The English language has legs
Peter had just swung in through his window that FRIDAY had ever so graciously opened for him, and he pulled off his mask once his feet landed on the floor. Cool air hit his face as he strolled down the corridor to find Harls. Usually the blonde was already in his room, waiting for him to get back from patrol, but today he had cut it short and come back early due to the fact that literally nothing was happening on the streets today for some reason. The biggest thing he’d done this afternoon was give a lady some directions.
It was quite silent, his feet not making much noise as he walked quickly but with Spider-Man’s grace, and when he turned the corner it shocked him that he had to stop abruptly to narrowly avoid bumping into the very person he was looking for. Who had a towel wrapped around his hips, and very soggy, floppy hair that was a darker blonde than usual, almost brown.
“Petey! You’re back early?”
‘Petey’ suddenly had a very dry mouth. He could literally sense the droplets of water that were rolling down Harley’s chest and it took everything he had to look at his face, not his body, but Harley’s bright blue eyes were just as unsettling, they seemed piercing, and it felt like he was looking into Peter’s soul. He needed to answer.
Clearing his throat and attempting to be nonchalant, he responded, “yeah, there was nothing going on.”
Harley hummed. Peter was definitely acting a little flustered (and no, that did not delight him and make his chest warm, why would you say that) and Harley got that rush of hope again. Deep down, he kinda knew by now how Peter felt, but he was also in denial and this was also very fun.
With a smirk, he popped his hip and added, “So you came back to me, how sweet of you sugar.”
Peter gulped. dontlookdowndontlookdown his brain chanted, but looking up at Harley’s face wasn’t exactly any better, what with that stupid smirk stretched across his lips and oh god focusing on Harley’s lips wasn’t a good idea when Peter was ready to jump his bones. Words had left him. He was betrayed, left alone to suffer, the English language had fled.
“Mmhmm,” he said dazedly.
Why’d he have to take off the dumb mask before this interaction? He wished he could hide his face right now; If he hadn’t already, Harley would figure out why he was acting so weird or why he was blushing so hard. Why was this happening to him? Why only now, and not at the pool?
“...well, gorgeous, I’m going to go put some clothes on...” Harley said, amused and taking agonisingly slow steps towards his room, leaving Peter to have his crisis in peace. What the hell.
I mean, it was bad enough that he was stood there, dripping wet and in nothing but a towel, but he also had to do that annoying pet name thing and the smirk thing that Peter wished he would stop (Peter did not wish he would stop- he wished Harley meant it (which he did, but Peter didn’t know that)).
For the rest of that day Harley was relentlessly smug and kept thinking up new ways to give Peter aneurisms, to the point where Peter almost snapped and attacked his hot fucking face with kisses when Harley threw his head back and laughed that laugh that Peter did not love, and he literally had to use his sticky fingers to keep himself attached to the desk, staying at least 5 feet away from Harley at all times.
He doesn’t remember what they were working on, or how he managed to respond without stuttering. His brain was just harleyharleyharley.