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I have wanted to write Norman/Harry fic for about two years now. I am so pleased. =D
TITLE: "Cost"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (askewnislasher@yahoo.com)
FANDOM: Spider-Man movieverse (first movie)
SUMMARY: There's more to the Osborn family than meets the eye.
PAIRING: Norman/Harry, and a dash of Harry/Peter if you're so inclined. So, yeah: INCEST WARNING.
RATING: R because of INCEST.
NOTES: Written in fifty-one minutes for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
contrelamontre prostitution challenge.
DISCLAIMER: Spider-Man was created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditkos. If you offer me money, I'll point you in their direction.
.
"Thank you for tutoring my son." He shakes Peter's hand, then shoots a sharp look over his shoulder at Harry. "I hope you're not wasting his time, Harry."
"He's not." Peter's tone is fairly neutral, but Harry can imagine the indignation in the blue eyes on his behalf. "He's catching up really fast."
"Good." His eyes don't waver from Harry as he speaks, directing this remark at him. "Better keep it that way."
He leaves; Peter runs a hand through his hair and turns to Harry. "Doesn't . . . I . . ." He gestures helplessly; though he's been demonstrating use of that brand-new backbone of his lately, he still can't seem to spit out what's on his mind.
Harry watches him for a second, and then takes pity. "I've never been a good student. He'll believe I can manage decent grades when he sees it."
Peter hesitates. "But . . ."
"Yes?"
"Well, you believe it, don't you? Because . . ."
Harry doesn't love the way this is going. This time he just stares at Peter and waits.
Peter takes a deep breath. "The way he talks to you . . . maybe it's just, I don't know, the way he is around other people, or something, but he always talks down to you. He treats you like - like you're not really worth all that much. I don't know, maybe it's just me, or maybe he's different when you're alone. But if it's not, and he's always been like that - I just wanna make sure that you don't think it's true, too. Because it's not. You're not stupid and you can learn as much as anyone if you try, a - and you've been a good friend."
Harry realizes that at some point during Peter's little speech he folded his arms tightly across his chest. With an effort he unfolds them now, looks at Peter for maybe the length of a blink to get his message across and says,
"I think I'd like to work on Chemistry today."
Peter is caught off guard. "Oh. Uh. Oh."
Harry uses retrieving his textbook as an excuse not to look at Peter as he speaks. "I know you're trying help with all that, but don't. You're right. You don't know how it is when we're alone. Dad and I are kind of complicated. So thanks, but I'm not going to cry on your shoulder about anything and I don't want to talk about it ever."
When he finally looks at Peter, it's to see that Peter has gone bright red. "I'm sorry," Pete says. I didn't mean -"
"I know." He wants to thank Peter for being the only one who's ever cared enough to say something like that to him, and to assure him that he's not angry about it at all, but he can't. "Chapter thirteen, right?"
**********
Harry's sitting in bed, struggling through an act's worth of Shakespeare, when the door opens.
"How did the tutoring session go?" He closes the door as he always does, with excessive care, as if making too much noise will get him caught.
"Okay." Harry sets aside the book, annoyed that even after all this time, his hands are still trembling a little. "Pete says I should do a lot better on the next Chem test."
"Good." He sits on the edge of Harry's bed. "Good."
Harry wonders for the umpteenth time what might happen if he dropped a subtle hint. Something about getting a good night's sleep, maybe. Something about being almost done with his assignment, that it's an interesting one for a change.
But he's never done it and he never will. Because then his father might take the hint, and he might get up and leave and never come back, and they'd go back to only seeing each other for maybe a few minutes a day. He's said over and over that Harry doesn't have to do this, that parental authority doesn't extend to this, and he throws the word "mutual" around so much that if he ever came to understand that sometimes there are nights when Harry just wishes he would go away, he would do just that. Permanently.
Harry couldn't take that. Spending some nights with his eyes closed, making fake sounds and hoping it will be over soon, is such a small price to pay in exchange for knowing that there is something he is good at. It may not exactly make his father proud, but it certainly satisfies him. And after, he holds Harry and they fall asleep together. It's the only time they are ever close and Harry would die before he would give it up.
Thinking of that, of what Peter said, of what Peter would say if he knew everything, Harry blurts out, "I'm glad you came in tonight."
His father blinks in surprise; Harry has never been this bold with him. Then, just as Harry's starting to blush, he smiles.
"That's very nice to hear," he says, sliding closer so he can put his arms around his son.
At the first kiss, Harry tells Peter in his head, This is what I'm worth.
But Peter wouldn't really understand, would think it terribly sad, because he doesn't know just how much this is worth.
TITLE: "Cost"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (askewnislasher@yahoo.com)
FANDOM: Spider-Man movieverse (first movie)
SUMMARY: There's more to the Osborn family than meets the eye.
PAIRING: Norman/Harry, and a dash of Harry/Peter if you're so inclined. So, yeah: INCEST WARNING.
RATING: R because of INCEST.
NOTES: Written in fifty-one minutes for the
contrelamontre prostitution challenge.DISCLAIMER: Spider-Man was created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditkos. If you offer me money, I'll point you in their direction.
.
"Thank you for tutoring my son." He shakes Peter's hand, then shoots a sharp look over his shoulder at Harry. "I hope you're not wasting his time, Harry."
"He's not." Peter's tone is fairly neutral, but Harry can imagine the indignation in the blue eyes on his behalf. "He's catching up really fast."
"Good." His eyes don't waver from Harry as he speaks, directing this remark at him. "Better keep it that way."
He leaves; Peter runs a hand through his hair and turns to Harry. "Doesn't . . . I . . ." He gestures helplessly; though he's been demonstrating use of that brand-new backbone of his lately, he still can't seem to spit out what's on his mind.
Harry watches him for a second, and then takes pity. "I've never been a good student. He'll believe I can manage decent grades when he sees it."
Peter hesitates. "But . . ."
"Yes?"
"Well, you believe it, don't you? Because . . ."
Harry doesn't love the way this is going. This time he just stares at Peter and waits.
Peter takes a deep breath. "The way he talks to you . . . maybe it's just, I don't know, the way he is around other people, or something, but he always talks down to you. He treats you like - like you're not really worth all that much. I don't know, maybe it's just me, or maybe he's different when you're alone. But if it's not, and he's always been like that - I just wanna make sure that you don't think it's true, too. Because it's not. You're not stupid and you can learn as much as anyone if you try, a - and you've been a good friend."
Harry realizes that at some point during Peter's little speech he folded his arms tightly across his chest. With an effort he unfolds them now, looks at Peter for maybe the length of a blink to get his message across and says,
"I think I'd like to work on Chemistry today."
Peter is caught off guard. "Oh. Uh. Oh."
Harry uses retrieving his textbook as an excuse not to look at Peter as he speaks. "I know you're trying help with all that, but don't. You're right. You don't know how it is when we're alone. Dad and I are kind of complicated. So thanks, but I'm not going to cry on your shoulder about anything and I don't want to talk about it ever."
When he finally looks at Peter, it's to see that Peter has gone bright red. "I'm sorry," Pete says. I didn't mean -"
"I know." He wants to thank Peter for being the only one who's ever cared enough to say something like that to him, and to assure him that he's not angry about it at all, but he can't. "Chapter thirteen, right?"
**********
Harry's sitting in bed, struggling through an act's worth of Shakespeare, when the door opens.
"How did the tutoring session go?" He closes the door as he always does, with excessive care, as if making too much noise will get him caught.
"Okay." Harry sets aside the book, annoyed that even after all this time, his hands are still trembling a little. "Pete says I should do a lot better on the next Chem test."
"Good." He sits on the edge of Harry's bed. "Good."
Harry wonders for the umpteenth time what might happen if he dropped a subtle hint. Something about getting a good night's sleep, maybe. Something about being almost done with his assignment, that it's an interesting one for a change.
But he's never done it and he never will. Because then his father might take the hint, and he might get up and leave and never come back, and they'd go back to only seeing each other for maybe a few minutes a day. He's said over and over that Harry doesn't have to do this, that parental authority doesn't extend to this, and he throws the word "mutual" around so much that if he ever came to understand that sometimes there are nights when Harry just wishes he would go away, he would do just that. Permanently.
Harry couldn't take that. Spending some nights with his eyes closed, making fake sounds and hoping it will be over soon, is such a small price to pay in exchange for knowing that there is something he is good at. It may not exactly make his father proud, but it certainly satisfies him. And after, he holds Harry and they fall asleep together. It's the only time they are ever close and Harry would die before he would give it up.
Thinking of that, of what Peter said, of what Peter would say if he knew everything, Harry blurts out, "I'm glad you came in tonight."
His father blinks in surprise; Harry has never been this bold with him. Then, just as Harry's starting to blush, he smiles.
"That's very nice to hear," he says, sliding closer so he can put his arms around his son.
At the first kiss, Harry tells Peter in his head, This is what I'm worth.
But Peter wouldn't really understand, would think it terribly sad, because he doesn't know just how much this is worth.
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From:
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I really hope you'll do more with this.
From:
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I'm not really feeling any further inspiration at the moment, but I suppose you never know.
From:
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wonderful fic.