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Harley woke up to beams of sunlight glittering in from a crack in their curtains. They lasered in, erasing any hope of sleep within anything they touched, and Harley grumbled to himself before he stopped all of his movements. Peter was still asleep, cast in the shadows of Harley’s neck, undisturbed, and Harley would be damned if he woke him.
It was a pretty normal occurrence for Harley to be woken up by the sun, one way or another.
They had black-out curtains, ones that Harley had insisted on. But Peter liked when their apartment was lit up by sunlight, when they could have it, and Harley had always been terrible at saying ‘no’ to Peter. Peter never remembered to shut their curtains after he flickered them open, so Harley’d wake up to the sun streaming right in. A reminder of Peter that rose every morning, bright and unwavering.
Harley’s self-imposed prison of stillness was eventually in vain when only a few moments later Peter made a low noise, like a half-baked grumble, and Harley felt lips against his throat. They were amaranth and bitey, like a leftover stain of fruit punch.
“It’s early,” Peter muttered against his skin, still not removing himself.
“Too early,” Harley complained, wanting to incite.
He was rewarded with Peter rolling his head down to thunk against his shoulder, giving himself room to leave a bite there, his teeth and bite fleeting.
Harley’s own grin showed off his sharp fang teeth. “Morning, baby,” He said, his voice echoing off every dust particle that floated in from the sun’s halo.
“Morning,” Peter agreed, after appropriately scrunching his nose, waking himself up.
Peter peppered kisses over Harley’s clavicle and collarbones. He worked in a direction that traveled down Harley’s arm, and Harley couldn’t help his lip from quirking up, knowing exactly where Peter was headed. Peter kissed over his forearm until he reached his destination, kissing over Harley’s left wrist, right in the center, where a ‘P’ was stamped in permanent black ink.
Peter smiled as Harley’s hand came up to run through his hair.
“You hungry?” He asked, giving Harley the perfect set-up.
Harley’s grin was impish and shark-like. “Sweetheart,” He crooned. “I’m starving.”
“I know you can do better than that, Keener,” Peter gave back, barely hesitating, and Harley loved him.
The sentiment flashed through his mind regularly, but it usually came in moments like these, when sweet, doe-eyed Peter kept him on his toes.
“It’s early,” Harley conceded, to which Peter hummed in acknowledgment.
Peter mouthed over his wrist once more, cerise and scorching, before he pulled back, peeling himself out of Harley’s arms.
“Eggs sound good?” Peter asked.
Harley mumbled out something that sounded vaguely like a ‘yes’ before he dragged Peter up for a real kiss. Peter kissed him back for a minute, then he pulled back with a soft smile.
“Eggs it is.”
Harley propped himself up on his elbows as he watched Peter get dressed, and make his way out to their kitchen.
He cracked his neck, popped his shoulder, and attempted to savor his last few minutes in bed, and then got up himself. He threw on a t-shirt easily enough, barely paying attention to the faded Skin Yard print adorning the front. He also sufficed with a random pair of boxers that were a little tight, so they were most likely Peter’s.
Upon further inspection, they had little stars all over them, so Harley was pretty sure they were Peter’s.
He padded out to the kitchen, humming a Cranberries song that’d been rattling around in his brain. He was gifted with the sight in front of him.
He couldn’t help the uptick of the blood in his veins at the sight of Peter sleepily scrambling eggs, one of his hips cocked, as he attempted to scroll through his phone at the same time. Even though Peter went to Columbia, graduated summa cum laude, even, and was extremely proud of that fact - he still paraded around in Harley’s NYU shirts. Harley wasn’t big, but he was tall, and his t-shirts always managed to swallow Peter, hanging warped around his neck, stretched out and loose enough to be mouth-wateringly enticing.
It made Harley want to dig his nails into skin. It made him want to bite, and fuck, and touch.
Instead, he waited patiently until Peter had plated the eggs, and used one of his hands to grab his ass, just to hear the surprised noise that escaped him.
“If you want your hot sauce, you better get it, crazy man,” Peter teased, swiveling over to their fridge to get out the orange juice. Harley rolled his eyes fondly, but inevitably did as he was told.
He got his trusty Tabasco sauce out of the cabinet and poured it all over his portion of eggs. Once he was satisfied he sent Peter a smarmy flash of a grin, entirely too triumphant.
Peter ignored him, which was dangerous around Harley.
Harley bided his time and brought his plate over to their kitchen table. It was a little sad, and could barely hold three people if they were being overly generous, but neither of them had the urge or the motivation to replace it with a proper table, so it stayed.
Instead of taking a seat, Peter sat on the table, right next to Harley’s plate. Harley rested his right hand over his thigh as he held back a smile. It was just another Peter-ism that he’d gotten used to-like how Peter would always try to find high ground, and loved sitting in weird places, and fell asleep in even weirder spots.
When they were finished eating, Harley brought both of their plates to the sink, but was drawn back to his seat. Peter hadn’t left the table, and it wasn’t a hard decision to slink back into his space. Harley’d made a career out of invading Peter’s bubble, and he was looking to make it to retirement.
As soon as Harley sat back down, Peter slid right into his lap and looped his arms around Harley’s neck.
Peter idly played with his hair, his fingers running through and toying with the strands at the nape of his neck. It was way overgrown now, longer than he’d kept it in a while, and reminded him of the curtain of frizzy, thick blonde bangs he’d hidden behind most of his childhood. His hair was almost long enough now to gather into a tiny ponytail towards the back, and Peter loved messing with it, getting his hands in it as much as possible.
Truthfully, Peter’d let his hair grow out too. They both were overdue for haircuts, but hadn’t taken the initiative. Peter’s hair seemed to get curlier with every inch it grew, and Harley couldn’t even deny how much he loved it. The curls flopped into Peter’s face and made him look softer, more boyish in a way, without tacking onto the babyface.
May usually cut his hair every few months, but they’d missed it during the last visit, and Harley surely wasn’t complaining. May only really knew how to do the one cut, the ‘50s style gentleman’s cut that left Peter’s curls neatly cropped and almost severe. Harley liked the disheveled bird’s nest of Peter’s curls more and more with every passing day, and inch of continued growth.
“Thanks for breakfast, baby,” Harley said, meaning it.
Peter hummed his assent, seemingly perfectly content in getting his hands in Harley’s hair.
“Your hair’s getting long,” He muttered after a minute.
“Maybe we should give each other haircuts,” Harley suggested, just to be pure chaos. “We got some scissors laying around here somewhere.”
“Yeah, no,” Peter shut down immediately. “I like your hair long,” He said.
“Now, why’s that?” Harley inquired, his voice deep and rumbly.
Peter’s grin was gleaming, a shimmery amethyst that had Harley’s vessels contracting, his heart beating, and his body desperately trying to do its job to pump blood through his veins.
“Easier to tug on,” Peter quipped mischievously, and true to his words, tugged on a section of Harley’s hair, wrapping the golden locks around his fingers.
Harley tsked.
“Now, if I remember correctly,” He taunted, only giving a half a second of warning before he reached up and grabbed a handful of Peter’s hair. He pulled hard, hard enough to have Peter’s mouth falling open on a gasp. “You’re the one who likes their hair pulled, isn’t that right, honey?”
“Fuck,” Peter whined out, just moments before he caught Harley’s mouth in a kiss. It was sloppy and broken by Harley tugging on his hair again, forcibly separating their lips.
“Whatcha want, baby?” Harley asked, centimeters away from Peter’s mouth. He was close enough to feel every one of his breaths. His thumb brushed over Peter’s hip. “Want me to take care of you?”
Peter nodded, and Harley kissed him sweetly for it. He kissed him to distract him, and wrapped both of his hands around Peter’s waist. He’d never get over how deceptively tiny it was. Peter may be disproportionately strong, but he’d always be tiny in Harley’s grasp. With a swift movement, Harley dragged Peter up by his hips to sit back on the table. It wobbled a bit precariously under his weight, however, it was nothing it hadn’t handled before, on several occasions.
Harley slipped a hand in between Peter’s thighs, and spread open his legs, allowing for him to get in the middle of them.
Harley took a minute to drink Peter in, Peter, who was flushed and propped up against their kitchen table, his eyes dark, and a wild tangle of curls flying in every direction.
Harley was so in love with him it was like a sucker punch to the teeth.
It’s okay though, Harley was used to it.
Peter was heated sienna, the combination of iron oxide and manganese oxide, with streaks of rusty red painting his every move.
Harley wanted to eat him alive.
Harley bent down to suck a bruise into Peter’s thigh, wanting to turn it red, and leave a mark, to sate the dark desire that was clawing its way up his throat - the one that begged to make Peter his in the only way it knew how. He wanted to leave little sienna marks all over his thighs, that would eventually turn a muted purple before healing completely, like they’d never been there in the first place.
Harley sunk his teeth into Peter’s thigh, just to feel him squirm, and to hear the whine that always came with it.
“Easy, baby,” Harley soothed, like he wasn’t the instigator to all of this. “Wanna taste you.”
Peter’s fingers dug into Harley’s scalp and twisted his hair around until Harley’s head was stinging. It was totally worth it as he worked Peter’s boxers down, until his dick sprang free, already hard and leaking, because he was a good boy.
Harley got his hand around Peter’s cock first, and stroked it lazily, like they had all the time in the world. He waited, just until Peter keened from the back of his throat, and bent down to continue to kiss over his thighs. He used his teeth just enough so that Peter could feel each one of his movements, wanting to do a lot more than just get under his skin, but to break it too.
“Always so pretty for me, baby,” Harley told him, and Peter’s head fell back at his words, elongating his neck and leaving it temptingly vulnerable.
Harley was busy, though.
He worked his way up Peter’s thigh, and figured he’d done enough teasing. He sunk his mouth over the head of Peter’s cock, and brought it down, letting Peter scramble to find purchase, before settling on a tight grip of Harley’s hair.
Harley inched his way further, breathing through his nose and bobbing his head. After a few moments, he pulled off to catch his breath, relishing in the sounds of Peter panting along with him.
He was gorgeous, and everything Harley’d ever wanted. Harley would wake up to the sun slicing open his eyes every day for eternity if it meant that he got to have this afterwards.
Harley swiped over a vein with his tongue, a strategic move, one that pulled a-
“Harley-” High, and needy, better than any melody he’d ever heard.
He had to control his smirk as his lips wrapped around him once again. At this point, Harley knew Peter’s body practically better than he knew his own, and knew all the ways to make him fall apart. Harley wanted him to fall apart; craved it, craved it in the way that he craved anything that had to do with Peter.
Peter wasn’t going to last long. Harley could tell by the way his hips twitched up in little aborted motions, like he desperately wanted to fuck Harley’s mouth, but wasn’t letting himself go through with it. It was fucking sexy, and Harley found himself falling a little in love with Peter all over again, like he did every day, as an unintentional routine.
He used both of his hands to pin down Peter’s hips, easing the way for himself as he increased his suction and urged him deeper into his throat.
“Harls, I’m gonna-” Peter cut himself off, the rest of his sentence stuttered with little gasps, as if designed specifically to drive Harley crazy.
Harley pulled off, getting to watch Peter melt against the table. He was languid and all drawn out in a messy tangle of limbs. Harley had a sudden sharp urge to keep him like this - to have Peter perpetually fucked out and laid out on their wobbly kitchen table, just for him.
“I got you, baby,” Harley told him, his voice already scratchy, dipping low and velvety smooth like honey.
Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, his lashes delicate as they brushed against scarlet cheekbones. Harley savored the view for as long as he could before he sunk down one last time, lips sealing around Peter’s dick, which was now wet from his spit. Peter’s hands tightened in his hair, even more than before, pulling him down onto his cock in a way that had Harley moaning around his mouthful.
Harley’s grip over Peter’s hips was bruising, and he felt the full-body shudder that wracked through Peter a scattering of seconds before he came down Harley’s throat, chanting his name like a prayer Harley would never allow himself to forget.
“Fuck,” Peter repeated from earlier, but this time it was much more shattered, and hoarse.
Harley wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and waited for Peter to reel him in.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Pretty soon after Peter blinked back into awareness from his orgasm, he grasped Harley with both hands by his shirt. He tapped into a hint of his super strength, just enough to crowd Harley into his space, making the latter tower above him. He leaned down, going exactly where Peter wanted him. Peter’s lips found his quick enough, and they were back to square one, trading sloppy kisses. Granted, these were a bit more handsy than the previous ones had been.
Peter bit at Harley’s lip at the same time that he snaked a hand under Harley’s boxers, the ones that were probably originally his in the first place. Not that it mattered when he currently had his hand stroking Harley’s cock. He hadn’t even really thought about how hard he was until Peter’s hands were on him.
Peter’s pupils were blown and Harley wanted to drink him in. Suddenly, close wasn’t close enough, and Harley pinned him down, easing his weight on top of him. He kissed Peter messily as the younger boy continued to work over his cock, wanting to take his pent-up energy and thrust him over the edge.
“C’mon,” Peter mumbled into his mouth. “Want you to come on me.”
“Yeah?” Harley pressed, even though it hadn’t come out like a question at all, and he knew that.
Peter nodded frantically, getting increasingly more desperate. “Want it. Want you. Need you to come on me.” He used his free hand to slide up Harley’s baggy shirt, revealing his own toned stomach, pale and entirely unmarked. The sight of him already in Harley’s clothes, exposing himself just for Harley was almost too much.
Peter whined against Harley’s tongue, twisting his wrist now with every stroke of Harley’s cock.
“Want you to fucking own me.”
Harley’s lips broke away from Peter’s as his mouth fell open with a loud groan. His nose banged against Peter’s collarbone on his way to his neck, but he couldn’t even care as he came, his cum coating Peter’s stomach in hasty streaks.
“God,” Peter bit out, hands running through the golden hairs at the nape of Harley’s neck as the latter attempted to collect all of his untethered thoughts. “That was fucking hot.”
Harley’s grin was lazy and pressed right up against Peter’s jugular. “Yeah it was, baby,” He said, sounding wrecked enough that it had Peter giggling.
“Y’know…” Harley drawled, and couldn’t help but run his palm along the clean skin left of Peter’s stomach, just barely going over where his t-shirt was rucked up. “I like this look on you.”
“Yeah, I bet you do,” Peter teased, but softened it with his mouth, licking into Harley’s mouth tenderly and letting his hands roam.
Harley kept up his touches, wanting to feel every inch of Peter’s skin that was available to him.
“We’re gonna have to shower,” Peter conceded, and Harley agreed, even with his knowledge of how dirty Peter liked to be sometimes.
“We’ll get there,” Harley said, unbothered. “I don’t have any plans today, do you?”
Peter shook his head dutifully, so Harley had to kiss him again.
Harley had been savoring Peter from the moment they’d met. Peter was burnt sienna, flushed, and full of life, and Harley was bowed for him at the altar. Peter was everything and more, right there, right then, basking in the glow of the sun, and the contrast of his pale skin against the dark wood of their table.
Harley’s chest was split open, in the way that it only did with Peter, but that was okay, because Harley couldn’t get enough.