Disclaimer : No, I don't own any of the characters of this. I'm only playing with them!
A/N : Set around a week after the end of the second film. Feed back would be greatly appriciated. Harry's PoV Just to warn you, there's going to be slash in this ficlet, and well as non-graphic non-con sex. If this offends you, please press the back button….NOW. So, now any close-minded individuals have gone bye-byes, let's get on with the story…
He can hardly hear the sound of his hand rapping on Peter's door, hardly feels she wood against his pale knuckles. He's numb, and he has been for far to long. All Harry wants is to feel something, anything, for the first time since his father died. Since his father was murdered by his best friend.
He's had a week to digest the information – to accept the lies, the stupid excuses and the fact that it was Peter behind the mask – but the time hasn't made the hurt go away. The moment when he ripped off the mask and revealed what was underneath, when he saw Peter's naïve face staring back at him in shock, is burned into the back of his eyelids. He can see the deceit every time he closes his eyes. He can't help the rush of rage that fills his veins when he thinks that it was Peter…he tries not to think too hard.
The grey sweater he's wearing hangs loosely off of his body. Harry's lost weight; hardly surprising, considering the fact that he can hardly bare to look at food, never mind shovel it into his mouth and digest. Even the though of food seems to disgust him, and though his stomach often complains loudly about the lack of meals, he can rarely find the courage to eat anything. Perfect diet strategy there – he could sell it and make a fortune. Have your best friend commit the ultimate betrayal by murdering your father, then just wait for the pounds to drop right off.
The green door slides open, and Harry feels his breath catch in his throat. He's been waiting for this moment, waiting to see what would happen when he finally put down his bottle of drink and went to confront his friend, his enemy. He had had a few ideas of what might happen, and most of them involved a whole load of violence. And, hopefully, some blood. Some way of making Spiderman suffer like he should.
He wasn't expecting to want to fuck his friend right into the wall.
Peter looks half-glad to see him, half-worried at what Harry might be here to do. Harry smiles, and wonders what Peter would have done if he'd attacked him right away. Would those good ol' 'Spidy senses' be put to good use? Would he have ended up with a beaten and broken body, chucked out on the doorstep? Somehow, Harry doesn't think so. Peter would never – could never – hurt him. Not after all the psychological damage he'd already done by robbing him of a parent.
Harry can't stop his eyes from wandering over his friend's form, can't stop his tongue from wetting his thin lips in anticipation. Peter has the body on an athlete – to be expected, really, from someone who spends his time swinging from building to building saving lives – and the wary smile on his face is so reminiscent of the ones they shared as children, that Harry can almost forgive him. Almost.
"It's nice to see you, Harry." He manages a smile – he's got to smile, or Peter will know something's not right – as his friend, the murderer, stands aside to let him inside. But, as his expensive shoes step into the room and Peter closes the door behind him, the smile becomes more genuine; who'd have thought that Spiderman, the city's saviour, would live in a dump like this? Of course, he's been here before, but now he's seeing it through new eyes. Through eyes that are fully aware of the truth.
After his eyes are done taking in the mess, he turns his body back around to face Peter; to face his enemy. But, for now, he'll play nice. Make sure that they're truly alone in this place, that no one's going to burst in suddenly. He sure as hell didn't want to end up behind bars. His fingers slide along the needle in his trouser pocket, and his grin takes on a more sinister form; the serum in that instrument was going to be his way that he didn't end up in hospital.
God, Peter looks good; his awakened eyes can notice this more than ever. Of course, he'd always been mildly attracted to Peter – he's always felt jealous of MJ for having the man's undivided attention, and had never looked away when Pete had been changing in front of him – but never like this. Never this raw lust moving around his body. Lust isn't the sin he wants to indulge in tonight; anger. The anger's what he wants. Harry wants to feel the warm rush of fury through his veins again, not this red-hot desire that's threatening to engulf him.
It's almost enough to make him loose control right there and then, just plunge the needle into Peter's neck and wait for the consequences, if they ever arrive. But, no. He had to be careful. He's cleverer than that, so he'll wait to make sure that Mary Jane wasn't going to flounce in – he's heard that they're back together – because he wasn't sure what he'd do if she found him…found Peter and him. Because, by now, Harry knows what's going to happen. His raging hard-on long since decided that for him, even if he hadn't been able to admit it at first.
Harry enquires casually about MJ's whereabouts, and is delighted to find out that she'll be out all day. Some show or rehearsal to attend; Harry couldn't care less about where she is. Point is she's not here. And he can begin to put his little plan into action. "Do you want some coffee? I can make some…" Peter's just trying to find something to focus on, because he must know that they have an awkward conversation coming up. Of course, the little spider didn't know that Harry wasn't actually all that interested in talking. Still, he nodded, and Peter moved around him to reach the coffee-machine.
His eyes take the time to float down to a perfect rear as he quietly follows his friend, fingers tightening their grip around the needle, ready and just waiting. Harry doesn't want to wait anymore, he's tired of waiting and he wants both Peter and his revenge, now. He needs it, needs Peter underneath him. Needs to avenge his father for what that stupid arachnid did to him.
It happens so fast that even as Harry sees the needle, still sticking out of Peter's neck, he can hardly believe he did it. Even as Peter drops to his knees – the liquid in there is fast-working stuff – with a betrayed expression on his face, Harry can't believe it's real. That everything's working out, without a single hitch so far. Now, he only has to hope that the serum works – which it will, of course it will – and then it's time. Time to see the smooth skin and taste those lips with his own, like he'd fantasized about for far to long. Time to dole out the revenge; to hurt Spiderman in a way no physical wound would.
Peter's movements have slowed down dramatically by the time he hits the floor, but as Harry kneels down beside him, there's still an awake spark behind his eyes. This pleases Harry a huge deal as he rolls his friend over onto his front, marvelling at the sight before his eyes. His…the body and the man he'd yearned after for so long was all his, finally. His mouth is dry, he feels so god damn hot, and his mind is just spinning.
Harry straddles the drugged male, unable to keep the smile that was forming from taking over his whole face as he runs a hand softly down Peter's cheek. The skin's soft, just as soft as he'd always imagined it would be. There's a fire growing in heat at the pit of his stomach, and he loves the warmth, but feels too hot – his skin's burning. He wants to strip off right now, but needs to saviour this moment. This is his first defeat of Spiderman, and the first time that he's going to lay a claim on Peter; he wants it to last. Hurrying it just because his cock can't wait wouldn't make sense.
Instead, he leans down over his friend, ever so slowly, and allows his mouth to initiate their first kiss. Peter's mouth has so many different tastes, and it's so warm, and Harry never wants this to end. But, a muffled complaint – muffled both by the force of Harry's lips, and also by the muscle-relaxing drug – from the man below him spoils the moment, and he had to break away. There was plenty more time; the effects wouldn't wear off for a good few hours yet. Plenty of time.
His mouth wanders down, kissing a trail over Peter's chin down to his neck. Harry's target moans – no doubt the valiant hero trying to talk some sense back into Harry – but it just spurs him on; with a loosened tongue, the groan sounds almost like Peter's enjoying this as much as Harry is.
His lips come to a halt half-way down Peter's neck, and Harry's hands worm their way over the hard muscles of his best friend's chest, knowing that there is far to much material between them, but also knowing that he'll soon change that little distraction. His tongue dances over the flesh, as his teeth bite down and he needs this. Has needed it for a long time.
When he comes up for air, there's a bright red mark where his lips have been on the beautiful skin in front of him; Peter'll have to wear polo-necks for a good few days now, to hide the mark on his neck. The thought makes Harry smile; his mark. His claim on the pretty little spider. Mine, the word intensifies his need, but there's little he can do for a short moment as he looks down on Peter, helpless and the utter definition of submissive.
Suddenly, his desire for skin to skin contact intensifies and he wants to see the smooth muscles of Peter's chest. He needs to feel the power that has been subdued in his friend; all his doing. He needs to lick the sweat off of the Spider's skin, and smell the rage that must be building up inside. He knows that he'll need to be inside soon, but he's putting it off while he still can; this needs to last. He may never get this chance again.
His jumper is quickly over his head, and he can recognise the terror and surprise in Peter's eyes when he realises that Harry will be going away. Maybe Parker can see the despair and desire in his old friend's eyes, but the young Osborn couldn't really care less. He takes a knife from one of the kitchen counters, reluctant to leave the boy alone even from a brief second, in case he turns around and the hero's gone. Stupid really, for someone with so many enemies to leave sharp weaponry lying around the place.
The blade slices easily through Peter's shirt, and through the spider suit underneath it, leaving Harry to simply wonder at the flesh below the clothing. His hands shake as he run them over the delightful torso before him, and his breathing increases. This is almost too much for him, and he can't stop himself from loosing control and swooping his head down to his skin, just wanting to lap up the power in Peter's skin, wanting to taste him and have him. His fingers scratch along the milky skin, leaving angry red marks in their wake. He can taste the sweat on Peter's body as his tongue winds up the contours of the well-kept chest in front of him, before nipping slightly - to his delight, drawing an indignant squeal from his friend's mouth – at his jaw line.
He makes the mistake of glancing upwards towards Peter's pale blue eyes, and instantly regrets it. The pain, the regret, the…hatred. But, that's stupid. Peter would never hate him. Could never hate him. They're best friends. Always will be, whether Peter realises this or not.
A wicked grin moves onto Harry's face as he realises that this is it; it's time. He can't hold on any longer, can't put it off for another second, or he'll explode. He's naked in an instant, and, though it takes a little more time, Peter's eventually before him in all his glory. Harry's breath catches, and he has to take a moment to deal with the enormity of what's about to happen.
Then he's next to Peter's sweat soaked skin, and he's inside and his friend's groaning, and he has to bite down on the Spider's shoulder to stop himself from crying out and he knows he can't scream to the heavens or someone might become the least bit curious and he needs this, has needed it for so long and it's…
Bliss.
He's shuddering by the time it's over. He was right; it finished all too soon. But every inch of him is tingling, and he needs to get away from here before Peter's nerves reawaken and the little spider can attack him; he didn't want to be here to receive the brunt of the little arachnid's wrath. The young Osborn chuckles to himself as he locates his jumper and throws it around himself.
He leans down beside Peter, moving close to his ear and eyeing the 'love bite' he'd left on his friend's neck. This would seal the deal, this final comment, and would make the helpless hero have to forgive him. The ultimate get-out clause. "Peter, I just want you to know that…that I forgive you. For what you did to my father."