summary:
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Spider-Man is sent on his first solo mission by Tony Stark; as Peter Parker! He is sent to a charity benefit... which he was already supposed to be at... with Tony Stark's beloathed rival... who Peter is (definitely not) friends with benefits with...

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Tony Stark has many bad habits. Anybody who is familiar with him, through cheap tabloids or the actual billionaire himself, could say this with great confidence. Sure, he has now mostly outgrown the whole drinking and gambling part but one thing that Peter Parker is sure he will never lose is his incredible tunnel vision. Especially when it comes to his enterprise and its competitors.

"Peter, love you kid, but I wasn't finished. Anyways–," Tony goes straight back into rambling after cutting Peter off as he paces around the low coffee table in the living area of the Avengers Tower. Peter slowly reels his hand back in from where he had it hovering with one finger pointed up, trying to get a word in edgewise, and accepts his defeat.

While he's been working on and off with the Avengers for almost two years now, and working even closer with the Tony Stark as a kind of pseudo-intern, sitting in their base of operation surrounded by some of the most famous people on the planet really does make one nineteen year old kid feel small. No matter how many times Captain Rogers insists that self-advocacy is a pillar of trust within a team, Peter just doesn't have it in him to try and argue any more. Instead he resigns himself to nod and smile as Tony continues to ramble.

"--and of course, it's at an Oscorp gala!" Oh, that's a word Peter recognizes. He has been too distracted watching Hawkeye sit upside down on a futon and seamlessly flick pieces of a paper straw wrapper into Bruce Banner's hair without him noticing to really listen to anything that's being said. "It's always Oscorp! I know we've had a few Stark Industries guys go rogue but that number pales in comparison to them! Supervillains go to that big ugly tower like moths to a hideous fluorescent light!"

"You guys aren't even in the same business, Tony. Aren't they bioengineering? Why do you hate them so much?" Mr. Barton asks, taking a brief hiatus from bothering the other scientist in the room.

Tony lets out a high, obnoxious sigh and shakes his head, "you wouldn't get it, Iowa. It's all politics and socialites; Norman Osborn, god rest his soul, was an egotistical maniac who would do anything to have the edge up on me and now his little son is encroaching on my business! Clearly the apple doesn't fall far from the tree over on Osborn Acres–"

"Hey!" Peter pipes up, ready to defend Harry, but Tony doesn't even seem to hear him. Captain Rogers looks over to him though, with an eyebrow raised up at his interruption but he doesn't say anything else and turns back to give his attention to Tony.

"It's my sworn duty as Tony Stark to never lay myself so low as to attend an Oscorp gala," if it wasn't Oscorp he was talking about, Peter would probably start to laugh every time Tony said the business's name with the sheer volume of malice behind the word. "And anyways, long story short," he turns to Peter, "you're going to the auction on my behalf to get that staff fragment, kid."

"WHAT?" Oh god, Peter missed so much context. If he was in a comedy, the camera would absolutely pan to him doing a spit-take right about now. "I mean, uh, Mr. Stark, sir, I don't know if–"

"No, you're not going to squirm your way out of this one, Parker. Just think of this like all the cool undercover ops that these guys do," he says, motioning to Black Widow and Hawkeye behind him. "Except you're not even lying! You are genuinely going as my intern! All you'll do is mingle and make connections like I'm always telling you to do, and then get the Berserker staff piece and be seen as a great young face in Stark Industries! Bing, bam, boom!"

Honestly, Peter is at a loss for words. He tries in vain to stammer out something, some excuse, but Tony has already gone back to rambling on about his feud with Oscorp and all the other Fortune 500 companies he has beef with and the team is slowly dispersing. It's all white-noise to Peter as he trips over an unfortunate realization, he has never mentioned to the Avengers, to Tony specifically, that he knows Harry. Harry Osborn, CEO of Oscorp, his best friend, and apparently Tony Stark's worst enemy. Well, this is unfortunate...

Someone walks behind Peter and pats his shoulder as they walk away which brings him back to the land of the living. Tony looks back at him over his shoulder and quickly says, "you should close your mouth, Peter. You're going to catch flies." He hadn't even realized.

Of course, being an anxious teenager, the first thing Peter feels is embarrassment which corresponds with the blushing that's spreading across his face mixed with a healthy amount of guilt for never mentioning this before. Slowly, he stands himself up and creeps over to Tony, who's talking to Ms. Romanoff. Hesitantly, Peter stands behind him and looks into the back of his head, hoping to get his attention.

"What is it, Peter? Why are you acting like you're in kindergarten waiting your turn to talk to the teacher?" Tony quips, turning away from his fellow Avenger and looks him up and down. "Why do you look like that?"

"Uh, sir–I already kind of have plans that night–"

"What? Do you need me to forge a doctor's note or something? This is Avengers business, you're going." It must be how Peter takes a small step back away from him that Tony's expression softens. He pauses, and tilts his head for a moment, and then apologizes. "Sorry, kid. I didn't mean to get on your ass there," he reaches a hand out and gives Peter a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"However, I genuinely need you to do this for me. We really need to get this Berserker staff, and I think this will be a good experience for you on both fronts of your life." He gives Peter a little smile and lightly punches his shoulder, "I'll get everything set up for you; tux, ride there and back, security, everything. You just enjoy the night, yeah? Easy!" Tony watches him for a response and take's Peter's uncomfortable smile as an OK. "Great! I'll talk to you before then too, don't sweat it."

Yeah, 'great' is definitely one way to describe this, Peter thinks as his mentor turns back around and easily picks up the conversation he interrupted with Black Widow. Those are perhaps not the first words that come to mind when your boss signs you up for a party as his Stark Industries representative. Which you've already been invited to. As the guest of his sworn rival. Yep... those are certainly some adjectives you could use.

–

Harry Osborn thinks it's hilarious, which is maybe the only comforting part about this whole situation. He can't be there, waiting on Peter when he arrives in the Stark Industries limousine, much to Peter's dismay but he texted Peter that he would try and stay around the door for when he arrives. The car pulls up to the main entryway, one limo in a sleek black sea, and the driver looks over his shoulder to Peter.

"I'll be back a little after midnight. If something happens, Mr. Stark said to give him a call first, then me. Got it?" Peter nods and readjusts the cummerbund at his waist and tugs on the sleeves of the suit that Tony had fitted for him, internally hyping himself up for this. "Whenever you're ready, kid. There are more cars behind us."

That's a terrible thing to tell a nervous teenager, Peter thinks as he touches his hand to the red bow tie that Tony sent him off with. "Thank you, sir," Peter gives the driver one last unconvincing smile before he pushes the door open and lets himself and his slick leather shoe step into the cool spring evening. Just have to get to Harry, easy as that!

At least four impressively strong flashes go off before Peter's eyes even adjust to the light levels on the other side of the limousine's harsh tinted windows. The driver pulls away while the next unwieldy car pulls right back into its spot and Peter is now strikingly aware of how much attention both Harry and Tony pull away from him whenever he attends events with either. Now it's just him on a long carpet with swarms of paparazzi on either side shouting question upon question at him to the point where, even without advanced hearing, Peter is sure he wouldn't be able to understand anything coming out of their mouths. Super senses are not beneficial in a moment like this.

Luckily, someone in dark sunglasses and a dark suit is quickly approaching him and ushering Peter towards the revolving door of the Oscorp tower. "This way, sir. Can we get your name?" He says over the shouting as another car opens its doors behind him.

"Uh, Peter Parker–"

He's been brought before a woman with a clipboard and what must be an uncomfortable combination of tall, skinny heels and a thin pencil skirt, who taps her pen down the list and then looks back up at him with a strange look. "Sir, we have a Peter Parker with both Stark Industries and Oscorp, which are you the guest of?"

Oh, this is very awkward, Peter thinks as he feels embarrassment-fueled blush creep up onto his cheeks. "Funny story–I'm actually both–but I'm here on the behalf of Tony Stark." That was definitely way too much unnecessary information, Parker, good job.

She opens her mouth, making a short clicking sound between her teeth and tongue, but then gives up on whatever she was thinking as the next guest lines up behind Peter. "Alright, Mr. Parker," she makes two sharp marks on her clipboard, shrugs, and turns to a short table behind her which she takes a slip from, "here is your name tag. Please enter through these doors."

Peter's smile and 'thank you' is lost in the roar as he is ushered to the moving door while simultaneously trying to put his name tag on (he only gets caught in the door for a moment). Of course, he's been in this lobby hundreds of times and even a handful while a party of this grandeur was going on, but he always had Harry with him. Now he just feels like a lost toddler in a supermarket. As every one of his senses are attacked, he only feels more and more out of place.

However, much he wants to melt into the shadows and never be seen again, right under his name on the tag that was given to him at the door is Stark Industries written in a very dyslexic-unfredinly font. And so after he does not trip on the doormat, thank you very much, and some older man walks up to Peter and quickly introduces himself as Tiberius Stone, CEO of Alchemax. He goes to shake Peter's hand and Peter goes to reciprocate, but they fumble when Peter sticks out his dominant right hand and Mr. Stone looks surprised with his left hand out waiting.

The worst part–scratch that, it's difficult to put everything Peter dislikes about these kinds of events into an ordered list–one of the worst parts of events like these is how his spider-sense is always ringing alarm bells in the back of his head. It's not with the same ferocity that comes in a fight for his life, but more like a gut feeling that Peter intrustically trusts. This scenario is no different. Mr. Tiberius Stone shake's Peter's hand and he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He works on that fake smile that Tony is always using in that moment and tries in vain to politely show disinterest.

"So, you're Stark's young intern; is that correct?" Mr. Stone continues to shake Peter's hand for a moment longer than necessary, which changes the flow of their conversation and would make it unsavory for him to leave now.

Peter chuckles and tries not to look as uncomfortable as he feels. "Uh, yes sir, I am. I've been working with him on and off for two years now through my highschool and now that I've graduated and taking a gap year, he's allowed me to officially take up the position."

Mr. Stone nods along. Peter can practically see the gears turning in his head as he does the math on how old–or young–Peter is. "I see, Mr. Parker. You must be really–" mixed with how the businessman is staring him down and his emphasis, Peter is glad he was not able to finish that sentence before none other than Harry Osborn easily strolls up and interrupts their conversation.

"Peter! Between your constant tardiness and Stark's need to be 'fashionably late' I'm surprised you made it while the party's still going on!" If anyone else were saying that, Peter would take it personally; maybe that's why Harry said it in his snarky little tone too, since Peter supposes he wants to keep up the ol' Stark versus Osborn rivalry. But it's Harry, so he just rolls his eyes and lets his shoulders loose some of their tension they picked up during his conversation with Mr. Stone.

Speaking of Mr. Stone, he doesn't flash Harry that same businessman smile he tried on Peter and backs off a little from the duo. "Mr. Osborn, I'm glad to see that you are doing well." He motions to the lavish party around them, "I assume business is doing well for you in this quarter?"

Harry shrugs, "stocks are up, investors are happy, shareholders and happy, our customers are happy; what else could you want from a business?" A notable skill Harry picked up from his father is his ability to make a low-blow sound like nothing out of the ordinary, but Peter is sure that if he looked into Alchemax, all of those could not be said the same for the other megacompany.

"Haha, very right, young man," if the fact that Tiberius Stone said 'haha' aloud didn't get the point across, he definitely picked up on Harry's jab. He narrows his eyes and Peter feels those hairs on his neck stand back up again. "I'll leave you to welcome the rest of your guests then, sir. I'm sure I will see you at the auction." Mr. Stone walks off and with the noise, you don't have to be far to be out of earshot. Both boys stand there for a moment and watch him go, like they're waiting on him to turn around and catch them doing something, but the CEO disappears into the rest of the crowd.

Peter quickly turns his head to Harry who's got a stupid look on his face. "Harold Theopolis Osborn, why did you just piss him off like that?" Harry shrugs his shoulders and starts to walk away with that same leisurely swagger he always manages in public. Peter, of course, follows him. "Don't just walk away from me, hey!"

"Tiberius Stone is a renowned asshole, Pete; and a general creep. You were obviously uncomfortable," Harry explains as they meander through the crowd, giving slight nods and short waves to those he's familiar with. Someone walks right at them with intent to start a conversation but with ease and grace, Harry puts his hand onto Peter's back and steers them through one last group of socialites and lands them near an uninteresting corner of the showroom floor.

Harry looks down at Peter's name tag, "I see you chose the Stark Industries tag. Alright, I get how it is." Peter huffs a breath out while Harry's hands fiddle with the tag itself. A practiced motion, he takes it out from where it was lodged in Peter's lapel and moves it over to above his right breast pocket. "Also, this goes on your right. So when you shake someone's hand, they have an unobstructed view."

"What if I want to be a man of mystery? Of intrigue?" Peter supplies, shooing Harry's hands away and clipping the safety pin back himself, then straightening it. However as soon as Harry isn't touching up his name tag, he's pulling at the sides of Peter's bow tie and readjusting the starched collar that sits snug to his neck. He has to laugh, "oh my god, Harry, you're worse than Aunt May! Stop it! Like a... a preening bird or something."

Harry laughs too, and puts his hands up in surrender, "okay, alright, I'll hold off. You're so mean to me." Peter gives him an unimpressed look, but Harry shrugs it off. "Also, if you really want to be a man of intrigue and mystery, you shouldn't have become Tony Stark's personal intern."

"In my defense, I didn't know that the job included paparazzi and corporate espionage." Harry rolls his eyes at that and turns himself to lean back against a wall, folding his hands behind him and putting weight on his heels. His suit, of course, is perfect. Peter doesn't think he's seen this one either; black tuxedo jacket with deep, dark green lapels. The angularity of them matches the rigidity of the rest of the new suit and the color is repeated in Harry's vest and pants. If Harry didn't exude confidence in every aspect of his life, maybe it would have looked stupid, but no, never on him.

"You look good, by the way," Peter adds, "well, you usually look good at these events. I mean–you look good out of these events too–you're very good at all the... fashion stuff and what not," Peter cringes at his own inability to communicate without sounding like a complete idiot, but Harry seems endeared by it.

He stands back off the wall, and puts a hand softly onto the nice material covering Peter's shoulder and says, "you look very good too, Peter. Even with that ugly SI lapel brooch," and as he comments on the small gold insignia, he lets his hand run down Peter's chest to it, which he pats down. Another unimpressed look from Peter, another shit eating smirk from the Osborn.

"Unfortunately, this is my party. I can't just hide out in the corner like we used to anymore," Harry gives him a sympathetic look. "You do whatever you're most comfortable with, Pete. If you want to stick with me, that's fine; I can try and connect you with some people I know Stark knows."

Peter looks down at his shoes and shifts from the ball of his foot to his heel and back again. "That would be a really big relief, if you don't mind, Harry," he admits. He knows that by now, Tony expects him to be able to do all of this himself but Tony should also know by now that Peter isn't an extrovert like the people who are typically in the spotlight. He can talk science and philosophy and even some economics until the sun comes up, but small talk? Absolutely not; that's always been Harry's thing.

"Of course, dude." Harry must hear someone mention his name, as he quickly looks up and over his shoulder into the crowds. "It's 8:30 now and the auction doesn't start until 10:00. I have some more people to greet first, so could you get me a glass of champagne?"

"As far as I remember, Mr. Osborn, you are still nineteen," Peter said, raising his eyebrows.

Harry mimics his look and tone and responds, "well, Mr. Parker, there is going to be a toast that I'm expected to lead soon." Harry starts to tear himself away from Peter's side and is slowly walking backwards towards the crowd. "Look, Pete; my dad raised me to be many things and yet a lightweight is not one of them. I have no intentions to get wine-drunk like some depressed soccer mom."

"Fine, alright. I'll get drinks and come and find you."

"Thank you! We'll catch up."

–

There is actually an impressive amount of drinking that takes place in these limelight events. Peter assumes it's a coping mechanism and Harry says it gets more money flowing. Nonetheless, by the time that the auction is beginning, Peter has managed to speak to a good number of representatives and CEOs and while the night sets upon them in their champagne flutes and full-bodied cabarets, Peter's quick metabolism leaves him fortunately sober.

Harry on the other hand, only after he finished off his glass at the toast admitted to Peter that he had already had two fingers of whiskey in the afternoon while he was making sure the party was going to run smoothly. Peter doesn't exactly blame him, but he tries to be obviously disappointed. He probably notices, especially since Peter keeps shooting him looks whenever he starts laughing too loud, but Harry doesn't dwell on it for long.

"Oh, Peter, this is Dr. Ryker: CEO of Cybertek," Harry says with one hand placed on Peter's lower back as his other hand motions towards who he is motioning to. "We studied his work when I went to Horizon, so I'm sure you know him."

Peter shakes Dr. Ryker's hand and for not the first time tonight, ignores his spider-sense. "Yes, of course! Your work in cybernetics is remarkable, sir."

The man shows off his perfect white teeth in a proud smile, "I'm honored, truly. The Horizon graduates I have managed to wrangle up into my company always surprise me. You are truly the next generation of great minds."

"Thank you, sir." Peter smiles. "Horizon has really given me a step-up in the field. I know your company is one of our biggest financial supporters; the tech you donated was particularly helpful in my bioengineering elective."

"A bioengineer? Working in Stark Industries?"

Harry scoffs, "tell me about it, Ryker. I've been trying to convince him to come to the dark side for years now."

"I see you two are familiar with one another then, Mr. Osborn. And you haven't snagged him for Oscorp yet either?"

"Mr. Stark has provided me with an incredible opportunity," Peter says, defending himself. "And I'm not just a bioengineer. I focused on it for a while, but it's been nice working in other fields too."

"I see, alright." Dr. Ryker slides a hand into the interior pocket of his jacket. "Versatility is so important; here," he offers his hand out once more, but this time there is a finely embossed business card on his hand, "if you ever want to dip into the world of cybernetics, give me a call."

Peter takes the card from the businessman and thanks him. He slips the piece of cardstock into his own pocket and it snuggles up beside three other cards he has been given tonight, but why would he mention that? Dr. Ryker bids the boys good luck as large doors swing open across the room, opening into the auction space.

They both watch him walk with the crowd into a room before Harry elbows him and mumbles, "what is that, the sixth card?"

"Only the fourth; there was the woman from Cortex Corp. and then Fisk Industries and the Midas Foundation" Peter shrugs, "I don't know why they keep giving them to me. I clearly already have a job."

Peter sees Harry give him a weird look out of the corner of his eye. "Obviously it's because you're remarkably intelligent and successful at such a young age."

"Yeah, well, you are too."

"Yes but I already own a company. And it's a winner. Seriously, who's heard of the Midas Foundation?"

Peter hums in agreement, "yeah, that's true. But Cybertek is recognizable at least. I think I heard the Avengers talking about some new tech that's been causing SHIELD problems that comes from their direction."

Harry nods, "I really can't believe you actually work with those guys, Pete–remember when we used to play as them on the playground in your neighborhood?"

"Of course! I was always Black Widow," Peter says proudly.

"Well yeah, because you never let me be Black Widow. You always made me be Hawkeye."

Peter touches his hand over his heart and looks faux-hurt, "Hawkeye is very cool! I won't stand for Hawkeye slander."

Harry disagrees, but lets it go. "Whatever," he says, exasperated. "Those companies just see you like a puppy in a storefront, Pete. You look cute and smart and then bam! You're actively destroying everything around you and shitting on the floor."

Peter laughs too loud at that and earns a weird look from some stuck-up person in the crowd before them. "What? That is so mean!" He says and hits at Harry, shaking his head side-to-side. "I can't believe you would say that!"

Harry tried to keep his composure but it didn't last for long; he was laughing with Peter too. "I like that too, actually. I'm gonna start using that more often."

"Just not to me!"

Harry gives Peter a half-hearted shrug and he starts to move away, towards the open doors which most of the crowd has already filed through. Peter stands his ground, stubbornly, but when Harry gets far enough ahead of him, he speed-walks to catch up and follows him into the gallery space.As the atmosphere shifts, the chatter fades into background noise, signaling the start of the auction. The room grows hushed as an announcer takes the stage, spotlighting the dazzling array of items up for bidding. Peter's attention shifts, his curiosity piqued by the eclectic mix of tech gadgets and rare artifacts on display. He exchanges a knowing glance with Harry, both eager to see what treasures the night will unveil.There's another bar in this room with a short line, and seats lined up in curvilinear rows, all looking towards a short stage. There are sixteen items around the walls for people to cruise by before they start the bidding, so after Peter and Harry get their chairs beside one another, they split up and Peter lines himself up with the other businesses who have made a queue to look through the selection.

The items are numbered, one to sixteen. Each has a plaque beside that number that explains what the item is, a rough price, and where the bidding will start. Maybe after a few more years or working with Pepper and Tony and seeing all their finance work, Peter will get used to seeing millions of dollars easily thrown around, but he's still fighting for his life in the night against supervillains and in the day against the ever growing cost of college, food, and rent.

Tony had called Peter over to the tower earlier to discuss the night's plan and to get him ready. Before he left, Tony off-handedly said to 'not spend over 50' which Peter thought was a little low for the billionaire, and that must have shown on his face because Tony quickly added, '50 million, kid. Try not to spend 50 million' and Peter felt his heart drop in his chest because oh my god that is an obscene amount of money, yeah sure he's managed to surround himself with some of the richest people in the US but holy shit! He can barely even comprehend that much money, much less imagine throwing it away in a night!

There was a set of three Tiffany Schlumberger bracelets (which Peter only knows how to pronounce because Harry's mother had one, and once they went through her jewelry box) which was then followed by multiple paintings and a massive collection of fossils. Beside those were some wines that were not nearly as old and yet just as expensive, and a small piece of technology from some intelligent alien species outside of our galaxy. The further from the start he gets, the more he has to try and not gawk at the estimated prices.

And where else would the item that Peter has been sent to retrieve by but at the very end? 'Number Sixteen; Fragment of Asguardian Staff' the plate reads and under it, the starting price is set at 2 million. There are multiple other people gathered around this final item alongside Peter, sending short looks out of the corners of their eyes. Doctor Ryker is standing there with his hands folded behind his back, inspecting the weapon, along with a man named Aldrich Killan of FuturePharm and a slender old woman who's tag Peter couldn't see.

He feels awkward standing between them, and his spider-sense definitely doesn't like it either. Thor has been off-world recently but when asked about it, apparently seemed alarmed that it had fallen into the grasps of 'midguardians' so if a god is worried about it, Peter figures it's alright for him to be too, and try and keep his distance.

Lucky for everyone in the room and probably the greater city of New York, the Berserker staff has three pieces that were dispersed across the globe some thousand years ago. In pieces, its damage radius is greatly reduced, and for typical humans it's just a glorified baseball bat anyways. Scientists have beliefs that it could be harnessed for energy, but it's been in a museum's collection since it was rediscovered a hundred years ago. The public shouldn't know as much as Peter does, but by the hungry look on his neighbor's faces, they must at least know as much as him.

Peter slips back out from between them and turns to see Harry standing behind him with two drinks in his hands. Peter jumps a little, surprised, but Harry just puts a hand out with a drink and gives it over. "It's a julep. You'll like it."

Peter probably trusts Harry too much, because he easily brings it up to his lips. He doesn't know which one is stronger–the alcohol or the peppermint–but it culminates on Peter abruptly coughing and thrusting the drink back to Harry, "Jesus Christ, Harry! That is absolutely rancid, why would I like that?"

"It's mint! You love mint, don't you?" Harry argues back.

"I mean I did! Before, you know–" Peter makes a wild gesture at his body and gives Harry a look, "--before I became allergic to peppermint," and he makes sure to emphasize that so Harry understands what he's getting at.

It takes him a moment, and ten Harry's eyes snap wide open, "oh fuck! Oh my god, Peter, I'm so sorry! I swear I'm not still mad at you or anything even remotely like that. That was a genuine mistake– I'm not trying to poison you or something–" Peter cuts off Harry's fast rambling by doubling over, laughing. Harry, on the other hand, looks genuinely upset that he forgot. "I'm actually so sorry, Pete."

"No, it's alright Harry, it's not actually going to kill me or anything," he looks visually relieved. "But c'mon man! How long has it been now, three, almost four years? How much have you had to drink tonight?"

Harry blinks slowly, "two glasses of champagne." Peter keeps looking at him, and then Harry sighs and looks back down at his feet, "yeah you're right, it was three. But that's not much."

"Okay, but now you're having another drink, and you mentioned having something before the party."

"Well that was something like three or four hours ago now."

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Some of those little hor'dourves that were floating around." Peter sighs and makes his concern obvious. "I mean, it's better than nothing."

"Okay, technically it is, yes," Peter says reluctantly, "but it's definitely not enough. You need to eat, Harry. And also stop drinking–alcohol specifically–don't twist my words."

Harry rolls his eyes, "fine, whatever." He looks back down at the drinks in his hand and shrugs his shoulders down in defeat. He finds the closest table, a tall one meant for putting drinks and plates down on, and places both cups there.

"If you want to get food afterwards, I'm down for that," Peter adds.

Harry nods, "wine me and dine me, I see how it is with you, Parker," he winks and quickly adds on, "but you're paying."

"You never let me pay!"

"You never have a Stark check in your pocket when we go out to eat," Harry says in his defense. Peter goes to punch Harry in the shoulder for the umpteenth time but Harry laughs and easily moves out of the way, back towards their seats in the auction.

They sit as the crowd's general murmurs start to lower and a man comes out on stage. The lights dim in the room and the first set of items are rolled out onto the stage, the bracelets that remind Peter of Mrs. Osborn, and they're given an explanation about the item as it makes its way up. And so, the bidding starts.

–

Peter's just about dead tired by the time number sixteen is up for auction. There's no good reason for him to be so tired other than the fact that he's a restless teenager, as there's been no crime fighting today. But he's never been one for large social gatherings (he would actually rather be making stupid puns towards street villains with stupid powers) so that's probably it.

Harry has occasionally placed a bid, just to bring up the price if it was slowing down. He won on an earlier item, a wristwatch from the 1940's that is still in great condition–but he wasn't too active in general. Harry got his watch at a little over two million and while it was the first to go into the million digits, it wasn't the last. In fact, the trend was obvious; the price was getting exponentially higher each round.

Peter is trying really hard to not get this nice new suit sweaty, but item fourteen was sold at the pretty penny over twenty million. Twenty million dollars, and none of these people are even blinking an eye! Maybe Peter's been doing this whole 'hero without pay' thing all wrong, perhaps those cat burglars aren't as dumb as he thought.

Item number fifteen is sold for twenty six million, and Peter honestly feels sick. Tony said not to spend over fifty million but oh my god he didn't think it would even get close? He just thought that Tony was joking, trying to scare him. Peter is really wishing he could be affected by alcohol normal teenagers would be about now; Harry always uses the excuse that it's 'liquid courage'.

Speaking of Harry, his friend has caught on to Peter's anxiety. He leans back into his chair and casually slips one of his arms around Peter's shoulders, his hand squeezing Peter's further shoulder. In response, Peter makes himself uncross his arms across his chest and loses some of the tension in his body. In the lull between events, he tilts his head back and rests it against Harry's arm behind his neck.

If Harry is trying to be subtle when whispering to him, it's not working because he leans his head in to Peter's, his nose connecting to a spot behind Peter's ear which makes the hair there stand up–but notably, not in the way it does in the context of his spider-sense–and his warm breath make's Peter's heart jump as he says in a low tone, "look at those guys gathered in a group."

He in fact, did not get to look at whoever Harry was talking about before he continued because in all honesty, he bluescreened. "People have noticed you haven't bid. They're probably going to try and syndicate you."

"Syndicate?" Peter repeats when his brain catches back up. He's the most familiar with crime syndicates, but he doubts that's exactly what Harry means.

"Looks like Midas and Alchemex. Cybertek too, but they just won that last one so probably won't contribute. They'll pull assets as one entity to win," Harry explains. He moves his head away and looks across the room, which Peter is very thankful for because he knows how hard he is blushing. "You start low, and then I'll join in to try and scare them off. Play dead, then come in at the last moment, deal?"

Peter nods, "sounds like a good plan." Harry's hand still reaching out across Peter's back gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he pulls his arm back into his own space bubble. Peter finds himself following Harry's arm back towards the other's body, where he bumps their shoulders together and Harry gently tilts his head so that his hair brushes Peter's shoulder.

The auctioneer takes the stage again and the groups founded during the break split apart once more to their seats. Peter weighs his bidding paddle in his hand, tapping it against his knee as the staff fragment is given a basic description and a starting price; two million. That was greater than Peter remembers it being, he thought it was closer to one million, so he looks over to Harry with wide, anxious eyes.

Harry sees this and looks at him back from the corner of his eye, while keeping his face still turned to the auction. "They know Stark wants it, but it's going to go way higher than that anyway so it won't change much. If anything, it might scare off some other competition."

Peter readjusts his seat in his chair, propping a leg up over the other and putting his head into his left hand, subtly trying to bite a stray hangnail. Harry looks much more confident, per usual, and he casually take's Peter's hand away from his mouth and down onto the armrest in your chair. "Don't look so scared, Pete. And don't bite your nails, either."

"Pot calling the kettle black, dude," Peter argues back, looking down at Harry's own short fingernails. "And what am I supposed to do with my free hand? You know I like to fidget with things."

Harry also looks down at his hand now and stretches it out, inspecting the top of his hand. "I actually recently had my nails done, 'been trying to look better and all and I've been trying to keep on top of it." Harry places down his own paddle onto his lap and brings his left hand over to his right and pulls off a silver ring. He offers it up to Peter, "take this, it's one of the spinny ones."

Peter opens his mouth to thank him while sliding it onto his own pointer finger, before Harry cuts him off again. "Put down a bid now," and so Peter does, and Harry nods. "I'll pick up at twenty or so, you start to back down around twenty five."

Listening to the previous auctions has had Peter on edge, but now having to participate is actually terrifying, no matter how many glances Harry sends him, trying to get him to calm down. That earlier thought about not getting this suit sweaty was a nice thought, but impossible by now.

Fifteen, Sixteen. Do I hear a seventeen... seventeen? Seventeen! Eighteen, Nineteen–Harry cuts in for twenty–Peter goes twenty one. Twenty two, twenty three, twenty four. Peter goes twenty five and there's a pause. His heart is still in his chest and then in rapid succession; thirty, thirty five, fourty.

Peter shoots Harry another glance, but Harry is locked in to the bidding war. Peter raises his paddle, forty five. The syndicate goes fifty and Peter curses; against his better judgment, Peter goes fifty five and hopes that Mr. Stark won't mind too much. Harry looks back at Peter with a proud look, but notices how guilty Peter obviously feels, but nobody makes a higher bid.

Until the syndicate up front raises a paddle and calls out sixty. Peter's heart stops, a harsh juxtaposition from his BPM just a moment ago. He's already mentally explaining to Mr. Stark how he managed to mess up on the one thing he was sent to do when Harry drags his attention back to the room by repeating his name, "-eter! Peter!" He says in a hurried, hushed voice. Peter just looks at him like a deer in the headlights.

"Do you want that stupid stick?" Harry asks in a too-sweet tone with a lopsided grin and Peter gets a whiff of that overly sweet peppermint drink Harry had him try. Peter would much rather spend this time watching Harry's beautiful honey brown eyes but he also wants to tell him everything going on in his mind about this stupid fucking rich people shit and oh my god I'm never going to be able to show my face to the Avengers again and– best he can do is nod vigorously and reach down for his paddle.

Harry reaches his hand over again and puts it down onto where Peter is about to bring his arm up. "Don't sweat it, Pete," he says sweetly and at the last moment, like an act of god, Harry raises his paddle up and announces "seventy five."

Peter is stuck staring again, at the cocky look on Harry's face, slack jawed as the auctioneer goes through his rounds. Seventy five! Seventy five, going once... going twice... Peter screws his eyes tight and waits for the syndicate to raise... and sold, to Mr. Osborn. Harry readjusts himself in his chair, propping his long legs out and letting himself slide further back down into his cushioned seat, sending a mock salute to the looks being sent his way from the front of the room.

His eyes switch to Peter for a second but with Peter staring mindlessly back at him, he turns his head back forward before doing a double take. Peter's head feels fuzzy and the only thing he's capable of doing in a long, slow blink. Harry's smile is dorky and he taps the bottom of Peter's chin once, twice; "don't look so surprised."

Everybody around them is starting to shift, and so Harry does too. He starts to stand but Peter reaches a hand out and grasps his forearm and hisses out Harry's name in a quick, alarmed way. "Why did you–oh my god, Harry–what the hell did you just do? Why did you do that?"

Like it's nothing in the world to him, Harry shrugs and pulls Peter to stand up with him. "It's for charity, Pete. I'm being serious, it's nothing."

"It's a lot more than nothing, Harold Theopolis Osborn!" Peter says through clenched teeth, but Harry just lets out a bubbly laugh in return.

"It's a tax write-off, man. That's all these events are for; so if the company wants to make an announcement about who spent the most, I'll look good, and I can deduct up to fifty percent of my gross income anyway," he can tell this is all going over Peter's head. "Basically, the IRS is just about going to owe me money. It's the American Dream!"

Peter finally breaks out of his trance by laughing, because that's such a stupid thing that only his unreasonably wealthy friends would ever be able to do. "Do you even hear yourself, dude? You're aware that the average American makes like, one million in a lifetime. And you just spent–"

"Look, when we were twelve or something, I told you straight up that I would buy Miami for you because we were listening to that stupid Jimmy Buffet song and I wasn't kidding! Well, if I had to choose I definitely wouldn't go with Miami–but if that's what you wanted–"

"We were twelve!" Peter urgently says, trying to get the ridiculousness of this scenario through Harry's thick hair and skull, "and it was a Jimmy Buffet song, Harry! That's A Pirate Looks at Fourty! Do you realize how absurd this is? Tony Stark is going to have my ass!"

Harry gives him a weird look, "no he won't, he doesn't even have to pay. Obviously I don't need the stick, and you should have seen your face, Peter, it looked like you were actively being awarded second place in a science fair. What kind of friend would I be if I let that happen?"

"A normal one!"

"Okay so we both know I'm not normal." Harry makes a faux hurt look at Peter's insinuation that he could be normal. "It's done now, Peter. Look, the party is wrapping up, I've gotta stick around to make sure everything is cleaned up properly–"

"--so we can't even get dinner? Please, Harry, at least let me do–"

"No, I'm sorry, I forgot that I can't leave. Also, your car will be here soon anyways, it's ten past midnight." At the mention of the time, Peter quickly looks down at his electronic watch and sees a text from the driver from a few minutes prior, confirming what Harry was just saying. Peter lets out a disappointed sigh and lets his shoulders fall.

Harry gives him almost a pitiful look and pats Peter on the back, still very obviously proud of himself. "Let's get the stick and I'll walk you to your car. I think it's past your bedtime, Pete."

The staff fragment is in its own intricate, silver box. Harry places it into Peter's hands like he's a king bequeathing a sword to a loyal knight, and with the same dramatic flare too. The spring air still gets chilly although not so much that either can see their breath as they have for the past few months, but the temperature change feels great after being in a room full of people and so many layers on. There are few people outside of the Oscorp building now, most paparazzi dispersing after the gala gut fully underweight, so for a New York City street, it's pretty quiet.

The Stark Industries limousine is pulled up, ready for Peter. Harry slips out from a conversation with another parting businessman and sets himself up against the car as Peter opens the door. He leans his back into the shining black surface glowing green under the name of his own business and he looks at Peter with soft eyes, skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes and his cheeks.

He looks so terribly good. So of course, Peter says "I hate you," and chuckles as he looks up at him from his seat in the car. Harry has one arm out, propping the door open and he's leaning down to Peter's level.

"That's no way to talk to your hero, Peter. If anything, I think I at least deserve a little kiss," Peter is glad that the car is dim and hopes that between that and Harry's distinct lack of sobriety, he can't see how flushed Peter's face got.

Peter looks back at Harry's stupid face, "yeah?"

He nods and sarcastically adds, "oh, yeah." Harry points to the apple of his cheek and adds, "right here." He looks very proud of himself, as he has for most of the night and as he always does when he embarrasses Peter and he begins to move back away, to let Peter close the door.

Now, Peter might not have stupid amounts of money to throw at the people he cares about, but he has been painfully in love with his best friend for years. It's something they've acknowledged and joke about with their friends, but Harry has always insisted that he has too much responsibility and too little time. Right now though, Peter honestly could care less and he would gladly kiss Harry Osborn–really, if he asked right now, Peter would probably marry him–so he figures, yeah, I'll kiss him. It's the least he can do if Harry won't let him even get dinner.

Before Harry is out of reach, before he closes the door, Peter reaches out and grabs the stupid lapel of his tuxedo with one hand and with his over, curls it around the back of Harry's neck. He doesn't even have to think about it, he aims past his cheek and maybe too passionately for a public setting, he pushes his lips against Harry's own. It feels like a scene out of a corny Hallmark romcom but nonetheless, Peter loves how Harry sinks into it.

When Peter pulls away, Harry opens his eyes wide and stares at Peter, taken aback. Even backlit by the Oscorp building, he's obviously blushing and he tries to piece together some sentence or another, "you–uh, you didn't actually have to–I wasn't..."

"I know," despite the media's concept of Harry Osborn being a suave and overconfident playboy, he's putty in the hands of Peter Parker. "But you gave me the in; think of it as... a tax write-off." Using Harry's own words against him, he's still got that stupid bright smile stuck on his face.

Harry rubs the back of his neck with his hand, looking away and actually giggles, "I don't think that's how those work." He shakes his head and in doing so, gains his usual confidence back. Peter can actually watch the change as Harry remembers his current environment and who he's supposed to be and Peter can't help but hope that one day, he won't have to play an act all of the time anymore. "Also, you're a horrifically expensive prostitute."

Peter throws his head back and laughs and blushes, "oh, I hate you so much."

"I'll make sure the press know, too, that Stark's intern is–" before he finished that sentence, Peter slams the door shut between them and gives him a snarky smile through the tinted glass. Harry continues mouthing nonsense, shaking his fist at the sky and playing along; Peter has to roll his eyes.

Someone else comes up behind Harry while he's doing this, giving him a weird look with a distinct lack of context and then tap's on his shoulder, sending him spinning around, shocked. Peter is sure Harry can hear him laughing through the glass but whoever is talking to him, won't let Harry look back towards Peter. He classily folds his hands behind his back and flicks Peter's window off as the car starts up.

The limousine peels off into the busy street and Peter watches Harry's form until it merges in with the rest after a block, smiling to himself with one Harry Osborn kiss on his mind and one fragment of an ancient Asguardian staff in his lap. While technically a success by all his own standards, Peter figures he should start coming up with a lie to try and pass off to Tony about what all he managed to do on his first (and as it turns out, last) undercover operation. 

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