”
“Think you’re up for the challenge?”
There’s a familiar twinkle in his blue eyes that’s Peter’s never been able to say no to before. He’s a fool and a sucker but maybe the universe has got a soft spot for fools and suckers. “You can count on me, sir.”