Work Text:
As a child, Peter hadn’t had many friends. He’d had Mary Jane, who had enough personality to be ten friends, and then he had Harry Osborn.
It really was strange that the two boys had ended up talking to each other at all. Harry came from a well off, if emotionally distant household; Peter’s family lived paycheck-to-paycheck, but there was an abundance of love to go around. But then, maybe that’s what had attracted Harry to Peter in the first place—the Parkers had welcomed the young boy into the family with open arms. By the time Peter and Harry were ten, they considered each other brothers.
The months without Harry had been difficult for Peter. The time zones didn’t line up in ways that fit their schedules, and Peter missed Harry’s random drives over to his apartment (even if they normally resulted in Harry bullying Peter into going out and socializing). And sure, they’d had their ups and downs, but Peter was still excited to see his friend.
It hadn’t crossed his mind that the first thing Harry would do upon seeing him was yell at him.
“Pete, you idiot,” Harry scolded even as he brought Peter in for a hug. “I told you I’d call a cab! It’s Valentine's Day—weren’t you just telling me you’ve actually managed to snag a partner?”
“You’re so funny,” Peter deadpanned. There was a grin on his face, though. “Relax, Harry. Johnny’s watching his sister’s kids for a few hours so she and her husband can go out, and then the night will be ours. I’m sorry we have to postpone dinner, by the way.” Peter’s brow furrowed. “It’s just that—”
“Don’t even apologize, Pete, I knew what was going to happen as soon as I realized the only available flight was on Valentine’s Day. ” Harry looked absolutely disgusted by the terrible timing, and Peter stifled a laugh behind his hand. “It’s good to see you, at any rate. Now, get me out of here. I can’t stand airports.”
“You can’t stand mingling with the riff-raff,” Peter argued as he picked up Harry’s luggage.
Harry shot him a look. “You’re the only riff-raff I see.”
Peter had missed this, and he told Harry so. The other man’s green eyes softened, and he placed a big, sloppy kiss on Peter’s cheek, obnoxious enough that it attracted a few glares. Peter scowled at him.
“I take it back,” he complained. “Europe can have you, you menace.”
Harry just laughed at him. Eventually, though, they made it to the car; Peter had borrowed the keys from Johnny reluctantly, knowing that public transport would be a pain with all the bags Harry would be taking to his old apartment. He stacked them all into the truck of the vehicle, then turned around to see Harry watching him with raised eyebrows.
“What?” he asked, looking around; nothing seemed out of the ordinary to him.
His friend shrugged. “It’s a really nice car, is all.”
Ah. Harry was likely wondering how Peter could afford such a thing—and the glint in those green eyes told Peter he was leaning towards the sugar daddy explanation. Peter was quick to clarify.
“Oh, the car—the car is Johnny’s. He let me borrow it to pick you up. Come on, you know I take the train like any other self-respecting New Yorker.”
Harry slid into the passenger seat. “Your Johnny has quite the taste in cars, then,” he said, a note of approval in his voice. As Peter put the key into ignition, he realized that he’d never told Harry Johnny’s last name.
“Oh,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “I didn’t tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
Peter looked over at his friend, eyes wide with realization and oddly pleased by the turn in events. “And you didn’t see the picture?”
“The picture ?”
“Oh, Harry,” Peter said, backing out of the space, “this is going to be fun.”
Harry pestered Peter about it the entire ride back to the apartment, but there was no way Peter was going to miss out on Harry’s reaction to realizing Peter was dating the Human Torch. He almost never got his friend speechless; it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Harry did give up on that line of questioning after all his luggage made it safely into his bedroom—only so he could pick up a new one.
“And what,” he asked Peter, “are your brilliant Valentine’s Day plans?”
And that was the question, wasn’t it? Johnny had made him breakfast in bed (Peter’s very favorite) before heading off to the Baxter Building, but Peter had slipped some of Johnny’s favorite (if unbearably expensive) chocolates into his hands before he was totally out of the door. Then Peter had gone to work, only to head straight over to the airport to get Harry.
“We talked about getting a dinner reservation,” he admitted, “but neither of us wanted to be somewhere so crowded. I was thinking about a sort of picnic on the roof of our apartment building. Something simple, you know? But Johnny likes the gestures.”
Harry seemed to consider this. “Okay. Candles?”
Peter nodded. “Only problem is, I can’t cook. I was thinking about trying to get takeout from—”
“Lucky for you,” Harry interrupted, looking horrified by Peter’s suggestion, “I can. Don’t give me that look, I have nothing else to do this evening, and you’re going to need all the help you can get.”
That was a painfully true observation; Peter had spent most of his Valentine’s Days single, usually watching Dirty Dancing alone while he ate a tub of cookie dough ice cream. He rubbed the back of his neck. “What did you have in mind?”
“First things first: Do you have a suit?”
…
By the afternoon’s end, Peter was dressed in one of Harry’s navy suits, since Harry was of the opinion Johnny should “see him in something new,” so that put Peter’s gala suit out of the equation. Harry had, somehow, acquired a chicken to roast, and then Peter was tasked with setting up the dinner on the roof.
Unless he counted the field of photography, Peter wouldn’t exactly call himself a creative person, but he tried his best to make the area appealing. It was a little nippy that evening, but there were clear skies—perfect for an outdoor picnic. Peter spread the blanket out, set some pillows off to the side just in case, and then went about placing a few candles. When Harry poked his head out to check on him, he looked at the scene with a critical eye and then offered Peter a thumbs up.
Now that was a win.
Soon enough, Harry was texting him to let him know that he’d seen someone coming up to the apartment. Peter hurried down, nervously straightening his tie as he went. He made it back into the living room right before Johnny knocked on the door. Harry opened it, offering a shrug to a surprised—though not alarmed—Johnny.
“Well,” the blond managed. “You must be Harry.”
Peter really, really wished he could see Harry’s expression, but the man’s back was to him. There was a brief moment of silence, and then Harry turned to glare at Peter. “Gee, Pete,” he said dryly. “What a thing to forget to mention .”
Peter bit his lip to refrain from laughing. “I have no idea what you mean.” He walked around Harry to get to Johnny, who seemed mildly amused, if tired from watching the kids all day. They greeted each other with a quick kiss, and then Johnny was presenting a large bouquet of flowers to Peter.
“Aww, thanks, babe.” Peter flushed with pleasure, grinning to himself. Apparently he’d stood there too long, though, because Harry took the flowers from him with the intent to put them in a vase of water before he “got the hell out of here.”
It was the first time Peter had seen Harry willingly take public transport.
Then Harry was gone, but not before he promised a proper introduction to Johnny the next day. He glared one last time at Peter, and as he left through the door, Peter heard him mutter, “Johnny fucking Storm—of course it is.”
And then Peter had retrieved the chicken from the kitchen and he was guiding a wide-eyed Johnny to the roof.
“Wow,” Johnny whispered when he caught sight of his surprise. “Peter, I wasn’t expecting—”
“I know,” Peter said, putting the chicken down and encouraging Johnny to sit beside him. “But I wanted to do something special for you.”
Johnny didn’t often blush, but Peter thought he saw his boyfriend’s cheeks redden; he definitely didn’t miss Johnny’s grin. Johnny sat down, the candles were lit, and then dinner was on its way.
It was, in one word, perfect. Peter was honestly shocked; nothing ever went this well for him. But here they were, enjoying each other’s company and eating a delicious dinner that Johnny hadn’t had to make, for once (Peter would be sure to thank Harry later). The night was beautiful, nothing caught fire—it was a win in Peter’s book.
“And here I thought,” Johnny said at one point, “that we’d just sit in our pajamas and eat ice cream while we watched Dirty Dancing .”
“That was plan b,” Peter admitted with a laugh.
When they were both finished with the meal, they took a moment to themselves, happy to be in the other’s presence. Johnny seemed genuinely touched by the gesture—Peter didn’t often make big or bold moves like this—and Peter’s heart warmed to see how happy Johnny was.
He leaned over and kissed Johnny sweetly, slowly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” he whispered.
Johnny hummed, a small smile playing on his face. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Eventually, the night got a little too cold for Peter, and they packed up the picnic and headed back down to the apartment. Johnny kept watching Peter during the cleanup, almost expectantly. It confused him greatly for a while; he kept racking his brain to try and figure out what he was forgetting, if he was forgetting anything at all.
Later, he’d wonder if Johnny had been expecting a ring.
By the time the two men had finished putting everything away, moving around each other in the kitchen with the practiced ease of two people who knew the other’s every move, Peter and Johnny were exhausted. They changed, climbed into bed, and Peter’s arms found their way around Johnny’s shoulders.
“I hope you liked it,” he whispered into his boyfriend’s neck. His eyes closed, and he sighed deeply.
“Baby,” Johnny whispered back, “this was the best Valentine’s I’ve ever had.”
(They did, in fact, fall asleep watching Dirty Dancing , a half-eaten tub of ice cream between them.)