Archive of Our Own

Harry is paranoid and he has every right to be. It had taken a good deal of experimentation to find the cure hidden in the spiders and within Peter’s altered DNA. Peter had been right to make him wait and verify test results before doing something rash. He checks on the state of his disease--in constant fear that he is irrevocably cursed--and by this point, the tests are done on autopilot.

There’s an anomaly, however, that hadn’t shown up in the other check-ups. He thinks for a moment that he’s dying, that he was stupid to think he could ever escape his fate. He’s been waiting for this moment since his treatment, if he’s to be honest, and everything else in his life is currently going so shockingly well, it has to be now.

But.

It’s not the Osborn curse. None of the signs are the same. All indications are elsewhere and Harry doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief. At least the disease had been expected, but this...whatever it is, it’s new.

When Peter falls through the window later, Harry doesn't say anything. It isn’t contagious, he’s certain; it’s confined to his fucked up body. He pulls up the mask and kisses Peter until the taller man is stumbling after him to the couch.

He tries to forget in the feel of skin and getting fucked, but after Peter passes out and Harry is still wide awake, he tries to figure out the signs--after a bout of sickness that has him thinking he just might die that very night.

~

“Shit,” Harry says, staring at the screen. He’d been the one to suspect, to test himself, but-- “Shit!” he screams loudly, uncaring of the scientists in the lab as they fumble test tubes and break lab equipment.

He doesn’t apologize and he quickly sends all of the information to himself before deleting every scrap of even its history.

He wants to look down at his stomach and see if anything is different. But his heart is beating too fast and he cannot give this away. Not like-- not like this. His hands are shaking as he stumbles out of the lab, leaving a mass of confused scientists in his wake.

Harry shoots them a glare over his shoulder as the whispers begin and goes to the elevator, wishing there were a button to forcefully hit rather than the overly friendly simulation to ask him which floor he wants.

~

“Parker, get your ass over here.”

“Harry, I-- I’m kinda in the middle of something here, can it--”

“No, it can’t.” He scans through the images, cross-references them with what he can find on the internet. He’s got water in his glass, but he’s itching for something stronger.

He hears someone shouting in the background and practically rolls his eyes. “Peter. I need you here. Now.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, yet still he gets, “I’ll be there just as soon as I--”

“Now.”

“Yeah, now. That-- that’s what I was saying. See you...now. Ish.”

Harry hangs up the phone without another word and silently fumes. He chooses rage over the fear and anxiety that threaten his resolve.

“Fuck,” he says, and downs the water. It doesn’t help his nerves.

~

“Oooooh, Harry. Sounds like your boyfriend got you on a short--”

Peter webs the guy’s mouth over. “Shut up,” he says, with a scowl that may or may not be communicated through his mask. He then murmurs, mostly to himself, “But yes.”

He sighs, leaving the criminal stuck outside the police station with a badly scrawled note. He drops the backpack the man had stolen back off with its rightful owner and swings up to Harry’s apartment.

Peter pries the unlatched window open enough to crawl through and pulls off his mask. He ruffles his hair back into shape, his gaze searching until he finds the figure he’s looking for. He starts to smile. “Harry, what…” He trails off.

Harry is sitting, elbows on his knees and fingers pressed tip to tip before him. He does not look at Peter.

“Har?”

There is still only silence and Peter quickly racks his brain for anything he should be apologizing for. Harry throws his fair amount of fits, but that usually involves shouting or ungodly amounts of sarcasm. Quiet Harry is worrying.

Peter approaches slowly and has only gone a few steps when Harry begins to speak.

“You know, all this Spider-Man business has been causing me problems since day one.” Harry’s voice is level, but not calm.

“You know I can’t give up being Spider-Man,” Peter starts with a nervous chuckle.

Harry’s eyes flicker to him and the glare is so devastating it burns.

Peter swallows and closes his mouth.

“Your genetics are fucked,” Harry says. “Almost as fucked as mine.” He parts his hands and reaches for the glass.

Peter eyes the glass warily. It’s...clear. Vodka is not Harry's drink of choice, but it could be gin... Or rum... Or... Peter doesn’t smell alcohol. This is even more unnerving. “Is that...water?” Peter asks, surprised, because he apparently can’t quit while he’s ahead--or only slightly behind, as he suspects the case may be.

Harry laughs and looks down at the glass before taking a sip. “Why, yes, Parker, it is.” He looks at Peter again and Peter tries to keep his face as neutral as possible. “Any guess,” Harry says, placing the glass back down, “as to why I’m drinking water?”

Peter cracks a wary smile. “It’s important to stay hydrated?” he tries.

Harry chuckles, but the sound is humorless. “Guess again.”

Peter wonders if he should leap back out the window. He purses his lips and thinks. Not much comes to mind. “I don’t know.” This is not the correct answer, he assumes, as Harry’s hands ball into fists. “You’re pregnant?” he jokes, hoping to diffuse the situation.

Harry’s entire body seems to crumple, slumping back into the couch. Tears come unbidden down his cheeks.

“Harry, what--” Peter takes several quick steps closer and sees Harry’s bottom lip pulled between his teeth, the small jerk of his head that Peter can’t quite read. “Holy shit.” His expression is caught between a smile and something else, disbelief overcoming it quickly. “You’re kidding, right? I mean, that’s not even…” He takes a seat on the couch and stares.

“Would I fucking joke about something like this, Pete?” Harry grits out, turning his body inwards, away from Peter. He scrubs furiously at his eyes, hating that he’s crying, but Peter’s still-gloved hand grabs his wrist.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Peter does his best to keep his voice calm, to soothe. He curls around Harry’s back. “Are you serious?”

Harry gives an abortive nod, waves his hand towards his tablet where it sits on the coffee table.

Gingerly, Peter picks it up and holds it in front of both of them. Harry sees this as a sign to take initiative, bringing up charts and scans with quick flicks of his fingertips.

“Holy shit,” Peter says again, a whisper this time.

Harry laughs bitterly. “Ain’t life full of surprises,” he says, with affectation.

Peter leans his head on Harry’s shoulder and stares at the tablet with wide eyes.

~

“Gwen!”

Gwen glares at her phone, Peter’s voice far too loud for-- “Peter, it’s 3 AM.”

“Whaddaya get when you combine the DNA of two genetically-altered humans?” he continues without apology or preamble.

Gwen lays her phone beside her ear on the pillow and does not even attempt answering. She just grunts in acknowledgment and starts to drift off again.

“A baby!” It’s a whispered shout and immediately followed by crashing sounds from the other end of the line.

Her groggy brain tries to catch up. “What--” She rubs her eyes. “Peter, are you drunk?”

“No-- well, yeah, maybe. But I gotta keep drinkin’ or Harry will and he is not allowed.” Peter’s voice has turned serious, his words obviously meant for someone on the other end of the line. (“Fuck you, Parker,” she hears muffled through the phone and, yep, definitely Harry.)

Gwen isn’t oblivious to the words Peter has said, but her first conclusion is biologically impossible--and then she has to reevaluate it given the fact that her ex-boyfriend has spider powers and this is her life now. She props herself up on her elbows. “Can you just--” She sighs, waits for the murmured conversation to stop so she has Peter’s attention again. It is far too late--early?--to shout at her phone. “Can you please tell me what exactly is going on?”

“What?” Peter says, humming. “Oh! Oh, right. Thaaaat.” She hears him trying to cover the phone, unsuccessfully. “You wanna tell her, Harry?” (“Why would I--”)

“What?” She’s getting a headache, so this damn well better be worth it. If it’s-- No. She’s not going there until they do. She refuses.

“Alright, alright,” Peter says, sighing into the phone. “So...how are things in England?”

She’s pretty sure her eyes could roll right into the back of her head right now. “Peter.”

“I-- I’m gonna be a dad. We’re gonna be dads, Gwen. Holy shit. I--” He cuts off.

“Gwen, this is Harry. Can you please explain to Peter that just because we’ve somehow created a child doesn’t mean we are having a child or--fuck--raising one.” Harry sighs.

“So, you guys really-- You’re really?”

“Unfortunately,” Harry tells her. “I ran all of the tests myself.”

“Oh.” Her curiosity is piqued, however, scientifically. “Could I-- I mean would it be weird to ask if I could take a look?”

Harry lets out a long breath and she hears a murmur of Peter’s voice followed by-- “I know.” It’s not aimed at her and she waits another second. “Sure, Gwen,” he says, and it’s a bit off how he says her name, like he’s trying hard to not be sarcastic. “I’ll email them to you.”

“Okay,” she says, uncertain if she’d expected that answer or not. “Thanks.”

There’s the sound of the phone falling or being passed between people, general shuffling noises, and then Peter is back. “I gotta go, Gwen. I-- You’re the best.”

“Okay. Peter, just...keep me updated, okay?”

“Mmhm,” Peter replies distractedly and Gwen rolls her eyes.

~

Harry’s ass bumps the desk and he still pulls Peter against him. “Come on,” he whispers, but it’s more like a command.

Peter places a gentle hand on Harry’s stomach, the bump is almost unnoticeable but Peter is hyper aware of it. “I’m not gonna hurt it, am I?”

Harry slaps Peter across the face and Peter rubs at his cheek, although the pain was brief and not unexpected. Harry is bad enough with his impulse control. Harry being gradually flooded with pregnancy hormones is kind of a monster sometimes. “Parker, that’s bullshit. Fuck me already.”

“Harry--” He takes in the glare and lifts his hand in apology. He smirks. “Princess doesn’t like it when things don’t go his way, does he?”

“Peter, I swear to god, I will cut this thing out of me if you don’t fuck me.”

Peter pauses. “That’s disgusting, Harry.” He tilts his head and watches Harry’s nostrils flare. “You wouldn’t...would you?”

Harry raises an eyebrow, “How ’bout you make it so neither of us ever has to find out?” His eyes narrow dangerously, but his hips hitch up towards Peter.

“What is it I ever saw in you?” Peter teases, but he’s leaning down to kiss Harry anyway. He hikes one of Harry’s legs into the upturned crook of his elbow and presses himself against the shorter man. He’s hard through the layers of fabric between them and slowly grinds himself against Harry as he kisses him, laughing as Harry starts to make little needy sounds that are completely unbefitting of a CEO worth billions.

“Shut up, Parker,” Harry returns between kisses. Harry’s hands are like claws as he makes quick, rough work of Peter’s fly, practically biting Peter’s tongue as he concentrates and causing Peter to pull back with a whine.

“Watch it,” he says, and helps Harry with his own pants.

Harry’s jeans are still dangling off a foot and the fact that he had foregone underwear is no surprise as Peter’s cock grazes the inside of Harry’s thigh. Harry is biting his lip and his body is quivering ever so slightly. “God, you’re beautiful when you’re quiet,” Peter says, earning himself a hard look from his very unhappy boyfriend.

“Ha ha,” Harry mock-laughs, but then he’s scrabbling open a drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube triumphantly. He coats his own fingers and reaches between their bodies, his head falling back against the desk with a worryingly loud clunk.

Peter is the one at a loss now as he watches Harry’s surprisingly thick fingers work himself open. The sight of Harry fingering himself as the hard line of his cock arcs against his belly is one Peter tries to memorize. He gives his own cock a quick stroke and then a squeeze. Harry will kill him if he ruins this.

“Peter,” Harry groans, cocking open a leg, his eyes closed. He sounds like a melodramatic porn star as he huffs and moans and Peter knows it’s all just a show to fuck with him. “Oh, Peter,” he moans, pushing another finger into himself. It goes on like this for another minute before Harry is peeking at him from beneath his eyelashes. “Oh, you’re there. Still not fucking me. Looks like I don’t need you for this anyway. You can leave,” Harry says matter-of-factly, betrayed only by the minuscule quirk at the corner of his lips.

“Guess you’re right,” Peter agrees and moves to pull away. He laughs at the glare Harry shoots at him, the leg that tightens around his as Harry’s jeans finally fall to the floor. He picks up the lube from where it’d been abandoned on the desk and slicks himself up with it.

Harry frees his fingers and grips the edge of the desk. He’s biting his lip and when Peter presses into him, the moan he lets out is loud but genuine. “God,” he breathes and it’s almost like they’ve never done this before, the way he acts as Peter begins to move. Harry is usually vocal about what he wants and doesn’t want and often uses sarcasm to get his way, but now it’s like he’s in awe. His lips part, but no words come, just little gasps.

“You okay, Harry?” Peter asks, because it worries him just a little.

Harry nods dumbly. He starts to move with Peter, fucking himself back against him in the slow rhythm Peter has begun. “You don’t know how much I wanted this,” he says, and quirks a smile at Peter.

Peter smiles back and leans in, his hand cupping Harry’s cheek. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, Peter,” Harry says, with a roll of his eyes, but he isn’t actually teasing Peter. It’s more akin to embarrassment by the way he blushes and Peter thinks it’s just about the cutest thing ever.

So he gives him what he wants. He fucks Harry, burying his cock as deep into Harry’s ass as it’ll go and earning himself the tightening grip of Harry’s fingers on his arms, his back; sloppy kisses that break off so Harry can breathe.

“You want me to--?” Peter says, and nods downward.

“I never thought I’d say this in my life, Pete, but I don’t think you need to touch my cock.” Peter smirks and Harry glares, but it’s ruined as his eyes slide closed and Peter shifts his hips. “Oh. Do that again. Please.”

“‘Please’?” Peter nips at his throat, his collarbone. “Didn’t think the great Harry Osborn even knew the word.” He complies anyway, pulling out almost all the way only to better angle himself and sink back in.

“Please and-- ah! And thank you,” Harry snarks with a gasp. His hands fist Peter’s t-shirt. “God, I love your cock,” he murmurs.

Just my cock? Peter wants to ask, but he’s done playing. He fucks Harry in earnest now, loving every little whimper Harry makes as he does. It’s different this time and he can’t bring himself to mock Harry about it, not yet, not as he slides his cock in and feels Harry squeeze tight around him. “You’re so-- I love you, Har,” he breathes and he means it, even as his hips stutter and he tips over the edge to the feel of Harry clenching and spasming around him.

Harry keeps his legs wrapped tight around Peter for a minute, catching his breath.

Harry murmurs something and it takes Peter a moment to catch on.

“Again?” Peter asks, his breathing loud between them. “Really?”

“Bedroom,” Harry says, with a definitive nod.

Peter scoops Harry into his arms, ignoring the other man’s protests.

~

“When do you think it happened?” Peter asks, lying there in the silence of their afterglow.

“Remember that time we were both drunk and we broke the--”

“The piano, right!” Peter exclaims, smacking himself on the head. Harry always calls it by its fancy name but Peter has butchered it--perhaps purposely--every time. He thinks it over. “Well, we definitely didn’t use a condom.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Peter, please. We used condoms twice.”

Peter puts his hand on Harry’s stomach again. “An important lesson in why you should always use protection, kids.”

“It’s not like we have to keep it,” Harry says and Peter hops over him, straddling him, and puts his hands over Harry’s belly like earmuffs.

“Don’t. Don’t say things like that. Peter Junior might hear you.”

Harry knows that he’s just joking but-- “‘Peter Junior’?” he repeats, scoffing. “I would never. No Osborn--”

“Parker. Parker-Osborn. Osborn-Parker.” Peter is grinning at him, but it falls. “No, but...I get it, you know.” He scratches his head. “If you don’t wanna…” Peter can’t find his words and gestures to the area of Harry’s stomach instead.

“I’d be passing along a curse,” Harry says, his gaze unfocused but aimed towards the ceiling.

“That we found a cure for,” Peter whispers, leaning down to nuzzle Harry’s throat.

“I’m twenty-one years old for Christ’s sake, Peter.”

“And yet you’re the head of a multi-billion dollar company.”

Harry smiles at that. “That’s true. And by the time this kid is old enough to take over, I’ll only be forty and can spend all the company’s money on my third wife.” His eyes flicker to Peter and away. “She’ll be named something classy,” he adds, humming. “Like...Trixie.”

Peter shoves at Harry until his boyfriend actually looks at him. The kiss Harry receives is soft and it melts him just enough to sweep away his teasing smile. Peter seems amused by this. “And where will I be?”

Something catches in Harry’s throat at the answer that comes to mind, but he says it anyway. “Your line of work? Dead, probably.”

Peter swallows, starts shaking his head fervently. “Nah.” He swallows again. “No. I’ll be careful.”

“How many times have I told you to be careful and you’ve come home with something broken or bleeding profusely?” Harry asks seriously, his smile slightly incredulous.

Peter looks chagrined, but he screws up his face and moves forward. “Yeah, but that’s just, like...you.” He shrugs exaggeratedly. “I’ll be careful for this little guy,” he says, hand hovering just above Harry’s stomach.

“You’re an idiot, Parker,” Harry says, but presses his hand over Peter’s and down onto his stomach.

“Yeah, well, you’re having my idiot baby.”

Harry sighs exaggeratedly. “I’m obviously much dumber than I thought. All that money on boarding school was wasted.”

Peter snatches a pillow and smacks Harry lightly with it. Any lingering tension is broken at the sound of their shared laughter and Peter kisses Harry again, too happy to worry yet.

~

Finals are over and Peter has managed the eke by through another semester of chaos, on top of Harry’s news. Summer is here and he can pretend to relax for a bit. He finishes up crime-fighting early and it is, as always, so nice to crawl into bed with Harry and cuddle.

Peter wakes up to Harry groaning in pain, however. Peter himself is sporting a still-impressive shiner--it had healed a bit, after all, more than a normal human’s would’ve--but he ignores it, alert and concerned in the two seconds it takes to wake up fully.

“Harry, Har, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it the--” He stares at his boyfriend with wide eyes.

Harry just moans in misery and curls in on himself. “I’m dying,” Harry manages eventually, and something about it calms Peter down.

Peter racks his brain for a moment before he asks, “What hurts?” Harry doesn’t answer but Peter examines the way his boyfriend is clutching his stomach in the darkness of their room. “Lower abdomen?” he guesses, and Harry manages to shoot him a glare. “Okay, okay,” Peter says, holding up his hands in supplication. His sleep-deprived mind kicks in and he nods to himself. “It’s just growing pains.”

“‘Just’?” Harry practically growls.

“Yeesh.” Peter maneuvers himself behind Harry, spooning him. He places a gentle hand over the beginnings of a baby bump and hums. “It’s perfectly normal.”

“Nothing about this situation is normal, Peter.” He doesn’t tell Peter how comforted he is by the way Peter molds to his back, the heat of Peter’s body.

Peter places a gentle kiss at the nape of Harry’s neck and rubs Harry’s abdomen in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

They manage to get him prenatal vitamins the next day without having to divulge too much information, thanks to Harry’s wealth.

~

“I’ve never even told her I’m Spider-Man,” Peter says, chewing at the cuticle of his thumbnail. They’ve been standing outside the house for five minutes.

Harry all but slaps Peter’s hand down, rolling his eyes. “Peter, she knows.”

Peter’s face scrunches. “Well, I know she knows, but she doesn’t know, I mean. Yeah. She knows, but--”

“You’re rambling. Do you think that trait’s genetic?” Harry sounds almost thoughtful and Peter nudges his arm against Harry’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah.” He shifts. “You really think we should tell her about this?” His eyebrows are climbing into his hairline and his expression is skeptical.

“It was your idea, Parker.” Idly, he fingers the carton of cigarettes in his pocket. He hasn’t worn this jacket in a couple of months, but there’s a chill in the night air as they get closer to fall. The feel of the pack in his hand is so natural; he’s slipping the top up and sliding out a cigarette without a second thought. He’s actually extremely nervous as he’s only seen Peter’s aunt the once since they even started seeing each other.

This time it’s Peter who pushes Harry’s hand away. “Har,” he scolds, and it’s then that Harry realizes he was lifting the cigarette to his lips. Peter takes it from him and Harry swallows.

Harry wants nicotine and alcohol and a myriad of less legal coping mechanisms, but Peter threads his fingers through his and gives his hand a squeeze instead.

They approach the door a unified front, not wanting to be surprised by May a second time. The doorbell rings and she appears after a shout.

With a smile, May embraces Peter and Harry in turn. It’s thankfully brief as Harry is nervous enough without her pressed up against his fucking baby bump. Harry wishes very badly he had had that cigarette.

He nods, giving her a smile--he’s good at appearances when he wants to be. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Parker.”

She gives him a look that screams “it’s May,” but doesn’t correct him, leading them back into the house, and Harry’s gaze goes immediately to Peter, who seems to have been watching the interaction carefully.

Quickly and almost surreptitiously, Peter steps into Harry’s path and brushes his knuckles over Harry’s slightly distended abdomen. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says, because that’s all he can do. He takes Harry’s hand back into his own and drags him towards the house. “Come on. You know Aunt May’s a great cook.”

Aunt May is in the kitchen and a second after the door shuts, she’s glancing over her shoulder. “You can hang your jacket there by the door, Harry.” Her voice is friendly, but her words send a little thrill of fear through him.

Harry looks up at Peter questioningly and Peter moves to help him take his coat off. “It’s fine,” Peter whispers, hanging the coat.

Harry shivers slightly, whether from the lingering chill of the outdoors or because of the possible exposure of his condition, it isn’t clear. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this, Parker. I can’t believe--”

“Peter, Harry!” May calls and Peter grins, pleased with the interruption.

Peter forces Harry to take a seat and goes about setting the table as May places their meal down.

“It’s nice to have people to cook for,” May says, almost offhandedly. She unties her apron. “So often it’s just me nowadays. Don’t get me wrong,” she adds quickly, “I’m glad you’re out there in the world, Peter.” She makes a vague gesture and her smile is tight. “Keeping busy, I’m sure.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says, without looking at her.

“Staying safe,” she adds, pointedly, and Peter glances up at her with a polite smile.

Suddenly, Peter blanches and looks down, smile faltering and faked. “You know, as much as I can.”

“Uh-huh,” Aunt May returns. She goes to pull out her chair and Peter beats her to it. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“Everything looks delicious, May,” Harry tells her earnestly. The mixture of smells might turn his stomach, but it isn’t unbearable. He’s certain it has nothing to do with her cooking but rather the thing growing in him.

“Why, thank you, Harry,” May says, smoothing her napkin over her lap. “Would you like a glass of wine with dinner? I usually don’t, but--”

“No,” Harry asserts. “But thank you.” He eyes the bottle in the kitchen and sighs.

Peter drums his fingers on the tabletop until Aunt May scolds him.

“Are you signed up for classes?” May asks.

Peter nods. “Yeah, but they don’t start for another month.”

A silence comes over them then and Peter starts serving himself. May follows and, under her scrutiny, Harry finally goes. He takes a bit of everything out of politeness, but he’s pretty sure the only thing he can currently stomach is the mashed potatoes.

“Mmm,” Peter intones, as if sensing his boyfriend’s distress. “These green beans are amazing, Aunt May.”

She eyes him suspiciously and Harry does his best to secret away food into his napkin. He puts a hand to his mouth and nods, his fork clinking against his plate gently but purposely. “Superb,” he agrees.

May smiles at him and Harry smiles back. He takes a real bite of food this time, only for--

“How long have you two been together now?”

Peter shrugs. “Eight, nine months?” he guesses, pretending to be nonchalant. It’s been over a year since they started doing whatever it was they were doing, but it hadn’t been at all official then, not before Gwen left for England.

“And how long have you been living together, hm?” May scrutinizes him.

“Uh.” Peter looks to Harry, who seems inordinately fascinated by the ceiling. “Six months?”

“And you’re only just telling me? You used to come here to grab clothes. One day, I look in your room and it’s practically empty. Honey…” She frowns at him.

“Thought you’d figure it out,” Peter says. He’s looking at May but he can feel the force of Harry’s gaze on him. “But that’s, uh, that’s not really what we’re here for. To tell you officially that we’re living together, I mean.”

“Oh?” She seems to realize her fork is in her hand and sets it down on the plate. She looks between them again.

“I... I mean, well, Harry is--” Harry kicks him and he winces. He chews on his lip. He is very close to chickening out. They continue the meal, making vague chitchat. They’re nearly finished by the time Harry’s willing to take the initiative and say something.

“Mrs. Parker,” Harry says, the formality giving his words some of the gravitas he needs to capture her attention and inject confidence into his tone. “I know you’ve been like a mother for Peter.” It’s harder than he thought.

“Gosh, it sounds like you’re about to ask me for his hand in marriage.” She laughs it off, “But you’re just kids.”

Peter laughs nervously and Harry looks fairly queasy. In fact-- “Excuse me.” Harry pushes back his chair and realizes he doesn’t know where he’s going until Peter points.

“First door on the right,” he reminds him and Harry nods, his feet carrying him from the dining room swiftly. Peter debates what he should be saying, May’s brows are furrowed in concern, but his body moves of its own accord after Harry, hesitating only a second to grab a water glass then catching the door just before it closes. He squeezes his way in.

“Peter, you do not want to see this,” Harry manages, dropping down and leaning over the toilet bowl. It’s the only warning he gives before he feels like he’s retching up his guts. He hasn’t had anything that he’s come to think of seriously as morning sickness thus far, but a bout of nausea isn’t new.

Peter waits until Harry’s body is done shuddering to hunker next to him, rubbing his back. “You alright?” he asks.

“Just...give me a minute.” Another little tremble passes through him. “Go back to your aunt.”

“Should I, you know, tell her?” Peter’s chewing on his cuticle again, but Harry isn’t even looking at him, eyes closed against the nausea.

Harry’s throat works and Peter doesn’t know if he’s trying to speak or trying not to throw up.

Peter’s hand goes for the door--

“Wait.” Peter stops, but then Harry adds, “To tell her, I mean. I should be there.” He doesn’t want to imagine being trapped in the bathroom while Peter’s aunt finds out their news.

Peter swallows, turns the knob. “Okay.”

“How is he? What happened?” Harry hears and then the door latches and the voices are muffled, moving away. This is going to make it more real, he knows. He pulls his phone from his pocket and hesitates. It’s going to be hard enough for May to wrap her head around as it is, even with the scans from this morning--but between the charts and the bump he thinks he’ll get the point across. Throwing up has probably helped. He brings up the file folder with a few flicks of his thumb and pushes the phone back into his pocket.

He still feels a bit sick, but he’s pretty sure he’s done barfing. He flushes the toilet and searches the cupboard until he finds an unopened toothbrush--he’ll replace it later--and goes about making himself respectable again.

With fresh breath, fixed hair, and straightened out clothes, he feels as ready as he can be to tell Peter’s aunt that he’s pregnant. Alright, that’s a lie, but he promised Peter that he would. He’s not sure why, at this point. He downs the glass of water Peter brought for him.

He emerges to find May fussing and Peter trying to explain without explaining.

“Harry! Are you alright, honey?” May is pushing away from Peter to step towards him.

“He’s Spider-Man.”

Peter gapes like a fish, then starts laughing--somewhat hysterically.

“Peter,” Harry says, and his voice is steel.

Aunt May seems at a loss at the suddenness of this proclamation. She turns to Peter and he meets her eyes.

Peter gives the tiniest of nods. “Yep. That is...accurate.”

“I know that,” May says, whacking him on the arm. “Is that what all this was about?”

“Not...quite…” Peter looks to Harry, whose glare seems to convey his meaning perfectly. That being that this is yet another responsibility of Peter’s.

“Then what?” May asks with a sigh. “Peter, your friend here is obviously sick and you’re being evasive and--”

“Harry’s pregnant,” he blurts and watches the shock and confusion overtake her expression. “I...got Harry pregnant.” His hands are gesturing in ways that probably don’t mean anything, but he can’t stop them.

“What?” she says, and her voice has gone all strangled and quiet.

“He’s telling the truth,” Harry interjects. “We both know he’s a terrible liar.” He unbuttons his sweater and very purposefully does not look down at his stomach.

“Peter…” she whispers, then, “How? I don’t-- I don’t understand.”

Peter cringes. “I was maybe not as safe as I shoulda been…”

“It’s our altered genetics,” Harry says, relieving him. He begins explaining as he shows her the charts and scans, absently running his hand over his bump as he does.

Eventually, it’s quiet and she gives a startled little laugh. “I thought when you were with Gwen you knew the importance of condoms, Peter.”

Peter scoffs at her. “It’s all my fault?” he asks incredulously. “Have you seen this one?”

“You fathered a child, Peter. You have to take responsibility for your actions.” Her mouth forms a little “o” and her attention is back on Harry. “I’m so sorry, dear, if someone”--she jerks her head toward Peter--“had told me, I would’ve made something special for you. Is there anything I can get you?”

Peter is mouthing “what the fuck” but Harry just smiles charmingly at her. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine.”

“I’ll make you some tea,” she says. “Herbal.” She starts off towards the kitchen then turns back and ushers Harry to the couch. “Oh, sit down, sit down.” She glares at Peter. “Honestly, someone would think I raised you without any manners.”

“Honestly, Peter,” Harry teases the second she’s out of earshot.

Peter kisses him to shut him up. It’s an extremely legitimate reason.

~

Peter crawls into the apartment at about 6 AM. It's been a particularly gruelling night. He wants to sleep for the next two weeks straight and he doesn’t feel at all like that’s an exaggeration.

He manages to make it to the bedroom--although he seriously debates just passing out on the couch--and he’s grimy, but--

Harry’s not in their bed.

Peter blinks a few times, processing this. A scenario pops into his head: his identity is discovered, his relationship is already public knowledge anyway, Harry has been kidnapped by some crazed villain and is being held over a vat of acid.

The idea is enough to keep him from dropping into the sleep coma he so desperately desires.

He keeps himself perfectly still and listens for anything, any indication of Harry’s presence. Super spider hearing isn’t really a thing, so it’s hard for him to tell if the little noises in the apartment are normal or if they’re supposed to be telling him something.

There’s blood in the kitchen and bloody footprints staggering out.

Peter can feel his heart in his throat. He follows the trail. “Harry?” he calls finally, and hears a groan and the sloshing of water as he approaches the bathroom.

The door is ajar, a smear of red on the frame. Peter is doing his best to remain calm, but coming home to find blood with the kind of life he lives is generally a very bad sign. He pushes the door open and finds Harry in the bathtub, the water swirled with red. He has to swallow to speak. “Harry... Har, what happened? Are you okay? Please be okay.”

Harry’s eyes are closed and Peter is two seconds from checking his pulse when Harry nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Just peachy.”

“But the--” He suddenly, distinctly remembers Harry threatening to remove-- There’s not nearly enough blood for that, but it isn’t helping Peter’s mind any. “What happened?” he asks again, has to choke it out.

Harry’s eyes open and he raises an eyebrow. “I cut my foot,” he says, and raises it out from the tub.

Peter is so relieved he could punch Harry in the face right about now, but-- “You cut your foot...so you took a bath?”

Harry shrugs, the murky water sloshing over his chest. He sinks into it and Peter has no idea what kind of face he must be making as his boyfriend does this. Peter pulls off his gloves and goes to touch Harry’s foot. “You’re freezing,” he says, shocked.

Harry hums. “I’ve been here a while.”

“Why?” Peter asks, but he’s examining the injury. It’s not as bad as all the blood would indicate, but feet tend to bleed a lot. He grabs the hand towel hanging near the sink and gingerly blots it dry.

Watching Peter now, Harry bites his lip before he responds. “Can’t move,” he says.

Peter’s eyebrows are knit in concern. “Can’t or won’t?” He’s opening up the first aid kit and wrapping Harry’s foot perhaps too many times with gauze.

“Both,” Harry says, with another shrug.

“We’re getting you out of this,” Peter tells him and reaches into the tub to unplug it.

The water had been cold, but Harry starts shivering violently as it drains away. “No.”

“‘No’?” Peter repeats. “You’re just going to stay here indefinitely?”

Harry nods.

Sighing, Peter settles himself on the floor. “Fine. I’ll stay here with you.” He lays down, closes his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, trying to suppress the chattering of his teeth.

“Hmmm? Me? I’m gonna sleep.”

Harry peeks over the edge of the tub at him. “On the floor?”

Peter slits open one eye. “Says the guy who refuses to leave the bathtub.”

Harry leans his forehead against the porcelain. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Every single part of my body hurts. Moving is not something I’m currently capable of.” He looks at his bandaged food and slowly raises the other beside it. “I think my feet are swelling,” he adds.

Peter stands and stretches. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay?” Harry asks, confused, but then Peter is scooping him up out of the now filthy bathtub. Harry’s body is dripping wet, however, and Peter has to make him stand for a second as he wraps him in one of the giant, ridiculously soft towels Harry rarely actually uses.

Peter carries him to the bedroom and Harry stays quiet other than the hiss he lets out when his injured foot hits a lamp.

“You look disgusting,” Harry tells Peter when they’ve settled into the bed.

Peter only smiles. “I’ll change the sheets in the morning.”

“It is morning,” Harry argues, because he feels like being difficult.

“Uh-huh,” Peter agrees. He’s managed to divest himself of the red and blue spandex, but not to put anything else on. He smells like sweat and he’s dirty and--

Harry burrows his face into Peter’s shoulder and inhales deeply.

He falls asleep first.

~

“I’m coming to New York,” Gwen says, and Peter pulls his phone from his ear to check the time.

“When?” He looks over to where Harry is passed out beside him and slowly extricates himself from the bed. He pads as quietly and carefully as he can out of the room--meaning he only runs into one piece of furniture on his way out.

“Tomorrow,” she says and Peter flops down on the couch, lying on his stomach.

“What? Really?” He doesn’t quite know what day it is, so he isn’t sure if he should be surprised or not.

“Yes.” He hears her sigh. It sounds vaguely amused and it makes him smile. “My mom is picking me up at the airport so you and the prince don’t need to worry about it, but I thought I’d let you know.”

“No, that’s awesome, Gwen. I’m excited to see you. I’m sure Har will be, too, now that he doesn’t see you as competition. Well, I don’t think.”

Gwen chuckles. “Oh, I see.”

“He’s carrying my baby so he probably assumes he’s got me locked down.”

“Doesn’t he?” Her tone is light, teasing, and Peter laughs.

“Yeah, but I don’t need him to know that. He’s got a big enough ego as it is.”

She clears her throat. “Hey, Peter…”

“Yeeees?” He rolls onto his side.

“Would it be weird if I asked Harry if I could run a couple of tests?”

He can perfectly picture her scrunched up face as she asks and laughs. “I don’t-- I don’t think so? But that’s really up to Harry.”

“What’s up to me?” Harry asks, his hair sticking up in every direction.

Peter half-covers the phone. “Gwen wants to perform all sorts of invasive experiments on you.”

“Great,” Harry murmurs. He wanders over to the coffee maker and stares at it longingly, as has become something of a habit for him.

Peter turns his attention back to the phone. “He’s all for it,” he tells her.

There’s another sound on the other end of the line, but Gwen says, sounding distracted, “Good.” Then adds, “Anyway, Peter, I gotta go. I’ll see you soon.”

“Byeeeee.” Peter hangs his arm over the edge of the couch and lets the phone slip onto the floor. He listens to the clanking sounds of the kitchen and curls up, closing his eyes.

Harry comes over a minute later, pushing him into a better position--for Harry, of course. “Why?” Harry asks, gesturing in the general direction of Peter and his phone.

Peter’s legs stretch over and onto Harry’s lap and he yawns. “Gwen’s coming back tomorrow.”

“Do you still have feelings for her?”

It’s so sudden that Peter nearly chokes. “I-- I’m getting the distinct feeling that this is a test, Har.” He laughs, eyes crinkling, but Harry just looks at him. Peter sighs. “’Course I do. I probably always will.” Pausing, he adds, “It was weird before she left, you know, because you came back and I…” He blows out a long, slow breath. “I had feelings for both of you. But there’s a reason I chose you, Harry, and it’s not because Gwen was leaving, alright?”

“What was it then?” Harry’s voice is calm and level but his eyes are calculating.

Peter’s never told Harry about the promise he made to Gwen’s father, but he knows Harry can assume that he was fearing for her life. It used to be a big problem with Harry, too--still is--but Harry is...Harry. He hesitates.

Harry unceremoniously pushes Peter’s legs off of him and stands up. He’s slipping on a discarded pair of jeans--too tight for him now, although he doesn’t bother with the fly--before Peter even thinks to react.

“Hey. Harry-- Harry, what’re you doin’?” Peter scrabbles off of the couch to stand, but Harry ignores him, bending down to pull on his shoes. He hesitates next to the door only to grab a jacket.

Peter approaches him like he’s a wild animal. He gets close, but not too close. He doesn’t try to make physical contact. Harry very purposefully does not look at him.

“Harry, please.” The kettle starts whistling and Peter’s mouth opens and closes. “Look, I’ll-- I’ll make you tea and tell you all about it if you just...come back to the couch, alright? Sit down?”

“I need some air,” Harry grits out, and he shoves his keys into his pocket.

“You don’t have your phone,” Peter tries.

Harry opens the door and it slams shut behind him.

Peter bites his lip and pauses. He turns off the stove and sits down on the couch. What is he going to tell Harry? What can he say other than that he loves him, which he’s already said...although usually during sex. Has it only been during sex? He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Harry isn’t exactly helpless and Peter knows he’ll be pissed if Peter questions him, but the guy is pregnant and self-destructive so he does what he can. That being putting on his costume and stalking Harry.

It takes him a few minutes to find him, but the shutter of a camera and a shout of “Mr. Osborn!” have him on the right trail. He wants to web the camera right out of the paparazzo’s hand, but that might be suspicious--to the media and to Harry. Instead, he grits his teeth behind his mask and follows silently.

Peter stops a purse-snatcher before he’s gotten five feet from the victim and webs him up for the cops. The woman has barely told him thanks before he’s off again after Harry. He perches on a rooftop and watches.

Harry may be angry mostly because he’s hormonal, but this is Peter’s fault and he needs to fix it--especially since Harry’s whole reason for being hormonal is pretty much Peter’s fault, too.

It’s only when Harry staggers and trips, his arm going protectively to his belly on instinct, that Peter makes himself known.

“Mr. Osborn,” he says, and about a dozen people have turned to stare at the two of them. “I think you and I have something to discuss.”

“Fuck you, Spider-Man,” Harry says, but now that he’s up close, Peter can see how red his eyes are, the tear tracks down his cheeks. It’s kind of pathetic and Peter can’t believe Harry would rather cry in public than just come home. That is, until he remembers how stubborn Harry is.

Peter takes a step toward him. “Please, H-- Mr. Osborn. It’s important.”

“It is, huh?” Harry returns and Peter catches his meaning perfectly.

“Leave ’im alone, Spider-Man!” someone shouts and Peter’s jaw tenses.

Peter cocks his head at Harry. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Harry says, shrugging, and Peter can tell all he wants now is to save face. They both know someone has to be recording this.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Osborn, but this is too important.” Peter’s throat works. There are a million things he can’t say, not as Spider-Man, but he knows Harry needs to hear them.

Harry stares at him, swallows. “Fine.”

Peter is quick but careful as he pulls Harry to him and swings them out of sight, shouting following them. Harry doesn’t speak and Peter takes him to the top of the Oscorp building.

Harry stays silent even after Peter pulls his mask off.

“Okay, I know I did that wrong. I know, I know,” Peter says, pacing. He scratches the back of his head. “But you gotta understand...I’ll always have feelings for Gwen. She’s-- she’s one of my best friends. And so are you. But I promised her father--as he was dying--that I’d keep her out of this. As much as possible.”

“Did you think I’d be flattered?” Harry drawls. He’s looking away, but his hurt is betrayed by the way he swipes at his eyes.

Peter stops, his mouth hanging open. “No. It’s not-- it’s not just that--”

“‘Not just that,’” Harry repeats. “What is it then? Or haven’t you thought of a good lie yet, Parker?” He’s looking at Peter now, eyes burning, and Peter swallows.

“Har…” Peter shakes his head and Harry makes a noise.

“Maybe you should move the fuck out of my apartment then, Peter. Wouldn’t want Gwen to think you actually wanted to be with me.”

Peter’s own eyes are watering. This has gone so far beyond his control he isn’t certain he can fix it, but he needs to try. “I love you, Harry.” There’s a flicker in Harry’s expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.

“Why should I believe that?” Harry says, the words forced through the vice of his throat.

Peter laughs. “You’re the one who’s always sayin’ what a terrible liar I am. So…” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Does this sound like a lie?” He drops to his knees in front of Harry and stares up into his eyes. “I love you, Harry Osborn. Like.” He clenches and unclenches his fists. “I love you.”

The sternness of Harry’s expression seems to crumble and he lets Peter grasp his hands, twine their fingers together. Peter presses kisses to Harry’s knuckles. “I’m not apologizing,” Harry tells him.

Peter presses a kiss to Harry’s stomach. “I know.”

“Did you really have to come after me in the suit?” Harry asks incredulously after a moment.

Peter’s lips quirk, and he starts to nod enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. Yes. Absolutely, I did.”

“You’re an idiot, Parker,” Harry says, but there’s laughter in his voice.

“I know,” Peter says again, and he’s smiling.

~

“Oh. My. God.” Gwen’s hand darts out and it seems to take a tremendous amount of effort from her to stop it. “Can I?” she asks, but her hand is already hovering about two inches from Harry’s belly.

Harry huffs out a breath through his nose. “I guess.”

His lackluster response doesn’t seem to lessen Gwen’s excitement in the slightest and she cups the bulge of his abdomen with glee. She pulls back, her hands clutching at her chest. “That is so weird.” Immediately, she backtracks. “I mean, that you’re-- that it’s--” She gives up and gives a little squeal that may or may not be faked. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

Peter raises his eyebrows at her skeptically. “You’re happy your ex-boyfriend somehow managed to knock up your ex-boss who is also a man?”

She punches his arm, but the grin doesn’t leave her face and Peter can’t even pretend to be serious, his own smile wide and bright without his permission. “Shut up,” she says. “I’m happy to see you.” She hugs Peter then immediately goes to do the same to Harry, who stiffens but doesn’t actually resist.

Harry smiles at her, and it’s tight but genuine. “Good to see you, Gwen,” he says, and Peter rolls his eyes.

“Good to see you, too, Harry,” Gwen returns, subduing herself to give him a gentler smile before she’s asking, “Can we go to the lab?”

“You wanna run tests?” Peter asks. “Now?”

She bites her lip and tries for innocent. “Just a few? We’ll have to wait for the results still anyway…”

Peter is grimacing, thinking of how angry Harry will be with him for her even asking like this, so he’s surprised when Harry speaks. “It’s fine,” Harry says.

Peter looks at him, but it’s Gwen who asks, “Are you sure?”

Harry shrugs. “What can I say? I’m curious.” He smirks at Peter and although there is fear behind the expression, it doesn’t seem like he’s lying.

Peter nods his head shakily. “Alright, then. To the lab.”

~

“Wait. Why do you need my blood?” Peter asks, wincing as she slides in the needle.

Gwen rolls her eyes. “Because I need to find out what it is that made this”--she gestures to Harry’s stomach then to both of them--“even possible. And you’re part of that.”

“You look so evil right now,” Peter says, hissing. “I hope you know that.”

She ignores him. “Harry, can you get me the samples we took from you last year--before and after the treatment?”

Harry nods and heads out.

“Hey. Don’t you have my blood samples from last time, too?” Peter protests. Gwen shrugs, but he catches the wry smile she tries to hide behind her hair, ducking her head. “Gwen.”

Her eyes meet his and her expression turns serious again, “Peter, he’s carrying your child and you’re complaining about having your blood drawn?”

Peter opens his mouth to retort and closes it again. “Shutting up now.”

Gwen glances over his shoulder and lowers her voice. “Hey, is this, um...is this weird?”

Peter blows out a long breath and nods. “Yes. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Me and you… You and Harry…” Gwen pulls a face. “Is there proper conduct for this kind of situation?”

Peter’s brows furrow. “I don’t think there’s ever been this situation before.”

~

Peter isn’t sure how Gwen convinces him to do shots, but he has a distinct feeling that Harry was not the voice of reason. It’s very strange for Harry to be the sober one in the room, but he pays for the Chinese takeout they drunkenly order.

“Gwen, what--”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Come on. Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Peter asks warily, and he nearly knocks over his beer but saves it with his spider reflexes--and sticky fingers.

“So, when did you two...you know?” She waggles her eyebrows and they both laugh.

Peter’s laugh, however, turns nervous. “What exactly are you askin’ me here, Stacy?”

“Peter, you got him pregnant. You guys must’ve.” She stops mid-sentence, wrinkling her nose.

“She wants to know when we started fucking,” Harry clarifies, swallowing his noodles with more enthusiasm than one would expect.

“Um... Well…” Peter occupies himself with one of the boxes, poking at a piece of carrot with his chopsticks.

“What are you counting?” Harry finally asks.

Gwen blushes. “Anything that involves,” she waves her hand vaguely in front of her crotch. She takes a swig of her beer and turns even redder, but waits for an answer.

“The day after my father died,” Harry says, his tone giving away nothing. “But he told me that you two were, well, ‘complicated.’” Harry practically bites out the word.

Gwen nods solemnly. “Uh-huh. And that was...?”

“Not a big deal,” Harry supplies with a shrug when Peter buries his head.

“I just. It happened,” Peter murmurs into a pillow.

“It wasn’t until I told him I was dying that he even told me he liked me and we had been fucking for a few weeks by then.” Peter is pretty sure Harry just likes saying shit like this and the glint in Harry’s eyes seems to agree with him.

Gwen opens her mouth, scandalized, and turns to Peter. “You kissed me!” she says. “After that.”

“Oh?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m feelin’ ganged up on here, maybe I should just--” He tries to stand and Gwen tugs him back down.

“Peter,” Gwen admonishes.

Peter lets out a long, loud groan. “Me and Harry were a thing before you left, alright? But not like...not like an actual thing, more like the construct of a thing, really? You getting me here?” Peter laughs nervously.

Gwen looks at him, then turns to Harry. “That made no sense.”

Harry has his box balanced on his rapidly growing bump and seems to stare at his food thoughtfully. “Most of our relationship has just...happened. When we started this, I knew that he was still in love with you.” He snorts, but doesn’t look up. “Shit, he still is.”

Gwen doesn’t know which of them to look at--or if she should look to anyone at all. She hadn’t meant to overstep any boundaries, but things have gotten weird anyway. Finally, she surreptitiously glances at Peter to find him staring at Harry.

He looks hurt. He looks guilty.

“Wow, it’s late,” she says. “I should be heading home.” She checks her bag, making sure she has everything, including a tablet full of new data to examine--one that is directly linked to the lab at Oscorp.

“Wait,” Peter says, and she looks at him like he’s crazy. “You should hear this, too.” His eyes plead with her and, giving in, she nods.

Harry doesn’t say anything, but he watches Peter from beneath his bangs.

Peter stands up shakily and lets out a sigh. “He’s right,” he says, then addresses Harry directly. “I told you I’ll always have feelings for her. And I do, I love her.” Gwen’s face is distressed, caught between shock and horror at the situation she’s been put into. Peter hold up his hand. “Just-- just listen.” He kneels down in front of Harry, his voice going soft and sweet. “Hey,” he says. “I know I did it wrong chasin’ after you yesterday. Sayin’ I love you after I tell you I still got feelings for her, but Harry...I’m not in love with her anymore. That love-- it’s forever, yeah, but it’s... We’re just friends.”

“Is the word you’re looking for ‘platonic,’ Parker?” Harry asks drily.

“Is this the hormones?” Peter mutters and Gwen looks somewhat outraged on Harry’s behalf--even if she thinks it might be true. The heat of Harry’s glare could probably burn holes straight through Peter’s body.

Suddenly, Harry deflates. “Probably,” he admits. “But you’ve gotta admit, Pete, ours isn’t exactly the epic romance.”

Peter smiles at him. “You sure about that? ‘Spider-Man saves the life of childhood friend and falls in love with him’?”

Harry’s eyes are sharp as he returns, “‘Oscorp CEO knocked up by masked vigilante.’”

Peter tries for offended and fails, laughing. “See? Sounds pretty epic to me.” He nudges Harry’s knee with his elbow. “How ’bout that?”

Gwen clears her throat. “Well, I think I heard all I need, so I’ll just leave you two to...do what you do.” She mentally retraces that sentence and shakes her head.

“See ya,” Peter mumbles, not daring to take his eyes off Harry.

“Take my car,” Harry says, and he’s pressing a call button for her.

“Um. Thanks. I’ll just…” She backs out of the penthouse slowly, feeling that drunk kind of dissociative that makes everything a shade more surreal.

It leaves Harry and Peter alone together.

“Har…” Peter starts slowly, then he steals the box off of Harry’s belly and starts devouring it.

Harry sighs. “I’m the one who’s eating for two.”

Peter barely swallows a mouthful of noodles before he’s pressing a kiss to Harry’s stomach, situating himself even further between Harry’s legs on the floor and leaning up to kiss him.

Harry responds to the kiss, letting it lull him into some sort of calm.

“So, you’re over this Gwen thing now, right?” Peter asks, and falls over when Harry shoves him back and storms off. “Does that mean yes?” he calls after him. “No?”

Harry doesn’t tell Peter that he texts Gwen an apology for his dramatics, but it had been one thing to know, objectively, that Peter had been carrying a torch for Gwen when their relationship began, that they were maybe still together. It is another thing entirely to have it talked about in no uncertain terms while he’s pregnant with Peter Parker’s kid. He had taken the opportunity to react to both of these notions in quick succession.

~

Harry goes from refusing to let him go to practically shoving him out the door on Peter’s first day back to school.

This professor is great...for those who haven’t been performing illegal and unorthodox medical procedures on scientists and loved ones. This leaves Peter with very little initiative to pay attention at times.

Luckily--if it can be called that--his boyfriend has no qualms with...distracting him.

There’s no warning, just a text that makes his phone buzz loud enough for the professor to glare in his general direction before moving on.

I want your dick.

Peter quickly covers his phone, blushing furiously as two more texts arrive in quick succession.

In me.

Now.

Peter blows out a long breath and starts to type back. I’m in class, he says.

I think I’m dying, comes the response.

With a hint of panic and confusion about this sudden turn, he types, What?! He glances up to make sure the professor isn’t staring at him. And no, still droning on about basics. Well, maybe not droning. It’s actually quite fascinating, but Peter is a bit preoccupied.

Save me with your dick, Peter.

Peter rolls his eyes and pretends he isn’t getting a little bit hard at the thought. The class has ten minutes left and then he has a twenty minute break before the next. If he leaves immediately when this one ends...

The next ten minutes go by incredibly slow, despite all the texts Peter is getting from Harry and the images they’re putting into Peter’s mind.

He shoots out the door the second the professor has stopped lecturing, although he has no idea what the guy has assigned for the next class period.

Peter arrives back in the apartment in about three minutes and he may have caused a minor car crash in the process. He’s pretending that he didn’t, anyway.

Harry is sprawled on the couch staring at his phone. The second he hears the window opening, he sighs. “Oh, thank god.” He starts stripping and Peter tries, but Harry is quicker, so Peter just ends up looking disheveled as he bends Harry over a chair.

“Fuck,” Peter murmurs. Harry had fingered himself an hour ago but had texted Peter that it “wasn’t the same” so Peter is slicking himself up and shoving into his boyfriend less than a minute after his arrival.

“Yes,” Harry groans into the farthest arm of the chair, practically going limp as Peter fucks him. “Fast and hard, please.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Osborn, sir,” Peter manages as he tries to keep the chair from scraping across the hardwood floor. He ends up webbing it--he hadn’t taken off the shooters yet anyway--and the noises Harry makes are enough to have him wishing he could stay like this forever.

“I want you to come in me,” Harry says, finally lifting his ass up to meet Peter’s thrusts.

“But you’re--” Peter starts to argue.

Harry grips the chair hard. “Just do it. Come on.”

Peter bites his lip, kicks off a shoe to use one sticky foot to keep himself from sliding as he speeds up, fucks Harry until he can’t take it anymore. He should feel bad when he sees the hand-shaped bruise forming on Harry’s waist, but something dark and possessive in him loves it.

When Peter comes, Harry moans so loudly Peter wonders if the entire state of New York can hear it.

~

Peter and Harry go out to dinner. Peter wants simple diner food, but if Harry’s making an excursion into the outside world in his current state, he says it damn well better be worth it. Even if his palate is a little bit...off.

Harry is extremely self-conscious, but he’s rich enough that he can get away with wearing whatever he wants--layers of sweaters and an oversized coat. After taking their order and obviously noting Harry’s wardrobe, their waiter makes a face and asks if Harry will remove the coat, at the very least.

Harry very politely asks him, “May I speak to the owner?”

The waiter pales. “Of course, Mr. Osborn. Would you like me to pass along any messages for you?”

Peter kicks Harry under the table. “Never mind,” he says. “Thank you, um,” he reads the waiter’s name, “Paolo. But we’re good.”

The waiter looks to Harry, who sighs and rolls his eyes, but nods to let Paolo know it’s alright.

“Very good,” Paolo agrees, a bit nervous. “I will return shortly with your meal and, please, have a glass of wine on the house.”

“No-- Ow!” It’s Harry who has kicked Peter this time.

“Have your sommelier choose a nice Cabernet Sauvignon,” Harry says, offhand, but he offers a tight-lipped smile after a moment.

“Yes, sir. Very well, sir.” Paolo nods at Peter, perhaps in gratitude as well as dismissal. “Sir.” It sounds redundant.

Peter leans across the table the second the waiter is gone, “Harry, you can’t--”

“Antioxidants, Peter. Red wine is high in antioxidants.” He sips at his water. “A glass of red wine is perfectly acceptable for…” He grimaces slightly. “My condition.”

Peter opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but then he nods. “I think I did read that somewhere. But…” He shakes his head. “One glass, alright, Har?”

Harry rolls his eyes again. The whole social aspect of their dinner can likely be summed up in nods and rolled eyes. “Yes, Peter.” He huffs in exaggerated exasperation, but his smile for Peter is coy and, more than anything else, fond. Peter is just trying to take care of him.

~

Jean Grey at the Xavier School tells them she’s no expert, but that she understands their need for privacy, and she is a doctor.

She smiles as the image appears on the screen and Harry is only slightly disconcerted as the ultrasound wand moves as if of its own accord.

“There we go,” Jean says, pleased, and Peter is honestly at a loss for words. She does something else, maybe, but Peter and Harry don't notice. “Do you want to know the sex?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Peter murmurs and Jean nods.

Harry looks a bit mystified.

Jean seems to realize this--and she can read minds. “I’ll give you guys a few minutes while I go over the test results,” she says. She prints the image and hands it Harry, whose hands shake. Her chair pushes itself back under the desk and the door opens without being touched, the wand moves away.

“Holy shit,” Harry whispers, and Peter is unsure what he’s going to do. Harry’s hand slides through his hair as he stares at the printout.

“That’s our kid,” Peter says quietly, standing close to Harry.

Harry stares at the image shrewdly. “It’s not going to look good,” he says seriously.

Peter’s smile is slightly confused as he looks from the image to Harry. “I don’t know. I mean, we’re not...bad-looking or anything.”

Harry huffs. “To the investors,” he specifies. “Having a child out of wedlock isn’t exactly the kind of thing that gives old rich people the drive to give me more money.” He frowns.

“Oh,” Peter says. He isn’t sure where this is going.

He expects Harry to say something else about it, but there’s nothing and he’s basically forgotten by the time they’re on their way back from the appointment. Jean had gone over results that Peter had trouble following even though he was trying to be hyper-focused--he didn’t want to miss out on anything important. She gives them a card for someone in the city and Peter sort of processes her words. Maybe.

The ride in the back of Harry’s town car goes quietly for a while.

Harry is fiddling with his phone when he tells Peter, off-handed, “We have to get married.”

Peter turns his entire body to stare at Harry at that. “What?”

“Peter, I can’t have a kid out of marriage. It’s not good for the company.” He scrolls through something Peter can’t see on his phone. “I can’t even fake-adopt a kid with you. It’s bad enough that we live together.”

Peter blinks, mouth hanging open. “Oookay,” he says, eyebrows rising. “So you want to marry me for the sake of your company?”

Harry nods, still staring at the screen. He looks to Peter when he hears no further response. “It makes sense,” he says. “Financially.”

“Right,” Peter says, jaw clenching. He’s getting angry. They’ve been together over a year now and despite his multiple declarations of love and the fact that Harry is pregnant with his goddamn child, Harry has never once told him that he loves him, too. And now he’s asking Peter to marry him as a business proposition. He tries to keep himself from exploding but it’s too hard. “Stop!” he calls to the driver and unlike the screeching halt he imagines based on every movie ever, the driver pulls over to the side of the road at a reasonable pace.

“What the fuck, Peter?” Harry asks, hand on his belly.

The sight makes something in Peter’s heart clench, but there’s too much anger. “No,” he says, although it doesn’t make much sense in context. “I’m not gonna--” he starts, “not for some--” He waves his hands in frustration. “You don’t even love me, Harry. I’d-- I’d do anything for you, for--” He gestures but doesn’t say the word. He’s making enough of a scene for the driver already.

Harry stares at him incredulously.

Peter sighs and, fuck, he’s tearing up and now is not the time. “I don’t want to marry you if you don’t love me back. It’s just… It’s not fair to ask that of me, Har.” He gets out of the car and slams the door and the sleek, black town car is pulling away from the curb a second later.

He’s clenching his hair between his fingers with one hand as he realizes the sonogram image is in the other. Real tears come as he looks at it. “I’ll be there for you,” he tells it. “Even if we… If me and Har.” He can’t finish the sentence.

Getting out his phone to dial Aunt May, Peter hears a scream and steps into an alley to pull on his mask instead.

He stops three separate muggings and an attempted assault. Apparently, everything is going about as well as his life is right now.

~

May answers the door and she looks concerned. He had finally ended up calling her, but his reasons had been vague as he explained that he would be staying with her. Maybe indefinitely.

“What happened, honey?” she asks and he shakes his head.

As an afterthought, Peter shoves the picture into her hands.

She clasps a hand over her mouth. “Oh, sweetie. This is…” She tries to smile. “Your little miracle.”

~

Harry sits in his office. He hasn’t been here as often as he should be, but he’s had rather a lot to deal with lately. He goes over a few reports, signs some paperwork. The baby is kicking and it’s making him uncomfortable but he also fucking wishes that Peter was here to feel it.

He’s wearing an oversized coat although he’s a bit too warm in it and he slips his hand beneath it to rub at the ever-burgeoning bulge he finds. He’s gotten pretty huge and it feels like it’s only just happened. “Sh, sh, sh,” he whispers. “Daddy’s busy.”

He stares at a report about something or other for several minutes without processing the words.

There’s a knock and Harry isn’t sure if he’s relieved at the distraction or worried about hiding his belly while he has to actually deal with another human being. “What is it?” he calls out anyway.

Felicia pokes her head into the office tentatively. “I thought it was you here.”

Harry frowns. “Who else would it be?” He sounds angry and Felicia picks up on it.

“No one,” she says quickly. “No one else would be in your office.”

He eyes her suspiciously, but the façade falls away and he dips his head. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

Felicia takes a few steps forward. “Um. Sir?”

Harry hums in response.

“This may not be my place, sir, but...do you need a ride home? You look...” She stops herself from finishing that sentence.

Harry laughs humorlessly. “Only if I can cry and talk about my boyfriend,” he says and it’s only half-sarcastic.

Felicia is smiling wryly when he takes the chance to look up. “You wouldn’t be the first,” she tells him, her eyes glinting.

There’s the beginning of a genuine smile when Harry looks at her. “You wanna come over and talk about boys?” he asks, and this time every ounce of it is sarcasm even if it’s the truth. “I’ve got ice cream...and bourbon.”

She looks around as if to make sure she’s not missing something. “Yeah,” she says, grinning. “Sure.”

Harry grins back.

~

“He asked you to marry him?” May asks, her hands around her mug of tea.

Peter toys with his own mug. “Yeah. But like. I can’t marry him, right? Not when…” He sighs. “It sounds stupid, right? But… I told him I loved him and he never said it back.”

May hums. “It might be hard for him,” she suggests.

Peter has to consider it. “But…” He sighs and stares into his tea.

“Want me to get you some hot chocolate instead, sweetie?” May asks.

Peter hesitates before shaking his head. Tea is good, it’s him that isn't.

~

Harry Osborn probably looks pathetic. He’s got a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, one of Peter’s old sweatshirts on, and is digging into a pint of coconut milk ice cream--because if he wants it he will have it, or so Peter had said when he’d gone out to get it for him.

Felicia is sitting beside him with a drink in hand. “Can I ask you something?”

Harry looks at her, his face maybe a little chocolatey. “Sure.”

She swirls the liquid in her glass, watching it for a second before she looks up at him. “If you’re so heartbroken, why aren’t you drinking?”

“You’re drinking for me,” Harry tells her. “I’m drinking vicariously through you.”

Felicia nods, then pauses. “But why?”

Harry laughs, spoon stabbing at the ice cream petulantly. “Because I can’t. Even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

Felicia is smiling, lopsided, and curious but not enough yet to ask. “Okay,” she says, examining him. “Alright.” She takes a swig from her glass. “This shit is nice,” she says, then adds, “Um. I mean--”

“It is,” Harry interjects, smiling at her. “I miss it.” He stares at her for a second. “I want you to know...that I know how bad of an idea this is.” He puts out his hand towards her glass. “Now let me smell it.”

“Sure.” She shrugs.

Harry takes the glass from her and inhales deeply. Although it smells like alcohol which doesn’t particularly agree with him at this point, it’s scent is so familiar, so tied to happy, drunken memories, that it is actually pretty nice still. He gives it back and swallows, turning to look at the wall blankly. He sheds his blanket and hunches in on himself, hiding as he gets up. “Excuse me, I’m going to go throw up. Feel free to watch TV.”

“Oh,” Felicia says, grimacing. She watches him go and fiddles with her glass a moment before grabbing the overly fancy remote from the coffee table and turning the TV on. She puts on something she thinks will be comforting, although she doesn’t know quite enough about her boss to know what he wants to watch.

Harry returns and picks up the container of ice cream he had abandoned on the coffee table.

They watch some sitcom for a few minutes before the commercial break starts and Felicia asks the question that’s been on her mind since she had first seen Harry today. “So…” she starts, “what happened with Peter?”

Harry frowns. He blames the hormones for the way he already feels like he’s about to cry. “He thinks I don’t love him.” His words are surprisingly crisp and clear.

Felicia glances at him sidelong but pretends she’s preoccupied with her drink, with the TV. “Oh…” She hesitates. “Do you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says earnestly. “How am I supposed to know?”

Felicia shifts, puts her glass down. “I’m not sure love is something that can be quantified. Do you want to talk about it? I mean, how do you feel about him?”

Harry thinks for a moment, toying with the cuffs of Peter’s sweatshirt. He opens his mouth and closes it again before he begins speaking. “Despite the fucked up situation we’re in--don’t ask--all I want to do is come home and find him here. I used to like being alone, but being with Peter is so much better. It’s not just that he takes care of me. I mean, hell, you take care of me, but…” Harry pushes a hand through his hair and it sticks up at odd angles. “I had a crush on him when we were kids, did you know that? It was so stupid. I guess I kind of resented him when we lost contact, but then I saw him again. I knew he was in love with someone else, but that first time I blew him, I still hoped he would at least want me. I mean, why do you think I did it?”

Felicia hums and steals the carton of ice cream from Harry, uncaring of his germs as she uses the same spoon. “This is delicious,” she tells him, off-hand, as she takes a bite, then, as she swallows, she gets back to what she meant to say. She didn’t think she’d be quite so casual with her boss, but the setting most definitely permits. “So, has he told you?”

Harry nods, smiling a little. He pulls the collar of the sweatshirt up and enjoys the leftover smell of Peter there.

Felicia can’t help but smile at Harry then, how stupidly in love he is even though he doesn’t realize it.

~

“It’s not like he never would’ve said it befo...” Peter frowns and trails off mid-word. “Sh-- I mean, gosh,” he says with affectation and Aunt May smiles, her eyebrow raised. “He didn’t even…”

“Now, if I remember right, Harry didn’t have the best relationship with his parents…” May’s tone is gentle, but leading, and Peter gets her point.

“Are you telling me my boyfriend is emotionally stunted?” Peter asks, but his grin is self-deprecating.

May clutches a hand to her chest, scandalized. “Peter, I would never.”

Peter clutches her other hand where it rests on the kitchen table. “I love you, Aunt May,” he tells her with a softer smile. “But what am I supposed to do? Shotgun wedding?”

~

“You made pancakes?” Peter asks the next morning, excited at the prospect of stuffing his mouth.

May smiles and gestures to the chair across from her own. “I figured there was enough time for breakfast before your first class.”

Peter’s stomach growls loudly in agreement. “You’re the best.” He grabs a few from the stack and inhales deeply. “Oh god.” He’s buttering them and covering them in syrup seconds later.

“Talk to him,” she says, and they both know who she means.

Peter saws slowly through his pancakes, but doesn’t answer.

May sighs. “Fine. But all you’re getting tomorrow is dry toast.”

Peter pouts at her and she pats his cheek.

“You’re an adult now, Peter. You have to talk to your-- your pregnant boyfriend.” She’s somewhat flustered, but she did manage to say it.

Peter glares at her half-heartedly as he eats his pancakes.

~

After class, Peter ends up at Gwen’s. They talk a lot, but sometimes they lapse into prolonged silences, which Peter tends to fill with thoughts about Harry. Gwen tries not to say anything, but it becomes increasingly difficult with each instance.

“Peter, he’s just bad at...feelings.” Gwen is pouting at him. He hates it.

“I know, okay? Yeesh. You’re supposed to let me complain. Isn’t that what friends do?”

“I’m his friend, too,” Gwen says, raising her eyebrows at him.

Peter makes a noise. “Since when?”

Gwen sighs and takes his hands in hers. “It’s okay to be upset. But you have to remember, he’s pregnant.” She pauses, staring into his eyes meaningfully. “Okay?” She thinks about showing him the graphs--the fluctuations in Harry’s hormone levels, the various biological changes that are most certainly hell on the human body--but she thinks he knows.

Peter stares back for a moment, looking skeptical. “Am I being an idiot?”

“Always,” she tells him earnestly, but her lips quickly quirk into a smile.

“I hate it when you’re right, Stacy,” Peter tells her, grinning wryly.

Gwen looks thoughtful for a moment, before she returns, “Well, I am always right.” The sound of sirens breaks through the comfort of their report. “Now...why don’t you get your spider butt out there and fight some crime while you avoid your boyfriend?”

Peter rolls his shoulders, acting resistant, but then he’s snatching up his stuff without another word.

~

“Peter, wait.”

“I’m just here for a few things, Harry. I’ll just be...out of your way, don’t worry,” Peter says as he starts to grab a jacket, a book. He feels somewhat guilty as his hand hovers over the fancy new digital camera Harry had gotten him for their anniversary--not that the day had been actually acknowledged as such. It had been the day after the anniversary of Norman’s death and Peter had wondered if the whole thing had meant something to Harry from the beginning, although the proposal had sort of dashed those hopes.

“Hey,” Harry says, and swallows. His hand runs soothing circles over his distended belly. He hoists himself up from the couch and nearly falls back down. He’s at the point where he feels like he’ll never get his balance back again. He totters a few steps before he gives up, breathing deeply. Getting up off of the couch is a trying thing--it takes a lot out of him.

Peter glances at Harry and away again, shuffling through the pile of books on the island. Their kitchen wasn’t always used for food and it shows. Now that Harry can’t use his precious coffee maker, it has become especially difficult to pretend they were people who made their own meals. Then, at least, the area had been clear of miscellaneous debris. “Hm?”

“I love you, Peter,” Harry says and he’s crying. He swipes furiously at his eyes. “It’s the hormones, okay?” he explains.

He doesn’t want to tell Peter how hard it is to say. It’s not that it isn’t true. If there has ever been anything Harry Osborn has loved other than maybe himself, it is Peter Parker, but it’s such an unfamiliar feeling that he’s uncertain he should speak it out loud, as if talking about it will take it away from him.

Also, maybe--just maybe--he knows he’s manipulating Peter and he feels bad about it. Even before he had said the words, he knew the power that they would give him over this man. It makes him feel guilty.

But it’s the truth and he hopes Peter can see that.

“I’ve never said that to anyone before,” Harry says, scrubbing at his face.

“Har…” Peter starts, but Harry isn’t finished.

“We don’t have to get married. I was being an idiot. I just... I really don’t want to fuck up everything.”

Peter is slow in his approach, apprehensive, but Harry doesn’t shy away when he tentatively puts his arms out. Peter takes it as a sign to wrap Harry up in his arms and the way Harry clutches him back tells him it’s the right decision. It’s a bit awkward now, the way Harry’s growing belly keeps them apart, but it works. “I love you, too,” Peter murmurs into his hair.

“I know,” Harry says, trembling and choked up and mad about how emotional he’s getting about Peter holding him right now. “I don’t have to say it again, do I?” he asks quietly, forehead pressed into Peter’s collarbone and looking down at their bodies.

Peter chuckles softly. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head and bumping Harry’s in the process. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Harry breathes in deeply. The fight--or, rather, freeze--had lasted only three days but he had missed everything about Peter so much, down to the very smell of him. It calms him. His senses seem especially attuned to Peter and heightened in general since the pregnancy. It definitely hasn’t always been a useful thing, but the way Peter smells to him now is so good that he almost thinks this is all worth it.

He blames his pregnant brain even as he soaks it all in blissfully. “I do want to,” he manages after a minute. “Just...I can’t right now.”

“It’s okay,” Peter says, and he rubs soothing circles into Harry’s back.

~

“Are you gonna be okay?” Peter asks, adjusting the straps of his backpack.

Harry scowls at him. “Never again,” he says dramatically, clutching a hand to his heart. He’s on the couch.

Peter frowns. “Fine. You can survive on your own. I get it.” The corners of his mouth quirk up and he rearranges the various things on the coffee table in front of Harry.

Harry’s hand shoots out and he grabs Peter by the wrist, forcing Peter’s hand onto his spectacularly huge belly.

“Wha…” Peter starts, but then he feels it. The kid is kicking around in there. He looks from where his hand rests to Harry’s face, wide-eyed.

Harry puts his hand over Peter’s and it is remarkably gentle. His whole expression seems soft, open. He inhales deeply and Peter knows that whatever Harry says next will be important. “Peter...aren’t you going to be late?”

Peter stares at him in confusion for a second before the words register. He leans down to kiss Harry, his hand clutching Harry’s belly in its own sort of farewell embrace.

Once Peter is gone, Harry’s face falls. He doesn’t want to be alone but he can’t exactly go anywhere.

He starts to text Felicia before he remembers how weird it'll be and how much explaining he’d have to do to go along with the complaining he wants to do.

With much trepidation, Harry stares at the new message he’s written before hitting send. It makes him feel weak, but he has a feeling...

Half an hour later, Harry has informed a doorman and Gwen is arriving at the door. Never has Harry been happy about Peter’s remote control locks until this point, but it’s very convenient for him now, when even standing up doesn’t seem possible until he needs to pee for the five millionth time--each instance still a struggle.

He flips a switch and shouts for her to come in.

Gwen has a brown paper bag and it piques Harry’s curiosity, but she sets it down too far away for him to pry. She’s staring.

Harry Osborn does not squirm under her scrutiny. “What?” he asks, and it comes out just as harsh as he had intended it.

For some reason, however, Gwen only laughs. “You’re huge!” she says, and then she’s touching the bump without his permission.

“Stacy,” he warns.

It’s her turn to say, “What?” She rolls her eyes. “If you’re not nice, you’ll never get what’s in the bag.”

So, she had caught him staring, as well. Harry pouts at her, even as she seems to be prodding him rather methodically, gauging something or other.

“Hmmm…” Gwen stops poking him, although a hand still lingers on his distended abdomen. “Okay,” she concludes, pulling away.

Harry had tried stretching an arm out, but as he had first thought, it’s too far for him to reach. “What is it?”

Gwen hoists the bag into the air and grins. She reaches in and starts pulling things out, listing them as she goes. “Soup, mashed potatoes and french fries, kimchee, peanut butter, macaroons, three kinds of chips...and a refill on your vitamins. Although I can’t imagine you’ll need them much longer.” She eyes his belly again.

“Shut up,” he tells her, then grunts as he tries to reach the peanut butter until she hands it to him. “Thanks.” But he’s still glancing at the food.

Gwen sighs, but it’s good-natured. “What else?” she asks.

“Kimchee,” Harry responds and Gwen’s cringing face makes him feel inordinately pleased.

They watch black and white movies and talk about all sorts of things until Peter gets back from class. At which point, Peter looks like he might have a heart attack, seeing the two of them together.

~

It’s the final and Peter is as prepared as he’s going to be. He’s exhausted, some old guy calling himself the Vulture had kept him up until some ungodly hour and Harry’s stomach has gotten so huge that it makes cuddling difficult--which is the real hardship of Peter Parker’s life.

The tests have been passed out and Peter has filled out his information on the Scantron, chewing on his eraser as his phone starts buzzing incessantly. He winces and waits for it to stop, pretending as if it isn’t his as he stares intently down at the paper.

Except the phone starts buzzing again.

Peter looks to his professor apologetically as he reaches into his backpack to silence his phone. Who would even be--

It’s Harry. Harry is calling and Harry knows that Peter has a final right now. The only reason he could possibly be calling is-- “Fuck,” Peter whispers and smiles nervously at his professor as he shoves his phone back into the bag.

Harry’s in labor.

Peter’s mental mantra of “fuck, fuck, fuck” does nothing to help him as he stares at the test. There’s no possible way he can get out of this, especially since the thing has already begun. He tries to read the questions but all he can think is that his pregnant boyfriend is currently in labor. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s so true that he’s in a panic. He skims through and answers the questions that still make sense before he starts calculating his chances of passing if he just randomly fills things in.

“Eh,” he decides, and starts bubbling in answers and hoping for the best.

~

Janet Van Dyne ends up taking them into a small, discreet medical clinic within the city. “Xavier contacted me already and Dr. Grey gave me all the details,” she had said when they had finally given her a call a week earlier. “I deal more often with this type of thing than Jean does.”

Now, she smiles reassuringly at them. “Okay,” she says to Harry. “I just need you to stay calm and breathe. Everything is going to be fine.”

“You’re going to cut open my body and take out a baby, that does not sound fine,” Harry says, his breathing erratic.

Janet glances at Peter, then down to where Harry clutches Peter’s hand so tightly they’ve both gone white. “You’ll heal,” she tells him, “and quickly.”

Harry is delirious by the time they’re ready to start.

“Pete, you have to promise me that if I die now, you won’t name our kid Norman. Swear to me.”

Peter is sorely tempted to joke, but instead he smiles reassuringly. “I promise. But you’re going to be fine, alright? Can you do that for me?”

The terror in Harry’s face is enough that Peter doesn’t press the issue, just murmurs “you’re doing great” and “it’ll be okay” over and over again.

He holds Harry’s hand through the entire operation.

~

Peter is rocking Benjamin Osborn-Parker in his arms. It’s so strange to think that this tiny thing is half him and half Harry. That it’s--he’s--theirs.

Harry’s fingers idly trace the stitches on his abdomen. Another bonus of his cure is accelerated healing, much like Peter’s. But surgery still requires time and multiple visits to a medical professional.

Ben seems healthy though. Normal, even. Well, close enough. They haven’t detected any signs of the Osborn curse yet, but Harry doesn’t think it will metastasize until later on, which really just means more worrying.

Harry hasn’t held the baby yet. He may have carried it for nine months in his body, but since the two have been separated, he’s barely even touched it.

“So, my body can make a fucking baby but it can’t produce milk? Should I hire a nursing maid?”

“Do those still exist?”

Harry shrugs. “If you’re rich enough.”

Peter starts to carefully offer Ben towards Harry, but Harry turns away like he hasn’t seen it. Peter frowns, but he doesn’t want to push it yet. Harry has been through a lot in the past year or so and Peter doesn’t often think about it, too tied up in his own web.

~

It takes nearly two weeks for Peter to convince Harry to let May and Gwen meet their son. It has nothing to do with Harry disagreeing with the idea or disapproving of either of them, but more to do with his own self-consciousness.

He doesn’t like talking about his body issues, so Peter is left guessing. He sees the way Harry looks at himself now though, like he doesn’t know what he expects to find. Peter can’t say he really gets it, but he’s trying.

Harry doesn’t talk about how he feels betrayed by his own body, how he knows he’s not the same as he once was.

But it is only one of many reasons he has trouble with Ben.

It takes a good deal of effort on their part to sneak over to May’s with a baby in tow, but it’s for the best. Harry trusts his driver well enough--not to ask questions, at the very least--but they keep the partition up the entire ride and they try not to advertise the new passenger. The baby carrier is rather hard to miss, however.

May ushers them inside before they’ve even gotten the chance to knock. She feigns patience, but it’s easy to see through.

“Meet Ben,” Peter says, scooping his child from the carrier.

May’s eyes go wide and vulnerable. “Ben?” she asks, glancing between Peter and Harry and the child.

Harry tries to smile reassuringly, giving her a small nod. “Ben.”

“Oh.” Her eyes are watering and her hands cover her mouth for a moment, but then she’s composing herself as best she can. “Can I?” she asks, gesturing to the little boy in her nephew’s arms.

Peter glances over at Harry before he says, “Of course.” When she takes Ben from him, he smiles with pride.

May has only been holding him a minute when there’s a knock on the door.

“Gwen,” Peter tells May, before she can ask. He’s about to get it when--

“I got it,” Harry says, and he leaves May’s living room as May and Peter share a look.

Arriving back with Gwen, it’s no surprise that Gwen’s attention is then completely focused on Ben.

“He’s so tiny!” she whispers loudly. She turns to Harry. “Is there another one somewhere? I mean, you looked like you could’ve had two of these, at least.”

Peter is ready to jump in, but Harry laughs. “Just the one.”

Gwen scrutinizes him playfully. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Harry tells her, and his eyes are twinkling as he pats himself down for emphasis.

Peter shares another look with his aunt, but Gwen takes note, punching him on the shoulder.

“Hey,” she whines, and steals Ben from May, who doesn’t seem to mind.

Peter wraps his arms around Harry, because he can.

~

They don’t reveal Ben to the world until Peter is back in school. It means he’s just theirs--and May’s, and Gwen’s--for about a month over the winter break.

“Do I look fat?” Harry asks, and Peter is baffled before he realizes Harry is staring at the paper.

Peter leans in over his shoulder to see a picture of Harry with him and Ben. “Nah,” he says, even though Harry hasn’t quite regained his figure yet. “Benji does though.” He smiles up at Harry, who only frowns deeper. He’s eating cereal out of a mug, but Harry says nothing--this time--so he continues as if it isn’t weird. It might be Harry’s favorite mug.

“I told you not to call him that,” Harry tells him. “That’s a dog’s name.”

“You wanted to name him Harry,” Peter protests, brows furrowing but still amused.

“Harry’s a great name,” Harry murmurs, preoccupied.

Peter makes a face at him but Harry so thoroughly ignores it that Peter just gives up.

~

“Okay,” Gwen says when she shows up at the apartment. “I know how ridiculous this is, but I could not resist.”

Peter raises an eyebrow as Ben clutches and slobbers all over his t-shirt.

Gwen’s bag is too large for just her tablet...

Peter groans as Gwen pulls out a onesie for Ben.

“How did--” Peter asks, slightly distraught. “Who made this?”

Gwen grins at him. “I found it at a baby store near my mom’s place. Isn’t it adorable?”

“You mean some company is manufacturing Spider-Man onesies?” He eyes it warily, bouncing Ben more for the sake of his own nerves than to soothe the baby.

Nodding, Gwen holds the item up towards the child. “It should fit him,” she says, brows furrowing as she pictures the baby in it. “Might be a little big, but he’ll grow into it.”

Peter laughs and clutches his child to his chest. “He is not gonna wear that.”

Gwen pouts.

“Don’t do that,” Peter says, switching Ben to one arm so he can gesture to her face. “That’s not gonna work on me this time, Stacy.”

The pout turns into a frown, but it’s gone quickly and she tells him, “Fine. But I’m still going to leave it here in case you change your mind.”

“You’re a monster,” Peter says with mock consternation, but hands over Ben when Gwen has put the offending garment aside.

~

Harry has taken small steps towards normalizing his relationship with his son, but it’s slow going and he doesn’t tell Peter that he’s trying because it’ll only make him look worse.

It takes him a while to get used to Ben. The first time he tentatively lifts the infant from his crib, he holds the baby out, hands hooked under each of Ben’s tiny, chubby arms.

“What… What are you doing?”

Harry doesn’t look away from Ben, just tilts his head slightly.

Peter approaches cautiously. “Har… That’s not how you hold a baby.” He slides in and Harry puts up no resistance as Peter takes Ben from him.

Harry examines the way Peter holds their son. It seems to come so naturally to Peter, his arm curving perfectly and protectively around the baby.

Harry is jealous. Harry is confused.

Harry doesn’t know if he has one ounce of that parental instinct in his entire body...but he’ll try.

He’s not going to be like his own father.

~

“Like this,” May says, positioning Harry’s arms around the child. “Better?”

Harry gives a tentative nod. He stares at his son. This is… Maybe this is working. “You’re a great mom,” he tells May, who smiles gently at him.

“Ben and I never had any kids of our own, but I used to love watching Peter.” It’s bittersweet, all the grief surrounding Peter’s parents and her husband coming to the surface all at once.

“Could you…” Harry starts, and he knows it’s the right thing to say. “Could you watch him sometime?”

The expression on May’s face could melt glaciers. “Of course,” she says. “As if you even needed to ask.” She nudges him with her elbow and he smiles at her. She watches Harry and Ben for another moment before she sighs. “Now let me hold my grandson.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry says. He’s starting to understand what family means.

~

The photographers snap photos while Harry is out and Peter is in class all day.

Peter is walking rather quickly between classes because he maybe had to explain to a professor why he had missed the quiz two days earlier without mentioning super villains in ridiculous costumes.

His phone buzzes and it’s a link from Gwen. Against his better judgement--and experience with Gwen and links--he clicks it just as he arrives outside his class.

It’s some stupid gossip website.

With new pictures of Harry Osborn...and Ben.

Ben is wearing the ridiculous Spider-Man onesie and Peter one million percent regrets not hiding the damn thing. He regrets it all the more when he reads the words: Could this start a new fashion trend?

Peter takes two seconds to make a variety of faces in response to the fact that even the children of people in the media can become fashion icons, but it’s his son. There’s no way people are going to see Ben in his little Spider-Man outfit and consider it as some sort of sign? He tilts his head thoughtfully. Although… If it got people to accept Spider-Man just a little bit more, it might be good for not only his image but also to encourage people to be a little more cooperative. Or, at least, less hostile.

He opens the door to the classroom, still staring at his phone.

“Mr. Parker,” Dr. Octavius says and Peter nearly fumbles his phone. He can picture it bouncing down the steps of the auditorium-style lecture hall and down to the feet of the shrewd man who teaches his engineering class.

Peter holds up his hands in surrender only to realize he’s still clutching his cell phone, the image of his boyfriend and son now facing the class. He looks at it, panicked, and jams the thing into his pocket with an awkward laugh.

“Was that Harry Osborn’s baby?” someone says, although they aren’t talking to Peter. He’s pretty sure he’s bright red and his professor is glaring daggers at him.

“Anything else you’d like to do, Mr. Parker? Or are you finished with disrupting today’s class?”

“I’m so sorry,” he tells Octavius seriously. “So. Sorry.” He glances at the girl who had mentioned Harry’s name and bites his lip to keep himself from responding and making even more of a mess of the situation.

Octavius glares at him from behind his glasses--and Peter thinks for the hundredth time about how horrible the man’s haircut is--before he moves on.

Peter takes a seat, but he can’t help noticing that there are people still talking. The way they glance at him, eyes widening, has him guessing that they recognize him from the other photos. He gives them an awkward wave and they frown at him. He sighs and realizes his life is not allowed to have any semblance of normalcy.

“You’re dating Harry Osborn?” a boy asks him after class.

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Um. Yes?”

“Why would you adopt a kid if you’re only--” Another classmate, female this time, sucks in a breath. “Or are you really raising his bastard?” She had pretended to whisper but it’s loud anyway.

Peter laughs and it sounds off even to his own ears. “Hey, let’s...not?”

“It’s none of any of your business,” a redheaded girl scolds and one of the two is decent enough to look chagrined.

“Sorry,” the girl mumbles and Peter smiles.

“It’s okay. I get it. I just...can’t talk about it, alright?”

The girl nods and she helps drag the guy away.

“Thanks,” Peter tells the redhead. “Have we met before? I don't think I know your name.”

“MJ,” she says, then adds, scrunching up her nose, “It’s short for Mary Jane. But please call me MJ.”

Peter smiles at her. She’s sort of stunning in that movie star way and Peter blushes at the thought.

~

“What am I supposed to be doing?” Harry asks. Unfortunately, he’s asking Ben, who cannot yet form sentences.

They’re out shopping because Harry thinks spending money will help. He only makes it about two blocks from the apartment before he’s texting Felicia to come meet him. “Do I pay her for this?” he asks Ben. “Or is she my...friend?”

Ben gurgles and Harry sighs, feeling rather fond of his son. The stroller cost more than one might spend on a car, but it’s supposed to be the very best.

Felicia seems to appear almost out of nowhere. “Mr. Osborn,” she greets.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Harry.”

Felicia grins at him. “Interesting.” Harry’s been out of the office for over a month and his involvement before that had been mostly done via video chat. His actual visits to Oscorp had been rather short in recent months and Felicia still can’t make sense of that night they hung out together in his apartment.

She crouches down and examines the kid in the stroller thoughtfully. “He looks like you,” she says, eyes flickering upwards. Her gaze is calculating, watching for the minute details of Harry’s reaction.

She doesn’t expect the nonchalant shrug. “He should. He’s mine.”

Felicia tries to put all the facts together, but they aren’t working in her favor.

~

Okay, so maybe Peter is late for class kind of a lot. It’s difficult to be a superhero, a new father, and a student all at once. He’s also got a job for the paper he’s been neglecting rather a lot.

He’s very lucky that he’s smart or he would be completely screwed right about now.

Dr. Octavius is probably ready to murder him at this point, but just as he starts to open the door, someone starts going into a coughing fit and Octavius is focused elsewhere as Peter slips into a seat and starts writing down the information projected onto the board. He can’t help looking as the coughing dies down and it’s that girl again--MJ.

“Sorry,” she tells the professor, and as soon as Octavius has turned, she grins up at Peter.

“What…” he starts to whisper to himself, then mouths “thank you” at her with a smile.

~

“I’m sorry,” Peter hears, amidst Ben’s wailing cries. He’s just gotten back from class and makes his way towards the source of the noises.

“Stop,” Harry is pleading. “Please stop.”

“Things goin’ alright?” Peter asks and the expression Harry turns on him is enough to have him taking Ben out of Harry’s shaking arms.

Harry gestures to the bottle. “I warmed it for him but he didn’t want it. I rocked him. I even tried singing, Peter. I think there’s something wrong with him.”

“Sh, shhh,” Peter murmurs to Ben, taking a look at the baby. He puts his cheek to Ben’s forehead. He pulls back to look at Ben again. “I think he has a fever.”

Harry looks so terrified that a smile quirks at the corners of Peter’s mouth and he has to suppress it. Harry is concerned about their kid and Peter’s heart can only take so much. But Harry seems like he’s about to have a breakdown so Peter makes the call to the pediatrician.

~

MJ slides over to sit next to Peter and she looks sort of...sad. “Are you okay?” she whispers.

Peter starts nodding automatically, forcing a smile. “Yeah, why--”

MJ sighs. “You’re late all the time, but today you look…” She struggles to find a word that isn’t just “terrible.” She bites her lip. “You look worried.”

Peter taps his pen against his notebook. His laptop is dead--his thoughts have been elsewhere more than usual lately--and he’d actually had to buy supplies at the bookstore using Harry’s card in order to even be this level of prepared. He debates making something up or just shrugging, but MJ puts her hand on his and he admits, “Kid’s sick.”

Her expression turns even more sympathetic, if it’s possible. “It’ll be okay,” she says.

“Thanks,” Peter offers in return.

MJ glances at Octavius to be certain he isn’t paying attention, but then she steals Peter’s pen and starts scribbling something in his notebook. When she pulls back, he sees that it’s her phone number. “If you need anything, just let me know.” She blushes and he stares at the number for a minute, nodding dumbly.

“Thanks,” he says again, then finds himself tearing off a piece of paper and writing his own number down. “Um, same.”

“Mr. Parker,” Octavius calls and Peter glances at the board to figure out what exactly he’s supposed to be doing.

He manages to answer the question correctly--much to the professor’s annoyance--but he feels uncomfortable in the weirdest way.

~

“We gotta be quick,” Peter tells Harry seriously, but Harry is giggling--he hasn’t been drunk in months.

“Yes, Peter,” Harry agrees anyway, then they’re sharing sloppy kisses until Harry drops down to his knees. “Remember that first time?” he asks, looking up at Peter. He bites his lip but doesn’t break eye contact as he slowly pops the button of Peter’s jeans open.

Peter can’t look away. “Um,” he replies eloquently.

Harry chuckles. He doesn’t fumble as he frees Peter’s cock, giving it a long lick and letting the head rest on his bottom lip. “I love you, Peter,” he says, and it’s only the second time he’s ever said it. He takes the head into his mouth and sucks, slowly sinking further down the shaft.

Peter lets his fingers tangle in Harry’s hair this time, pulls at it like he knows Harry enjoys. It’s so unlike their first time and yet it’s them in the way that it always has been.

~

Peter tries to pretend it isn’t weird that he’s getting coffee with MJ, but it is. He’s got a stupid, stupid crush on a girl from class and boyfriend and fucking baby at home.

He’s pretty much the stupidest human being ever, but what in his life would indicate otherwise? He thinks that he used to be smart. Math and science always came easy for him, although he was willing to put in the work, too, but...everything else?

Stupid. So stupid.

Which is why he’s laughing at something MJ has said far too enthusiastically.

“So, how did you meet Harry?” she asks, and Peter has to swallow down the guilt.

He flushes. “Uhhh… We’ve known each other since we were kids, actually,” he tells her, and his smile isn’t completely forced.

MJ smiles, too. “That is so sweet.”

Peter laughs, thinking of all the time they spent apart. “Just kids,” he says, as if the word has been echoing in his head. “And now we got a kid. Who is better, um, as you know.” As soon as the sentence has come out, he internally winces. It’s an awkward thing to say.

“Yeah, I saw the pictures.” She immediately cringes. “That sounded creepy, but...the kid is cute!” Her enthusiasm serves to override any misgivings her previous statement might have caused. “What’s his name?” she asks, and sips her coffee.

Peter is pulling out his phone and pulling up photos before he even thinks about it. He starts flipping through them for her. “Ben,” he tells her, grinning. “Benjamin Osborn-Parker. He’s named after my uncle.” His face starts to fall. “He, um. He passed away a few years ago.” He shakes it off. That’s far too serious a thing to discuss with someone so soon. “Harry hates it when I call him Benji, so I do it, you know, at least five times a day.” It’s only a slight exaggeration of their home life.

Laughing softly, MJ stares at a photo of Ben and Harry and Peter. There aren’t many with the three of them since Peter takes most of the pictures, but Aunt May had insisted she get one of their little family. Harry is smiling because he thinks Peter is being ridiculous and Ben is clutching Peter’s finger but Harry is actually holding their son. Any weird feelings he might have for MJ fall by the wayside as he looks at the picture with her.

“You guys look happy,” she says, glancing at him.

Peter nods for longer than is strictly necessary. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we are.”

He’s made a friend--just a friend--and that’s good.

When he gets home, he kisses Ben, then Harry, murmuring “I love you” like he can’t stop, like he shouldn’t.

~

They’ve barely gotten Ben to sleep when Peter is pressing two slippery fingers into Harry. Their sex life may have suffered some since the birth of their son and the responsibilities that having a child entailed, but Peter and Harry will not be stopped.

Even if they will try to be a bit more cautious.

“Condom,” Harry reminds Peter, not eager for another nine months like the last had gone.

“I know, I know. I got it,” Peter assures, using his teeth to rip open the packet. Harry’s tight around his fingers, but he presses another in, fucking them into Harry carefully, methodically, perhaps a bit quicker than would be best.

Harry is on his hands and knees on the bed and he’s still a little fleshy compared to how thin he was before, but Peter likes it. He likes Harry, any shape. He fingers Harry until he’s stretched open enough that Peter isn’t scared of doing real damage.

He rolls the condom on but his hands are shaking.

“Peter,” Harry whines, and Peter manages to calm himself.

Peter presses in slowly, but Harry rocks back to meet him. They seem to sigh simultaneously with the relief of the motion. Peter bends to litter kisses down Harry’s spine. “I love you so much, Har, you know that?”

“Mmh,” Harry murmurs, then shifts his weight long enough for one hand to grab Peter’s, however briefly. “I love you, too.”

He’s getting better at saying it.

Peter is still somewhat awed each time.

Harry shifts and Peter is brought back to the task at hand. He rolls his hips, teasingly slow, enjoying every minute detail of this, of Harry, before his thrusts lose coherency with the rest of him.

~

Ben is strapped to Peter’s chest when Peter sees the gun. “Shit,” he murmurs, then quickly apologizes to his son. “But that’s not a word we say, Ben. Shhh.” He debates letting the guy go in the hopes of letting the cops get him. He could make a phone call… There doesn’t seem to be the time, however.

He’s got the suit on under his clothes from the superheroing he did earlier in the day, but having Ben with him him is not at all ideal. He ducks out of sight and slips the mask back on. He zips up Ben’s jacket better, secures him more tightly to him with some webbing. “Don’t tell your dad about this, okay?” he pleads, but then he’s shooting a web at the criminal’s hand as the guy goes for his gun.

It ends up alright, but Peter wakes up the next day to a very angry Harry Osborn shoving a newspaper into his chest.

SPIDER-BABY? the headline reads.

Peter is never going to live this down.