Harry knew him far too well, that much was obvious. Aunt May would definitely have Harry's back, wanting Peter to have the full college experience and knowing how good it would be for the two of them to live together (she always knew best, before anyone else did). Groceries, he could do (when he wasn't busy forgetting the eggs...), and cleaning, certainly. Fixing things up, like changing light bulbs or sparkplugs, or even more complicated things was, of course, right up his alley.
And how would that identity reveal have gone? Would Harry walk in on him changing out of the suit? Passed out on the floor? Maybe, in a world where Norman hadn't gone off the deep end and they'd gotten the apartment, the reveal would have been a little more comedic.
"Does that make you the Queen?" Peter certainly doesn't seem to mind the intimate touch, hitching his leg a little higher when Harry's warm hand wanders over his thigh. Clad in nothing but his boxers, there's plenty of exposed skin for Harry to explore, soft until it gives way to lean muscle.
"Guess not. We better pack plenty of supplies." Peter's smile widens at the blush dusting Harry's cheeks, and he reaches up to tangle his fingers in Harry's hair when his husband leans down like that. For all his good-natured ribbing, it was obvious in Peter's expression that he was looking forward to the time as well. But if Harry thought he was bad now, he'd just have to wait and see how utterly incorrigible Peter became when there was no reason to hold back.
"Now unless you plan on an anniversary preview, we really do need to get up." Peter tilts his head to bury his face in Harry's neck for a moment, lips moving to kiss a gentle line down his throat. "Come on, treat a girl right with some of that amazing Osborn french toast. Please."
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And how would that identity reveal have gone? Would Harry walk in on him changing out of the suit? Passed out on the floor? Maybe, in a world where Norman hadn't gone off the deep end and they'd gotten the apartment, the reveal would have been a little more comedic.
"Does that make you the Queen?" Peter certainly doesn't seem to mind the intimate touch, hitching his leg a little higher when Harry's warm hand wanders over his thigh. Clad in nothing but his boxers, there's plenty of exposed skin for Harry to explore, soft until it gives way to lean muscle.
"Guess not. We better pack plenty of supplies." Peter's smile widens at the blush dusting Harry's cheeks, and he reaches up to tangle his fingers in Harry's hair when his husband leans down like that. For all his good-natured ribbing, it was obvious in Peter's expression that he was looking forward to the time as well. But if Harry thought he was bad now, he'd just have to wait and see how utterly incorrigible Peter became when there was no reason to hold back.
"Now unless you plan on an anniversary preview, we really do need to get up." Peter tilts his head to bury his face in Harry's neck for a moment, lips moving to kiss a gentle line down his throat. "Come on, treat a girl right with some of that amazing Osborn french toast. Please."