#fun fact: the rejected title for this fic was 'boyfriend material'

[kitausuret]

10 for ScarletVision or 14 for HarryFlash pls :)

You love to indulge me, Brieuc. 💖

So, this actually turned out a lot longer than I originally anticipated, because I got carried away, but actually it's your fault because you know I've had HarryFlash brainrot for the past few months. However, this is also the first fic I've managed to bang out in almost three months, so I thank you for the prompt from this post that i reblogged way back in... January.

Title: Learn to Let it Show Words: 2078 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Harry Osborn/Flash Thompson Fandom: Spider-Man (comicsverse), Venom (comics), Marvel 616 Flash doesn't want to take his sweater off.

Read on Archive of Our Own, or below the cut!

14. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.”

As far as first dates had gone (well, the first date they were calling a date), all had gone well. Flash had seemed his normal, charismatic self, if not a little awkward, but it was kind of endearing, and if Harry was being honest, made him less nervous. They were just trying this, after all. Just seeing where things went. Catching up, after too long apart, and seeing if there was any room for more in the midst of their busy lives. 

Flash did seem a little different now, though. Not in a bad way. Something had changed in him after his months overseas (which he was oddly dismissive of, but Harry wasn’t going to bug him about his work with the VA any more than Flash would bother him about Parker Industries), almost like he was more at ease with himself. Like he’d been carrying this big weight, but now it was lifted off his shoulders and he could finally breathe again. Harry knew a little something about that. 

He almost wanted to ask, but that could happen another time. After all, they were already planning to catch—

“—the Yankees game next Saturday, right?” 

"I've already texted Donna to make sure the day's open." Harry followed Flash into the apartment and put his jacket on a coat tree. “The kids like that you’re coming around more often, too. I think Normie enjoys your company. It’s…” He paused, trying to think of the right words. “Nice, having you around again. You were gone for a long time.” 

Flash scratched the back of his neck and lowered his eyes to the floor. “Yeah, I was. Sometimes you take opportunities life throws at you and then realize where you really belong is back home.” When he looked back up at Harry, though, he smiled. “I’m glad we’re giving this a shot, though, Har. I mean it.” Flash wheeled himself into the kitchen and called over his shoulder, "Do you have a minute before you have to go? I could make you… uh… coffee?"

"Flash, it's after eight."

"And?"

Harry laughed and shook his head. "You always were a night owl. I'll take some water, though; thanks. Besides, I already managed to tip a drink over on you at the restaurant; I'd hate to ruin your sweater any further." He took a seat at the breakfast bar and pulled out his phone. There had to be a decent cleaner nearby. "Speaking of which… give me your sweater. I can get it dry cleaned and just have their delivery service bring it back to you."

Flash fumbled a glass but managed to catch it in the nick of time. "Uh, what? Harry, it's—" He turned around and pulled the fabric of his sweater away from his torso a little. "It's fine, see? You can't even see anything. I'll just throw it in the wash with the rest of my laundry—"

"With your t-shirts? Flash, come on, it's a nice sweater. I feel bad, just let me do this."

"Harry, no. You even picked up the tab. It's okay, I promise."

"It's not a big deal, just give me the sweater."

Flash fiddled with one of the push handles on his chair. "I— I can't Harry, I've got this… Look, I don't want to take my sweater off right now."

"Oh?" He crossed his arms. "Yeah, and when we were roommates, you would wander around shirtless all the time. Sweater, off."

"We're not in our twenties anymore! We've, you know, changed and grown and… and…"

"Flash, why are you being so weird about this?" Harry's gut twisted a little. "Unless you, I don't know, just don't want to take it off in front of me."

"What?" Flash's eyes widened. "No, no, Harry, it's not that.” He busied himself with retrieving a pitcher from the fridge. “I’m just pretty attached to this sweater. I took it with me when I was out of town. I try to take good care of it.”

“All the more reason for me to get it cleaned properly for you.”

“It doesn’t need to be cleaned. It’s a special fabric.”

“Flash.”

“Harry.”

Flash grinned up at him and held out the water. Charming as hell. Disarming. It was crazy how much trouble he’d had getting dates when they were younger. 

Harry would have gone out with him in a heartbeat. And now, over ten years after they first met, he was.

So what was the problem?

Harry took the glass but let his long fingers linger over Flash’s for a moment. “This really isn’t like you, Flash. You’re going to make a man think he’s doing something wrong.”

“Come on, you know it’s not that. My life has just gotten a little complicated lately, that’s all.” 

“Are we still talking about the sweater?”

“Sort of?”

“Just take it off!”

“It’s not that easy—”

In a desperate bid to assert himself, he pushed his chin up and said, firmly but not unkindly, “You heard me, Flash. Take. It. Off.”

Flash stared at him for a long second with wide eyes. Harry’s façade cracked a little. 

“U-unless you don’t…”

“Did…” Flash stifled laughter behind his hand. “Did you just use your stern dad voice on me?” 

“Did it work?”

He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, Har. I can’t take this off.”

“What’s so complicated about a sweater?! Do you have a rash? An embarrassing tattoo? Flash, whatever it is, I promise you, I can handle it. You and I have not been through—” He gestured vaguely in the air. “—everything we’ve been through for you to sit there and tell me that whatever is going on is too weird for me to handle. My father’s a supervillain. Spider-Man shows up at my work every day.” Harry sighed and leaned down to put his hands on Flash’s shoulders. He smiled as encouragingly as he could. “Just tell me. Okay? I’m not… a tough guy, like you, but you don’t need to protect me.”

Flash frowned. “No, you’re right. And I trust you. I just…” He reached up and touched Harry’s face, a bit tentative. “I don’t wanna keep secrets from you. But this is a lot.”

His stomach turned again. “A sweater is a lot?”

“You better sit down for this.”

“Wha… why?”

“Harry, it’s easier if I just show you.”

He swore the fabric of Flash’s sweater moved under his hands as he pulled away.

Okay. 

That happened.

Harry took a moment to close his eyes and take a few breaths. Whatever this was, it was fine, right? Flash was probably just involved in some… weird… military thing. Probably working with Stark Industries or something. Or test-driving a new type of secret fabric. Or maybe he really did have an embarrassing tattoo. But this was fine. 

He opened his eyes. 

You’re not going to panic. You know Flash. 

He went to the living room.

Flash was there for you when you first got out of inpatient care. He helped you muddle through those first few months. He was there when you first got together with Liz. 

He sat down on the couch.

He knows what it’s like to struggle. What it’s like to have your life turned upside down. Next to Pete and Liz, there isn’t hardly anyone you trust more than Flash Thompson.

Harry folded his hands in his lap and waited for Flash to join him. Flash was still in the kitchen, staring into space with his hands on his wheels. Finally, he pushed himself in and stopped right in front of Harry.

“A little while after you left for Seattle, I got pulled into something by the Army. I… I should’ve said no, I should’ve left that part of my life behind, but when you feel like it’s the only thing that’s ever been consistent in your life, it’s hard to do that.

“But even when the project was disbanded after a couple months, what I got out of it still changed my life.” His lips quirked into a smile. “I’m still me, Harry, but I’m also…”

Flash lifted his arm. His sweater literally quivered. Harry forced calm. He’d witnessed weirder things, right? He’d done weirder. (Maybe.) 

“It’s okay, pal. We can trust him.”

And then, Flash’s sweater dissolved into a mess of tendrils. Harry backed up into the couch cushions and clapped a hand over his mouth, but Flash leaned forward to take the other in both of his. Still, even as Flash’s warm and calloused hands sought to ground him, Harry couldn’t peel his gaze away from the large figure forming in the middle of the living room. 

It solidified into solid, deep black shapes, cut with white that formed a kind of spider on its chest. It had teeth and claws sharp enough to rend flesh, and bright white spots that looked like eyes. He already knew.

“Harry, this is my partner, V—”

“Venom,” Harry finished. “You’re— what? You’re Venom?” He wasn’t sure how to address this situation. “But— your sweater—?” Was now standing well over six feet tall and almost as broad and gazing placidly down at him. 

“We’ll explain everything to you, Harry. But, yeah, earlier this evening, you spilled your drink on… on the symbiote. On Venom.” 

A long pause filled the air. Then, “I’m so sorry I was going to dry-clean you.”

The being regarded him blankly at first — it didn’t have much in the way of emotive features. Flash had moved a hand to his (symbiote’s? alien’s?) partner’s massive arm while still keeping a hold on Harry. Tendrils linked the pair for a moment before Flash visibly relaxed. Then, the symbiote emitted a low, rumbling sound. Its eyespots curved slightly.

Was it… laughing?

Was he getting laughed at by Venom?

“You could not have known, Harold Lyman.” It knelt before him, its voice deep and gravelly, and Harry had to force himself to keep breathing. “We have met once before already.”

Harry stared. Okay, it could speak on its own. That hadn't been in his dad's briefing years ago. "You weren't with Flash."

"I was not," it affirmed, tilting its head in a way that reminded Harry of a very large cat. 

“But he is now,” Flash said. With no more than a look and a touch of Flash’s fingertips, the symbiote pulled away from Harry, dissolving into dozens of liquid arcs. This time, it looped around its host before disappearing beneath his skin. Harry didn’t miss the way Flash’s eyes closed, a languid, pleasant smile on his lips as it settled within. 

Terrifying, but mesmerizing. 

Flash lifted his shoulders like he hadn’t just revealed that his body was home to a space alien. “Are you, um, okay?”

“It’s…” A good question. “A lot.”

“Yeah, there’s not really a good way to tell someone that you’re a… package deal.”

They sat there in silence, Flash staring at his lap and Harry up at the ceiling. So, one of his oldest friends was Venom. That complicated things. But… his ex-brother-in-law was Molten Man. His father had been the Green Goblin. Hell, Harry himself had been the Goblin, more than once. And Flash seemed okay, didn’t he? Just the same old guy, a little worn down by the years, but weren’t they all? Hadn’t they all changed? Weren’t they all just trying to figure out this crazy thing called life?

What did they all have to try and get through it, but each other?

Flash cleared his throat before Harry could try to think of something more to say. “Well, I don’t wanna keep you away from the kiddos too much longer, so you better…”

“I can stay a little longer.” Harry leaned forward to take Flash’s hand. “Just let me text the sitter—”

Flash reached his other arm out towards the kitchen. A black webline shot out and snagged Harry’s phone, and snapped it back into Flash’s hand. He shrugged. “Kinda handy.” 

“You don’t say.” 

A quick text about needing another hour later, Harry patted the seat next to him on the couch. Once Flash had transferred himself to Harry’s side, Harry turned and propped his chin up in his hand. 

“So, aside from making sweaters and getting the remote… what else is Venom all about?”

Flash grinned the widest he had all evening. 

This certainly had shaped up to be the most interesting date Harry had had in a long time. 

He found himself looking forward to the next one.