Chapter Text
Harry recognized the rattling sound of an air vent opening in his lab. Even if he hadn’t seen the flash of red in the reflection of his metal lab table, he would have known instantly what it meant. So as the sound of footsteps approached him, he addressed them without bothering to turn away from his work.
“Is it business or pleasure this time, Parker?”
The footsteps stopped at his voice. Peter didn’t respond, Harry hadn’t really expected him too, but the gloved hand that slid to rest on his hip and cold lips pressing a kiss to the back of his neck was all the answer Harry needed. He let the air flow from his lungs in one smooth exhale, reaching back until his fingers met short, coarse hair and twisted through it, catching a solid grip on Peter’s hair.
“Pleasure it is then.”
He gave a tug at the hair in his hold, and Peter obediently followed his lead, pressing his mouth back against Harry’s neck, he parted his lips, letting his tongue drag hot across the skin there, a sharp contrast to the rest of his face still ice cold from the bitter wind outside. His other hand came up to undo Harry’s collar, pushing it aside to reveal more skin as he trailed hot kisses further down his neck.
Harry hummed, tipping his head to the side to give Peter better access. He shifted on his feet, leaning until his back met the solid planes of Peter’s chest, pressing their bodies flush together.
“Aa,” Peter gasped.
It was the first sound he’d made since he got here. Harry tipped his head to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever expression was on his face, but Peter had already dipped his head back to Harry’s skin, making it impossible to see anything other than brown hair and flashes of bright red fabric. That wasn’t good enough. He wanted to see Peter’s face, sharpen the image in his memory where it had started to go blurry at the edges.
“Hey,” he said, leaning away from Peter’s touch, “hang on a sec.”
He peeled himself out of his arms, but as he turned he was met with the quick motion of Peter yanking his mask back down over his face. Harry prickled with irritation at the defensive action.
“Seriously?” He asked, turning fully to face Spider-Man. “Aren’t we a little past that at this point?”
Peter didn’t say anything, and Harry could glean nothing from his expression while his face was safely hidden behind the expressionless mask. Once upon a time he’d grown to really admire Spider-Man—knowing Peter was behind the mask, it was hard to feel anything but affection. Yet as the years went by, and he saw Peter Parker less and less, he found himself really hating Spider-Man once more.
Peter wasn’t going to cheat him out of his end of this exchange. Not because of some flimsy hang up. Harry reached up, intending to slide the mask off Peter’s face, but just as his fingers grazed the fabric, Peter’s hand caught his wrist, holding him in place. Harry’s mouth tightened into a frown, and for a moment they just stared at each other, caught in a wordless battle of wills. They stayed like that for a moment—with Peter keeping him at an arm's length and Harry unwilling to back down—until, finally, Peter’s grip loosened in an admission of defeat. Harry gave himself a moment to feel victorious before he curled his fingers beneath the edge of the mask to pull it off.
Peter’s face was just as he remembered it from the last time he came crawling through Harry’s window, aside from a few new scars added to his collection. His expression didn’t give away much more than the mask had, Peter was a lot better at schooling his expressions than he used to be, but just the slight flicker of green eyes over the features of Harry’s face quieted something in his brain that was always buzzing. He took in the finer details of Peter’s face, the way his hair was separating into pieces, the creases at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the flush of blood under his skin from the cold outside. Those things were the first to fade when his memory got hazy. Harry was able to take all this in, because since his mask came off, Peter had been completely, stubbornly, frustratingly still. Standing with his hands hung at his sides like he was hesitant to continue what he came here to do now that Harry had stripped away his armor. It was upsetting how much more reluctant Peter was to touch him without that layer of separation.
Without breaking eye contact, he discarded the mask onto the lab table behind him, freeing his hand to reach out and curl around Peter’s, gently guiding it up to press against his cheek. He turned into the touch. The warmth of the lab was starting to thaw Peter’s body, and Harry could just feel the heat of his hand starting to soak through the glove. The flutter of his eyelashes was almost involuntary—being touched gently, tenderly, was a scarce occurrence these days, even if it was by his own prompting—but it had the desired effect anyway. Something shifted in Peter’s expression, like a layer of suppression falling away. His fingers curled against Harry’s jaw, drawing him forward until they were sharing the same air. Harry licked his lips, letting his hand slide down to wrap his fingers around Peter’s wrist, feeling his pulse beat steady and strong against his fingertips.
“Pete,” he whispered.
He felt Peter shiver. Hearing his name was a weak point for him, always had been. The reassurance that he was still someone behind the mask, that someone knew him— wanted him —as more than just Spider-Man. Harry knew every little trick to get a reaction, every tone to make him melt, he’d been plucking these strings for years at this point.
“Kiss me.”
And Peter did, taking the bait and closing the distance to press his mouth against Harry’s. He gave into the sensation, letting Peter take the lead as he deepened the kiss. The warmth of their lips sliding together, the smooth fabric of the glove against his cheek and the pressure of Peter’s fingers against his jaw and at his waist. It sparked a flame in his chest, a craving for anything Peter would give him, burning hotter as he broke the kiss with a sharp inhale.
“Come on,” Harry breathed, he kept his fingers wrapped firmly around Peter’s wrist. Feeling Peter’s pulse race beneath his fingertips was a thrill he would never give up. No matter how good Peter got at lying, his heart was still honest. “I’ll let you do anything you want.”
~~~
Sex with Peter was always a memorable affair, Harry thought to himself as he gazed up at his bedroom ceiling. His body ached. There was sure to be bruises on his hips tomorrow, and bite marks littered his neck and shoulders. Not that he was complaining, he didn't mind if Pete got a bit rough, in fact, he used to have to really goad him into it. The pain was nothing compared to the warm satisfaction settling heavy in his limbs. No, what really bothered him was Peter, turned away, laying on his side with an arm tucked up under his head.
It didn’t used to be like this. There was a time, back when they were young, when Peter looked at him like he hung the moon and the stars. Where sex was something clumsy, affectionate, loving between them. Afterwards Peter would pepper kisses across his face and ask if he was okay, and he would get that lopsided unintentional smile when Harry assured him he was fantastic . Watching Peter’s scarred back, Harry wondered when it was that Peter became too disgusted to look at him afterwards. Probably around the time he found the empty vials of goblin serum and the used syringes in Harry’s lab.
And yet here they were all these years later, and here he was still letting Peter fuck him. As long as Peter still wanted him in some way. He smiled wryly to himself. How pathetic was he?
He rolled onto his side, banishing painful thoughts from his head in favor of stoking the warmth still glowing in the pit of his stomach. He wanted Peter to look at him again, hear his voice and feel his warmth. He wanted to devour him until there was nothing left.
“Hey, Pete,” he called, barely above a whisper, and reached out to brush aside the hair at his temple where dull grey faded into the brown around it. He leaned forward, his lips grazed the shell of Peter’s ear, taking it between his teeth and tugging lightly before releasing it. “What do you say to another round?”
Peter didn’t make a sound. For a moment, Harry thought he’d fallen asleep, but it was just a moment—a passing notion left from years ago—before he remembered Peter would never fall asleep around him.
“Pete?” He asked again, less flirtation in the question. He let his hand rest against the curve of Peter’s waist, sliding forward to follow toned muscle up to his chest.
Peter shifted, letting out a slow exhale that sounded almost like a sigh, and his hand enveloped Harry’s to keep it pressed against the skin above his heart.
“I still love you, you know.”
The words might as well have been a blade, driven deep into his chest and through his lungs. Harry sucked in a breath, but it felt like he was drowning, choking on his own blood.
“What?” He managed to ask.
“I know you think I hate you, but I don’t.” Peter’s hand curled tighter around Harry’s, fingers sliding between his own until they were as close to holding hands as they had been in twenty five years. “I hate the decisions you made,” he continued. “I hate what you’ve done to yourself, but I don’t hate you. I can’t.”
Harry tore his hand away, skin burning under Peter’s touch, as he sat up. His whole body shook, stomach roiling in violent rejection, and the worst part was that Peter had yet to so much as glance at him.
“Why don't you say that to my face,” Harry hissed, keeping his voice low, even and dangerous despite the sudden roar in his head.
Finally, finally, Peter shifted. Pushing his arm under himself to sit up before turning to meet Harry’s eyes. His gaze was hard, set, determined. It wasn’t Peter looking at him right now, it was Spider-Man, standing like a wall in between them.
“I meant what I said.”
Harry shook his head, clenching his fist against the sheets. A familiar anger crept in, crawling through his veins like poison and threatening to drag him under.
“Why the fuck are you telling me this? You’re the one who ended us.”
“Was I?” Peter asked, his tone cold and his expression colder. Harry bristled, blood roaring to a violent boil at the insinuation.
“Twenty-five years , Pete. Twenty-five years and you suddenly want to tell me you still love me?” His jaw ached under the pressure of his clenched teeth, bone grinding against itself as he tried to control the anger boiling inside him. “I certainly felt the love all those times you beat the shit out of me and I had to crawl back here alone and set my broken ribs—”
“You were putting people in danger—”
“SHUT UP.” Peter’s mouth snapped closed, but he still had that sickeningly determined look on his face. The one he used to admire before he’d been on the wrong end of it one too many times. “You don’t get to do this, Pete! What, do you think you can just tell me you love me and erase the last two decades? Like I’ll suddenly be your embarrassing failure of a boyfriend again and everything will be the way it was when we were kids?”
Peter sucked in a short breath, but if the words affected him, he didn’t show it on his face. Harry’s fingers itched to reach out, to press against Peter’s chest and see if his heart was pounding now . The way Harry’s was.
“No, things can’t ever be the way they were.”
Harry was barely even aware as he snapped, lunging forward to grab Peter’s shoulders and shove him back onto the bed.
“Then why do you keep COMING BACK HERE?” His arms trembled, fingernails biting into Peter’s shoulders from how hard he was clenching them and still Peter stared up at him with that cool, resigned expression. “I’m sure there’s plenty of people in this city who could help you get your rocks off.” Rage pulsed through his blood, settling like a haze over his senses. “Plenty of people you could fuck who don’t make you sick to your stomach. Why do you always come to me.”
Peter just kept staring at him, and there was something so disgustingly close to pity in his eyes it made Harry want to throttle him. He wanted to squeeze the air from his lungs and watch the life drain from his green eyes until they no longer haunted his every thought. He lifted his hand to curl his fingers around Peter’s throat. There was no pressure to the grip, just a lingering threat as Peter’s gaze bored into his in a silent battle between them.
“You know why,” Peter finally said.
Harry sighed, venom draining out of him just as quickly as it had appeared. He drew his hand away from Peter’s neck, tipping sideways to let himself role off Peter and onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, exhaustion suddenly settling heavy into his limbs.
“Same reason I always go to you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, scraping roughly against his scalp before sliding down his face and falling back to the bed. “Is this just how it’s going to be? Going back and forth like this until one of us dies?”
“I don’t know,” Peter answered simply.
“I used to think we’d get old together,” Harry admitted. He tilted his head to the side, reaching out to brush his fingers over the same patch of hair at Peter’s temple. “I don’t even know when you started to go gray.”
Peter tipped his head as the hand fell away, meeting his gaze, and Harry was struck again by just how green his eyes were.
“Harry.” A shiver ran up his spine, because—oh, right—Peter saying his name was a weak point too. “I don’t come here just because I want to have sex with you,” he said. “I used to know you better than anyone else, but I don’t anymore, and…” He hesitated. “And I don’t like it. I guess this is a way for me to ease that. I don’t know what you’re thinking anymore, I don’t know what you do most days, but I know every scar on your body.”
“Most of them are from you,” Harry reminded him.
“I have a good number from you too,” he countered.
“I know,” Harry answered smugly, reaching over to trace his thumb over one of the more jagged scars across Peter’s collar bone, a souvenir from one of their many fights. He could feel Peter’s skin growing warm against his fingers and the scar stood out pleasantly against the flush.
“I just want to know you,” he said again.
“You want to possess me,” Harry amended, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk as he tilted his head up to meet Peter’s gaze. Peter looked away, mouth pulled tight like he was embarrassed at having his ugly motivations laid bare. “It’s okay, Pete. I’m possessive of you too.” Peter glanced back at him, looking mildly startled that he admitted it so readily. Harry propped himself up with one arm. “In case you hadn’t noticed you’re still the most important person in my life.” He shifted to plant his other hand on the opposite side of Peter to hover over him. “If I could, I would lock you up here and never let you go. Just keep you all to myself.”
Peter’s eyes flickered over his face for a moment before his expression cooled.
“You never used to say things like that.”
Harry’s amusement soured, mouth tightening into a frown. That wasn’t the reaction he was going for. He wished they could have one night together that wasn’t shadowed by the past, by Peter’s memory of a perfect him who never existed in the first place.
“I thought them,” he corrected, “I just didn’t say them. I never wanted to share you with the world, Pete.” He reached past Peter’s head to snag the edge of his mask sitting on the bedside table. He sat back, running the fabric lightly through his fingers. “Ever since you became Spider-Man your life has belonged to other people— millions of strangers we didn’t even know— and I always resented it.” He still remembered all of it. Nights spent pacing around his room, sick to his stomach with worry that Peter wouldn’t make it home. Learning how to set bone and stitch up wounds in his lab so he could keep the man he loved from bleeding out on his floor after each fight he threw himself into. Missed dates, rainchecks, and broken promises. The bitter feeling that he could never be enough. “I’m still 100% yours, Pete… but you were never completely mine.”
Next to him Peter shifted, and Harry startled as a hand met his cheek, completely unprompted this time, coaxing him to turn his head with more tenderness than Peter had shown him since the first time they were on opposite sides of a battle. When their eyes met, there was more there than the carefully removed expression he usually adopted when dealing with Harry, not exactly warm but… heavy… full.
“I was always yours.”
Harry swallowed once, twice, three times, blinking past the uncomfortable burning sensation in his eyes. He dropped his gaze to the sheets in between them and chuckled. At the absurdity of the situation? At his own reaction to it? He wasn’t sure.
“That’s a lot of sweet talk for someone who’s already in my bed.”
“Harry.”
Peter’s thumb brushed across his cheek and the openness in his expression broke him. He hadn’t cried in years. He’d almost forgotten how it felt—to have an emotion other than anger welling up inside him until the pressure was too much to hold and it all came spilling out. Tears sliding down his face and choked sobs wrenching themselves from his throats. It was ugly, feeling emotions so intensely like this, but Peter brought his other hand up to cup Harry’s face and wipe away his tears like this disgusting display of weakness was the most endearing thing he'd ever seen. And Harry was just pathetic enough to cling onto it.
He surged forward, wiping away every unspoken line they’d drawn between them to wrap his arms around Peter and bury his face into his shoulder. Peter hugged him back without hesitation, curling around him warm and solid as Harry shuddered with every shaky inhale, and every hard sob that followed.
“I’m not sure I can be what you want me to be anymore,” he forced out through gasps, “I’m not sure I ever was.”
“I never wanted you to be anything other than exactly who you were.”
“But—” Harry protested, sniffling through his words. Disgusting, he was so disgusting. “This is who I am. The parts I never wanted you to see. The jealous, angry, selfish person you can barely stand to look at.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth.” Peter pulled back from the hug, pushing Harry back just enough so he could look at him, like he was proving a point, even though Harry’s face felt splotchy and uncomfortably sticky. Peter brought his hand up again to wipe away one of the tear tracks trailing down Harry’s cheeks. “I thought you were perfect, Harry. I never thought you were flawless.”
Another swell of pure emotion crested over him, and fresh tears replaced the ones wiped away. Harry sniffed once before dipping his head to rest against Peter’s collar bone so he didn’t have to meet his eye as what little composure he’d managed to scrape together crumbled once more. He hated feeling this much, and he hated the stupid ridiculous man who made him feel like this, just as much as he loved him.
“You did always know me better than anyone,” he muttered, barely more than a whisper, and the only indication that Peter had heard was the hand that sought out his own.