#keekner

Part 1 | Part 8 | Part 9 (here) | Part 10 |

Harley

"Look at you." I look at Rhodey.

"What?" He shakes his head. "What?"

"Well, nothing, just the way you're gazing after him." I scoff.

"I have a boyfriend, remember?"

"Yes, I do. I know. Three thousand miles away."

"We still talk every day."

"You do?" I nod, continuing to clean up. "About what? Let me guess, don't tell me. About him... Him... And, I don't know... Him." I give him a look. "AII I'm saying is that, that one there is a good person, on the inside as well and he's not going to be available forever."

"Relationship advice from Mr. One-Night-Stand himself. That is—" Peter runs back in.

"Forgot my jacket..." He grabs his jacket off the barstool and looks at us.

"Oh, no..I was just telling Jack here how every opportunity has a shelf life."

~~~

~~~

I take drinks up to the girls, just in time to see a golden interaction.

"I don't understand why everyone is having such a conniption over him, he's just a tacky circus performer from Ossining." Flash complains as he struggles to open a can of hairspray, as Peter is walking behind him. He grabs the can.

"And we know a clown when we see one." He pops it open. "Don't underestimate us circus folk." I smirk as Peter walks away.

I take the drinks back to Tony and Rhodey. I loiter outside of the door.

"You have been saying that the sky is falling forever. And everything always works out fine." Oh, great. Argument between Tony and Pep.

"Tell that to the people losing everything. I don't wanna be one of them. I love this place too."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"No, you don't!"

"Yes, I do!"

"Oh, no, you don't. Look, you have many fine qualities, Pepper, and then you've got some iffy qualities, but you've never been a phony. Just tell Stane no."

I roll my eyes and deliver their drinks, then go back down.

"Hey!" I look at Peter in his get-up. "So, what do you think?" It is a very arousing sight, seeing him bare-chested and covered in glitter.

"I think you look..." I am unable to form a coherent sentence. "Uhh..."

"Harley, we're friends. It's not like were brothers." He gets up and goes.

"Oh no we are not."

~~~

~~~

I wake up before Peter and go to write music at the club, and get back before we have to go back.

I walk in, and am about to say something, but I'm greeted with seeing Peter, his shirt completely undone and his pants just below his hips, as he looks at his ties. That image should honestly be illegal. He's so attractive.

I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend, who I have been with for six years. I'm happy with him.

"Harley?" I snap out of what I was doing and blink.

"Uh, yea. Just got in." He buttons his shirt and tucks it in, pulling up his pants.

"Can you help me?" He is now trying to tie his tie.

"Can't tie it yourself?" He gives me a look as I begin doing his tie.

"Where've you been?"

"Writing music."

"Can I hear?" I take a breath and he rolls his eyes.

"It's not ready." We say together.

"Who's that?" I look at the picture on the dresser.

"Me and my uncle on my 12th birthday. He died a few weeks later."

"You must miss him." He nods.

"Every single day something happens that I wish I could tell him about."

"And what happened today?"

"Nothing yet." We are both leaning in, until my phone rings, startling us both. "You should get that. It's probably Nataniel."

"Probably." I walk out of the bedroom. "Hey, babe."

"Hey Sexy."

~~~

~~~

After the show, and a painstakingly sexy performance from Peter, he runs up to the counter as people are leaving.

"Starving, you ready?" I wince.

"I can't. I'm so sorry. I have to do inventory tonight. Want me to call you a cab?"

"No, that's okay. I'll get a ride with Shuri."

"Sorry." He shrugs. I grab a box of plates and glasses. "Watch your back. Coming through."

Peter

"Hey, you ready?" I look and see none other than Obadiah Stane.

"Um? Excuse me?"

"Shuri left five minutes ago." I cross my arms and give him a look. "I was coming over to talk to you. I caught the end of your conversation."

"Talk to me about...?"

"Dinner. With me. Give me that." He snatches my jacket. "If you ever expect to see this jacket alive again... You'll follow me." He turns and walks away.

"Hold on a second. Where you going? Hey!" I end up in his car, which is fine, I guess, until he doesn't turn when I tell him to. "Where are you taking me? This is not the way to my place."

"I told you. Dinner."

"Dinner? I'm not going to dinner with you."

"Why not?"

"I don't even know you."

"Well, now you do." A few minutes of driving later... "Oh, damn it."

"What?"

"I just remembered I gotta make a quick appearance at a party.

"You just remembered." I roll my eyes.

"It's on the way. We'll be quick. Ten minutes, tops. Do you mind?"

"And if I do?"

"Then you've been kidnapped." We pull into a huge house.

"Nice house." I gape. He leads me through the kitchen area, a nd a roaring party, grabbing a tray of food and glasses, with a bottle of something.

"What are you doing? You can't just take that. Put that back. You're gonna get us kicked out of here."

"Not if we sneak out first, come on." He leads me up some stairs, and run into some people. "Hey, hey. Greg, Marla, this is Peter."

"Hi."

"Hey, great party."

"Always good to have you, man." We keep moving.

"Wait a minute. You had to make an appearance at your own party?"

"Would've been rude not to, right? You'd like those guys. Greg's an entertainment editor with 'The Times', Marla's a designer."

"Oh my god." We stop on a balcony overlooking the city. "New York looks gorgeous from up here."

"That view cost me three times what the house did. See that strip mall down there?" I nod.

"You own that too?"

"No. I own everything above it."

"There is nothing above it."

"Exactly."

"So you own air."

"Air rights. The guy that owns the strip mall ran into some money issues, almost had to sell. Whoever he sold it to would've put up a huge tower. So I bought the air rights. Now, no one can ever build above one story."

"Well, aren't you clever." I roll my eyes.

"Mall guy gets to keep his property, I get to keep the second best view in the city."

"What's the first?" He looks at me. I roll my eyes. "How many people have you  used that line on?"

"None ever who called me on it." He sips what I have recognized as Champaign. He offers me some.

"I'm twenty, not twenty one."

"Are you a cop undercover?"

"I have a moral issue with underage drinking, are you trying to coerce me?" He smirks.

"What do you want, Peter? In life."

"And why should I tell you?"

"Because you're talented enough to get whatever you want and I'm smart enough to help make it happen."

"How about you just take me back to my apartment?" He sighs.

"Fine, fine."

Tag List:

@name-me-regret

i love keekner but ive never written for them before!

harley never really got a lot of physical affection growing up. sure, his sister gave him lots of hugs, but with the absence of his father and the homophobic nature of the south, he became extremely touch-starved.

but everything changed when he went to mit and met peter. sweet, gentle little peter.

it started with little things that made harley’s day. holding hands, brushing shoulders, quick hugs.

and as their relationship grows stronger, harley ends up clinging to peter like a koala. he keeps him pulled tight to his chest while they sleep. he constantly plays with the boy’s soft curls. his arm is always around peter’s waist or shoulders.

more parkner mutuals/friends?

i’m desperate. you don’t even have to dm me first man just follow me and i’ll follow you back, or rb this and i’ll message you

A Parkner 5+1

Summary: At the same time every morning, Peter takes the 4 train from his apartment in FiDi to Stark Industries. He enjoys his position as a wallflower, ogling attractive men on the subway from afar, but a new face makes Peter reconsider his methods. Maybe, just maybe, it was time for this wallflower to bloom.

AKA: The 5 times Peter Parker pined from across a subway car and the 1 time he didn’t.

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1.

The automatic doors slid shut beside Peter with a ‘whoosh’ and he closed his eyes. He sat with his head resting against a glass encased advertisement mounted to the wall of the subway car. Music flowed from Peter’s earbuds and invaded his brain as the rhythmic vibrations of the subway lulled him half to sleep. The fluorescent glare of the overheads provided the final boundary between Peter and slumber as blue lighting encased the car interior, too stark for the morning.

After a half-decade of the same 7 am commute, Peter’s body still couldn’t adjust to waking up at dawn. Like clockwork, Peter’s alarm would go off at 5 am so he could get ready and leave his apartment in FiDi by 6:45 am. From there, it was a few blocks on foot to Fulton Street Station and a seventeen-minute ride on the 4 train. A short walk from Grand Central Terminal ensured Peter would make it to Stark Industries with plenty of time to spare for the ground floor Starbucks. During undergrad, Peter had despised routines. Now, they governed his entire life.

The train stopped. Peter jostled the woman next to him, eyes flying open.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into the empty space between them.

The woman shifted but said nothing.

Peter perused each face entering his subway car, noting that the majority were regulars with a few new visages mixed in. He would never admit it, but the best part of Peter’s morning commute was appreciating the attractive men who boarded the subway. There was a never shortage, and Peter was more than content with his position as a wallflower, always watching but never bold enough to approach. From the hipsters to the young professionals, Peter appreciated them all in contented silence.

As the subway doors were sliding shut, Peter caught movement from the corner of his eye. A man slid between them with more agility than an early morning often required. Once inside the train, he shuffled toward a pocket of empty space to grip the pole closest to Peter. Peter stealthily tracked the man’s movements, gaze never wavering.

His interest was definitely piqued. This was a new face on his morning commute. Peter slowly took in the man’s appearance bottom to top: brown loafers, navy slacks and a crisp, white oxford. His outfit was completed with a simple tie and a bomber jacket slung over his arm. One hand held on tightly to the pole while the other combed through disheveled, sand colored hair.

The man’s head abruptly turned, like he sensed he had an audience. Peter averted his gaze with practiced ease, pretending to readjust his earbud and narrowly escaping detection. The small motion still managed to speed up his heart rate. The faintest flash of color had caught Peter’s attention before he turned away from the mystery man’s gaze and he smiled to himself, like a schoolgirl with a crush.

The stranger’s eyes were the most startling shade of blue.

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