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Harley never saw his life going like this.
In fact, even in his best dreams, it hadn’t been this good.
He never thought he’d see the New York skyline during a storm, didn’t think he’d ever see out the window from the ninety-third floor of any building. Hell, he’d been excited on that one school excursion when they made it to thirty five floors.
The night he met Tony seemed like a lifetime ago. The little boy who begged a big city man to take him away from the hell hole he was stuck in.
He was sure as he watched Tony drive away, that it’d be the end of the man. He didn’t hope for a single second that Tony Stark would remember him, let alone recall his name, or offer him an internship years later, he’d just break his own heart wanting for things like that.
Tony remembered though, invested in him from afar, and on the doorstep of his senior year, Harley’s feet touched New York soil- figuratively, with an internship and an all expenses paid year at Midtown High, not to mention a room in Tony’s personal penthouse.
He’d been in the city half a day when he first met Peter Parker.
Harley had a less than sturdy box in his arms, exiting the elevator as a boy his age tried to step on. They’d barely missed running into each other.
He noticed the big brown eyes first, then the shy smile, and the soft voice… ‘sorry.’
Harley didn’t have a second more to think as Tony introduced them. He’d heard about Peter once or twice, but never really paid any attention to what Tony had to say- call it jealousy, or selfishness, he didn’t want to think about the other kid Tony was close to.
He wished he’d listened to those stories standing there. He wished he knew more about Peter Parker, watching him disappear in an elevator, Harley felt his heart go with him.
He wasn’t supposed to move to New York and fall in love, love wasn’t anywhere in his big plan, but Peter had something else to say about that.
It had all lead to here.
Harley was laid face down on the rug in the living room of the Stark penthouse. His shirt was caught somewhere under his chin, pushed up as high as possible without pulling it off- Harley was too lazy to tug it over his head, but Peter was insistent on using Harley as his canvas for the night, and if you’d ever seen those brown eyes beg, you’d understand why Harley never stood a chance.
Peter Parker, in a fluffy, lilac sweater, and what Harley guessed was custom-made sweatpants- unbelievably soft and warm, something only Tony Stark could afford to indulge in. Harley caved to everything Peter ever asked for, still unsure how he ever got so lucky. Peter was the closest thing to an angel Harley would ever get, he still wasn’t completely certain Peter wasn’t an angel, he was a god-given gift from some god.
The paint was a little cold against his skin, but he didn’t mind, he’d suffered through many harsh Tennessee winters, a little paint wouldn’t kill him, not for Peter’s happiness.
Every one of Peter’s strokes was gentle, but there was still a graze in the bristles of the brush against his skin that made him shiver pleasantly.
Harley closed his eyes and tried to focus, tried to guess what Peter was painting. The thunder rumbled through the night, the muscles in Peter’s legs twitching against his sides every now and then when it startled him. Harley thought it was cute.
“Are you in the zone?” Harley smiled to himself,
“Hm?”
“You gonna tell me what you’re painting?” He asked, now that he had Peter’s attention,
“No. It’s supposed to be a surprise…”
“Hm, do I get any clues?”
“No, but you can have a kiss,” Peter offered,
“Fair compromise.”
Harley was already pushing up on his hands when Peter beat him to it, leaning forward to kiss him briefly on the cheek.
Harley quickly turned his head to chase Peter, kissing him properly, never satisfied with anything less than this- all of Peter, all at once. Harley could waste away every second of the rest of this life kissing Peter, and it wouldn’t be a waste at all. It’d be a life very well lived, one he’d hope for again on his return to earth.
He pushed in closer, hand tracing up the curve of Peter’s neck, ignoring the strain their position was putting on his back. All he could think about was Peter- Peter, Peter, Peter.
“You are not cooperating,” Peter scolded, backing his way out of Harley’s kiss, “lie back down and watch the lightning.”
Harley grumbled, but did as he was told, watching the stripes of brilliant white light slice through the dark night. Visibility was bad through the rain, but Harley kind of liked that.
He let everything else fade to nothing, enjoying the soft warmth of Peter, and the unpredictable brush strokes against his back. He’d do anything to make Peter happy, sacrifice anything and endure everything else. He’d take every ounce of pain, and hurt from the boy and bear it himself.
Harley never thought he could love someone like that, but with Peter, it was as natural as breathing. Harley didn’t have to think about it, he’d just protect and cherish on instinct.
He never saw himself this comfortable somewhere. Didn’t ever consider himself someone that could ever ‘fit in.’ He thought home would always remain a concept, something well out of reach of hands like his. Harley never thought he’d be comfortable enough to let his guard down anywhere.
Here, he couldn’t imagine being anyone else. Not with the knowledge that Peter smiled at him like that, turned to him with the prettiest brown eyes and looked at him like Harley was the winning prize at the carnival. Like he was the sunrise over the horizon in all of his favourite colours.
Peter was so pure. Honest. Genuine.
It taught Harley how to be all of those things as well. Made him want to take risks with vulnerability and be better, more deserving of Peter’s love.
Harley was drifting off, Peter humming softly behind the sounds of the storm. His body heat was keeping Harley nice and cosy, and there was no other place he’d prefer to fall asleep. Still, he tried to hang on, every second with Peter was worth saving, and he didn’t want to fall asleep before Tony got home.
The man was always late, but ever worth the wait.
“Are my babies still awake?”
“Are you drunk?” Harley cried, suddenly wide awake as he pushed up on his hands,
“Harley, stay still!” Peter reprimanded,
“What?” Tony frowned as he skipped into the living room,
“‘Are my babies still awake,’” Harley mocked, “what, did you fall off the side of the building on your way in?”
“I’m just trying to be fatherly,” Tony defended, “I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore than you know how to be a son, so zip it,”
“Hi, Mr. Stark.”
Peter, ever obliging and gathering strays in his heart, reached a hand out for Tony to take. The Iron Man took it, rubbing a rough, calloused thumb over the soft skin of Peter’s wrist, careful, as though Peter was the most delicate thing he’d ever held.
He certainly was the most delicate thing Harley had ever touched with his coarse hands.
His work worn fingers, palms like sandpaper certainly didn’t match the smooth, moisturised, even skin of Peter’s hands, much less the baby soft skin of the boys back and thighs. Harley still wondered how he’d ever been allowed to touch something so perfect as Peter.
Tony’s attention shifted to Peter’s portrait, clearly impressed and a little shocked at the quality of the artwork.
“I didn’t know you could paint, Roo,” Tony shook Peter’s hand a little, “why didn’t you tell me? I’d have stocked the lab with paints and canvas’,”
Peter shrugged, “it’s just a hobby when I get bored,”
“This is really good,” Tony insisted,
“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”
Harley could picture the blush in Peter’s cheeks. He’d seen it hundreds of times before, fallen in love with it just as many. This level of happy was a concept to him just a year ago. The streets of New York may be busy with concerts and festivals, it may be at the top of every tourists wish list for good reason, but there isn’t a single other way Harley would spend his Saturday night. Being home, had become his favourite pastime.
“Since Daddy’s home,” Harley pushed back up on his hands, “can you order us some cheesecake please?”
“I spoil you two, don’t I?” Tony frowned,
“Yes,”
“Yeah…” Peter agreed,
Tony gave in without a fight, as always, “FRI?”
“Already done, boss.”
Tony smiled at the boys, and Harley smiled back. Conversation turned to Peter’s painting again, and soon enough, Tony had a paint brush in hand, sat beside the two boys, following Peter’s directions, painting lines and flicks as instructed.
They ate an entire cheesecake between the three of them, words turning into slurs as the night went on and the storm got worse. Half of New York was dark in a power outage when Harley really started to droop, rarely waking himself when he drifted off.
He wasn’t sure when Tony laid down, when he and Peter snuggled up with the man on either side, and left a mess of forks and paints behind them.
He’d never have pictured this in a million years.
A boyfriend, in the softest, most cuddly clothes known to man- a boyfriend, a concept he hadn’t let exist outside his own mind until he left Tennessee. And a mentor, who proved that while not all men are perfect, they could still be good.
Tony restored his faith in men in a way that allowed Harley to love and be loved by Peter. Tony had taken him in, not knowing a thing to do, but open to trying. That was what mattered- it was ending a generational hurt, being better than the men who failed them.
In the past year, Harley had grown more than he had in his entire childhood, and it was thanks to the two men right there with him. He owed them everything, and neither of them would take anything. It drove him mad, but it was another lesson in itself.
Love wasn’t transactional.
Harley didn’t need to tear himself apart to be worthy of this.
Harley wasn’t stuck, like he’d feared for ten years of his life. Even in the silent corners, he was loved, and never truly alone. Tony thought about him all that time. Tony loved who he was, queer or not. Boy or man. Grumpy or happy. Giving or taking.
Harley knew he’d probably regret sleeping in paint in the morning- he’d probably wake up in painful, inflamed hives, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave this. He wanted the evidence to remain a little longer. He wanted every mark of Peter to remain embedded in his bones.
Harley reached an arm over Tony, wrapping it around Peter and pulling him closer. The New York skyline had nothing on this. Everything that mattered to him was right here, even if sometimes he couldn’t find the words to say so.
He had lived for this. To be here. And all the shit had been worth it. So worth it.
Looking at Peter, eyes closed, head on Tony’s bicep, peacefully drifting off, Harley could guess exactly what he’d been painting all night.
All three of them loved the violence of a storm. The rejuvenation of the rain. The togetherness it forced.
Harley pictured the New York skyline, the three of them suited up, coming home right before the weather hit with vengeance.
It was a shared favourite moment for them. Being together.
Harley would forever cherish this. While he and Pete were still young. While they lived with Tony in New York.
Harley’s life would change again in not too much time, with college and whatnot, but this time, he wasn’t scared. He knew where he would always come home to.
“Night, Tony,”
“Night, Harls.”