[This whole 'spa day' thing (which has been more like 'spa month') has been an interesting experience. The month in general has been an interesting experience. For one thing, needing to black out the windows to sleep because it's 24-hour daylight? Weird. Do not like. Not fun. Maybe it helps with his funk, maybe it doesn't, but he would rather not squint into the Teletubby Baby Sun every time he lays down for bed.
He's curled up in bed with Wade, actually, when he has a dream. A not so fun dream where he's trying over and over to jump-start Wade's heart under his hands. He's limp and unresponsive, but he tries. And Clara pulls him aside and says 'I guess I was wrong about you, Peter. Maybe you're the furthest thing Wade needs.' But he's dead — how is he needing anything if he's not here anymore? The panic hits him like a anchor to the face, and he startles awake to find Wade's Wade, which is to say he's alive and probably lightly snoring.
He reaches over, presses a hand to the smooth space of muscle over Wade's heart. It takes him time to calm down, but he does, and lays there for a few hours while he traces the lines of Wade's face with his eyes; what's time, anyway? Who's to say he really just laid here and stared at his boyfriend for two hours, just to make sure he's not going into cardiac arrest? His body aches for some ADAM every time he thinks about it.
"Who does Spider-Man protect? Not the city...! Not his family...! All he's good at is getting knocked down, over and over again!" Otto'd said. Not really Otto. It was probably all from his own head. "Is this the face of a man worth risking your life over? He's already a lost cause." He closes his eyes, buries his face into Wade's chest. Counts backwards from one-hundred.
He's fine. And Wade's trying his best to make him fine, just like Clara, even though he totally is right now. It's just one of his dark places, you know? He has one at least once a year. He's always due for one, so it's not a big deal. Things are still normal, still business as usual. Shake it off. Like Taylor Swift says.
He curls his legs around Wade's like he's done plenty of times before. The slightest stir from the other, and Peter's utterly relieved for not being alone with his own thoughts. A hand slides up to Wade's chin, and he kisses the spot while the other man rouses. Just like usual. He'll prove it; he can handle this whole 'dark place' phase with a little TLC. He doesn't have to swing all over New York City and slam himself face-first into work to make it go away.]
[ What are "things I didn't expect to wake up to", for 500 Alex. Brown eyes barely open to glance at Peter. He moves his hands to slide them against whatever part of Peter is closest, a comforting fill in for someone not completely awake yet. ]
Mmm, hey, goodmorning to you too, baby boy.
[ He stretches somewhat similarly to a cat, seeming to try to stretch every muscle. ]
What time is it? Do I need to get more pizza? Ice cream? Grapes?
[ Look, Peter hasn't even let him feed him grapes yet, it's an insult to so many movies Wade's seen.
His mouth, as usual, starts up before the rest of him is awake. But now his eyes are open, and one of his hands is scratching blunted nails through Peter's hair - a familiar comforting technique he'd learned from Peter himself. ]
Sleep well? Do I need to staple cardboard to the windows?
[ Was Peter trying to set his mind to something? Wade's is flailing all over the place.
Dying isn't anything new to Wade; he's done it just about every which way is possible. Any particularly nasty deaths do plague his dreams for a little while after, but it's something he's gotten used to - it goes away to be replaced by something else. Dying relatively peacefully isn't one that was upsetting enough to haunt his dreams. Sure, his neck had hurt and the entire Rapture stay had been a shit show but that wasn't the worst part of it. Since their return, he's been able to sleep as best as he normally can, which isn't to say is pretty great, it's just no worse than usual. ]
[God, he's like a big cat. A big scraggly cat with an obsession over feeding him grapes. Why specifically is he always wanting to feed him grapes? What movies has he been watching? Probably Futurama or something.
Peter hums at the rambling, treating it more like an alarm clock telling him not to go back to sleep than actually responding just yet. He's groggy and feels like he can't really move from this space, and even after the deep-clean showers Wade's subjected him to (which he has to admit... were really, really nice), he still doesn't quite feel clean. Which is kind of ridiculous at this point; he hasn't done anything physical to warrant feeling unwashed, feeling exhaustion.
Everything's good, though. He rubs his hands up and down Wade's arms.]
... Save the cardboard for a rainy day.
[He wriggles closer until he's flush against him, fingers trailing over the muscles and uneven little scars across his back and hips. Peter feels like there are phantom bursts of electricity at his fingertips; he wishes he could have it back, distantly. Could have a way to jumpstart a heart, just in case. (If only he could just find some more ADAM.) Ugh, he feels like the veins and sores'll come back. He resists the urge to touch the space on his cheek that had been cut up in Rapture.]
How're you feeling?
[He asks it to push it all away. Wade's fine right now, but he has to ask.
[ Literally watch any movie with Romans in it, jesus christ. Once again, Wade is asking you to please watch some more movies Peter.
He might be horribly offended if he knew Peter thought of him as scraggly - a word Wade once used to describe a french fry on a date once. ]
Not trying to keep the rain out. [ But Wade seems horribly distracted by Peter's hands and sudden closeness, not that they were very far apart before. This is probably the part where he begins to consider listing horribly unsexy things. Like literally every sex shop experience he's had. Or rhubarb. Or Jeff Bezos. ... okay, Wade would consider his pocketbook pretty sexy...
He keeps scratching against Peter's scalp idly. ]
Like I woke up to the cuddliest bedbug. How are you feeling?
[ Sorry, what was that? ]
All my previous offers still stand. Or pancakes? Eggs n bacy? I bet I could find Soylent Green in this place. I heard a rumour that it's made of people!
[ When his hands do move, it's to inspect over the places Peter had previously been injured in Rapture with feather light touches. ]
[He makes a face, which is probably literally something Wade can feel happen against his chest.]
Is the Soylent Green comment supposed to make me hungry?
[He's not hungry anyway.
He likes the touching, though. That tangible, physical thing that reminds him everything's okay in the moment. No nightmares, no violence, no need to drown himself in bleach the way Clara and Wade apparently love to tease. Some small part of him says, underwater: You shouldn't be in bed; what if something's happening in town? What if people are getting hurt right now? You should be surveying.
But there are comfortable hands on him, and he's not sure he wants to even look out a window right now.]
This is way nicer than cakes in pans, anyway. Bring it in, team.
[ A snort sounds from Wade. ] Dunno, is it making you hungry? Gotta run zombie tests every now and then lest you forget how we fell madly and deeply in love - in a horror house with a Night of The Living Dead in the backyard that smelled like piss. Ah, romance.
[ He sighs wistfully. ]
Are you dissin' cakes of the pan variety? I'm not sure I can stand for that. [ But he's grinning like he definitely doesn't actually mind.
Wade shifts a bit, and slides his hands over Peter's lithe muscles to find his back. ]
I could spend the rest of my life like this. [ Which is an incredibly sappy and suddenly scary thought at how Deep it was. The last person he felt like this with was Vanessa. ] Who knew the secret ingredient to get the best Peter cuddles was do feed your Spidey after midnight and definitely get him wet.
How could I forget? You and your tiny knife collection... and the superglue thing.
Terrible choice, for the record.
[That's — one of the nicest things anyone's said about him, in a relationship. Not the getting him wet part, that's just the usual. But the parts before that. It makes him feel happy and nervous and everything in-between; sure, they've had some pretty weird patches, but — he doesn't wanna let Wade down.
More importantly...]
What, so Spidey can turn into a gremlin? I'll show you a gremlin.
[He nips at Wade's shoulder, a mischievous little gesture, like a cat that bites its owners ear to get them out of bed. The slight ache jumps right over to him before his lips even leave that space. But hey! It's been a while since he sucked a few hickeys onto his own neck, huh? At this point, he does it just for funsies. Which he's gonna just start doing now, without delay.
[ Wade's glad Peter doesn't call him out on the sap, so he returns the favour by wrapping his arms around Peter and roll, pulling him on top of his preferred basking rock. Now everything is perfect. ]
You think I haven't seen you before your morning coffee? Hashtag burn!
[ His head tilts to the side to give Peter better access to whatever the hell he wants. Wade's hands are a little more ruthless, skimming up Peter's sides with a touch that's borderline ticklish in how light it is. ]
Bee tee - [ Take a W, that certainly was a little gasp at a particularly rude nip. ] dubs, field glue is always the right choice. You use your spider jizz for that all the time I bet. I mean the jizz that comes from your wrists. Not like in the Tobey Maguire movie though. If you ever do get organic spidey sploogers dibs on seeing if any of those weird fanfics are right.
[Oh, hey, gravity is shifting, the world is turning, what a predicament!
He lays on Wade, hip to hip, chest to chest, feeling comfortable as he proceeds to blemish his own neck and chest with little reddened splotches that would no doubt deepen into something that would last... maybe a day? Probably less. Either way, he's learned how to leave them where they won't be an embarrassing topic for teenagers to bring up in science class.]
I mean — [kiss] I have on occasion — [kiss] — used it for first aid. [smooches for days]
[He sits up a little more, looking down at Wade.]
There was this one time — boy, Fisk got me good with this katana he kept at his place? What a weeb. But he sure could use it, and I swung out of there with my fancy makeshift web tourniquet to keep stuff on the inside of my body.
[ The kisses are distracting. Way too fucking distracting.
Acorns, jammed guns, having to touch suspiciously sticky elevator buttons.
Cool, cool, cool, cool. ]
Did you just stealth insult me by insulting the big ugly bald guy you and Daredevil get your ass kicked by all the time?
[ Katana and weeb were apparently the big take-aways from that story. Hands slide up his sides and then back down to rest at Peter's lower back. Wow, it's a miracle he's not grabbing dat ass. ]
Insult me again, see what happens. [ There isn't much heat to that threat. The worst that would happen is some tickling, maybe some light bullying. ]
[Peter shifts himself further up Wade, sits with chin balanced on hands, which are oh-so-politely crossed over Wade's chest. And maybe throws in an innocent eyelash flutter, just to look extra ridiculous where he's perched.]
Huh. What's gonna happen?
Don't tell me you're going to take back the thrift store eggplant vase.
[What a prized possession, sitting so confidently on the nightstand.]
[ He pops the p, as one does. Then he brings his hand to his mouth, making a show of sucking on his pinkie. ]
I'm gonna give you an unfun wet willy.
[ His other arm suddenly clamps down around Peter to hold him where he is. Sure, Wade's got super strength but he doesn't have Spidey super strength; it's hardly a competition if Peter tries to get away. Of course, Wade will wrap his legs around him like a mangled octopus.]
[The indignation of it all. He sounds so startled, much like he does just before getting tickled — which Wade should know is a dangerous game. He squirms and shimmies and performs all manner of wriggling. Despite being obscenely strong, he apparently just tries to lean himself from the imminent finger threat—]
[ Luckily, he only seems half-hearted in his attempt to stick his finger in Peter's ear. Either way, you can be as indignant as you like, Pete, it's not bothering Wade.
He's risking any stray elbows or jabs, arm still clamped down around Peter. ]
Stop squirming so much!
[ You little wriggly worm! He's gonna have to start thinking about unsexy things again for the millionth time this spa month. ]
Gotta get your ears, baby. Everyone always forgets to wash 'em.
[Peter uses that unfair strength to suddenly roll them both, throwing Wade off balance and ending up with him on top. With that unpleasantly slobbery finger now a few inches off-kilter, he yanks him down for a kiss. Just the distraction.]
Plan D.
[He says it confidently after his disarming kiss, before he slides a hand down between them to do some unfair fondling. Sure, Peter's not really at his best lately, but do you really have to be at your best to touch a dick? Nay, he says. Making Wade feel good, that's a better plan. Better than lying in bed and feeling sad and sorry for yourself.
[ Wade makes a rather dumb sounding squawk as he's flipped like a goddamn pancake. He looks dumbfounded for a moment and if you listen closely enough you can probably hear the tweety-birds and stars spinning around his head. But then he laughs, cut off by the kiss that he melts into.
Plan D?
He's about to ask if that stands for dick too, but the wandering hand causes him to lose the words. His own hand finds Peter's wrist. He's not exactly stopping him, but he's heavily considering it. ]
Petey, what are you doing?
[ A dumb question, especially since Dora the Explorer knows exactly what that hand is up to. Or down to.
It worked on keeping him from sticking that slobbery finger in places Peter didn't want it, so, victory?
And yeah, Wade is always down for fucking around, but this is Peter's spa month! ]
[Peter lays under Wade looking plenty pleased by the squawk.
He raises his eyebrows and continues seeking out an elastic waistband, tentative and careful.]
The same thing I do all the time?
You + me + bed = bad jokes / handjobs? Or is there some other equation I'm forgetting?
[A pause, as his hand slides under said waistband. Hey there, old friend — it's been a while since we've had some interaction, huh? Since they'd almost gotten down and dirty on a certain ship, pre-sinking? God, he's never going to live down Godzilla sending them from romantic 1920's dating to traumatown. He's absolutely going to start stroking Wade under his boxers, excuse him.]
... I found Waldo?
[Is that what we're renaming Wade's Willy? Wade's Wilson? Wilson's Wade.
.................... Waldo fits the W theme.
Anyway, he's trying to hijack your perfectly prepped spa month.]
[ Peter does not get to rename Dora! It's a good name for a good and trusty dick. It knows spanish and it likes exploring. ]
I'm bad at math. [ Which isn't actually quite true. His head drops down to nestle his face in the crook of Peter's neck where it meets his shoulder when the stroking begins.
Nevermind, his dick can be named Waldo. It's a traitor, a hard rude traitor. Wade's never felt such deep betrayal.
He sucks in a breath against Peter's skin and can't stifle the moan he lets out, even if he tries. How'd he score a grade A babe? His grip on Pete's wrist tightens and he pulls the hand away from Waldo.
Wade leans back, so he can look into Peter's eyes. ]
Spa month. Your spa month. I make you feel good.
[ Awakened to get frisky, Peter's a TROPE. Maybe Wade's a bigger trope, what with the way he moves his hand so he can lace his fingers between Peter's and press the hand to the bed so it behaves.
Waldo disagrees, but Waldo can get a fucking a job.
Idea! At the Disco! ] The less you try to sass me into letting you jerk me off when I tell you to tell me how I can make you feel good, the less I'll talk about Judas Donkeys while making you feel good. Whattya say?
[Peter says it in a huff, and there's a whine of complaint when Wade pins his hand down on the bed — hardly even a sexy whine. More like someone who was just told he's not allowed to have a third helping of cake.
... All matter of joking aside, there's hesitance on his part as he looks up at Wade, big eyes lacking that kind of... sensual spark. That slinking, indecent act fades a little with the talk of Wade turning it around on him. Because despite the raunchy little attempt to touch all over Wade and turn him on... Peter's, uh, peter... is as limp as can possibly be, prone under Wade's legs. Suddenly the idea of his small facade falling apart first thing in the morning (... is it morning?) worries him. A lot.
He holds up one finger on the hand that isn't being held down, as if to make a very crucial point.]
What if it makes me feel good to make you feel good?
[It's not untrue, even if he's probably leaving some key points out of that statement.
It makes him feel less like a fuck-up in his time of abject misery, to know he can at least pleasure his partner.
Well, I did have to turn Sesame Street's job offer to count all those bats down.
[ Peter's looking a little flighty, but Wade would be a liar if he said that flighty was an uncommon part of Peter's personality. ]
That's a line people use when they're not in the mood, and you started it.
[ The tides are turning, ruh-roh! His entire body pulls away from all the lines of contact it has as Wade moves to straddle one of Peter's hips, his knee pressing into the bed, while his other one wedges between Peter's legs to try to press up against Peter's dick.
When he finds nothing even remotely hard and sexy to meet him back his body freezes. It's hard to pin the expression that forms over his face aside from suddenly being caught doing something he shouldn't. Brown eyes seek Peter's own eyes, a handful of emotions he can't tamp down or hide behind a mask flickering in them before he manages to school everything away behind humour. ]
Baby, is that pocket lint in your pocket or are you not happy to see me?
[ He'd been so certain Peter was turned on, by something, and wanted to get frisky. He shouldn't feel like it's a rejection, and yet. ]
It doesn't feel like it's making you feel good.
[ He moves his knee so that it presses into the bed on the other side of Peter's hips.
Maybe different strokes for different folks. Wade's sure he'd be at least half chubbed if Peter was on top of him moaning into his neck and getting jerked off for even a second.
When the insecurity hits... it's definitely weird, Peter seemed genuinely into their sexual adventures. Wade is already trying to pinpoint when that changed, or what he did wrong.
His hand does that all too familiar half-aborted attempt to pull his mask down, to hide, when he remembers or realises too late that he doesn't have it on. It's a sign he wears the suit too much, probably. Instead, his index and middle finger just scratch idly at a stubbly cheek for a second.
Maybe he's about to be Judas Donkey'd. His head swivels to the side, breaking the strictly 'them' time to look at the fourthwall. ] Spoilers for He's Just Not That Into You.
[Peter freezes at the same time Wade does, honestly, looking like he's just been caught red-handed. Being a rotten liar. A useless idiot. And suddenly his plan for faking it until he makes it feels thrown off before he even leaves the bed. There's no stirring in his stomach, no warm feeling of arousal, even with Wade's shifting against him.
Maybe it's just some mind game he's given himself. It's not the first time it's happened — nah, it's happened before, but it's never been this obvious. Never been on full display, just how screwed up in the head he is, how this whole deep, dark place has royally screwed up his ability to be a decent boyfriend and lover and everything else. He should've kept the damn 'spa month' in mind. Should've known Wade wouldn't take one-sided sex in mind for even a second. It's Wade.
He's not sure how to even relax. He should be out of bed. Not laying around making his partner feel like garbage because it looks like he isn't even trying to get it up. Shame burns his face, but he tries not to look away from Wade, even as his mind throws every insult at himself that it can fathom. Dammit. He stumbles over his words, his breath caught up like he's nervously giving some speech in front of millions. What is he supposed to say? 'I just wanted to make you feel good to make myself feel better?' How selfish does that sound?]
I am into you! I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, Wade. It's not you, I —
Maybe I need some time... To, uh... To get going, you know?
[Worthless, tongue-tied moron. You blew it. You ruined a perfectly good morning.
Evening?
What-fucking-ever.
He puts his hands on Wade's hips, anxious. But whatever his plan was, it was a very aborted one. For someone who has a college degree, his head sure feels empty. Actually, that'd be nice; shove him in front of a blackboard full of math equations instead, and he could do that instead of literally anything helpful or conductive to living. He kinda wants to cry in frustration, which is by no means a new feeling, but it's one he's been very good at punching and kicking into a pulp around other people. What happened to your plans for the day? Good job, mister hero.]
... I'm sorry. [It's sincere and quiet behind his hands as he rubs at his eyes, voice dripping with regret and disappointment.] There's something wrong with me.
[ Wade's shoulders sag with a sigh. It's not the lack of sex or Peter not wanting to hop on a train straight for Bone City; it's seeing Peter beat himself up that's the most upsetting. ]
I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine. [ Yes, motherfucker, he's quoting RENT. But he means it. His head tilts, as he watches Peter. Yeah, it's a little upsetting that his boyfriend can't seem to get it up for him, especially when the last conversation - the last meaningful one - had been about sealing the deal with a pretty little bow that says "fuck u xoxo spideypool". But Wade knows trauma.
Wade knows trauma that ruins wanting to get close to someone, or feeling like you deserve to be close to them. He's been punched every which way with trauma.
His hands collect Peter's, bringing them up halfway to where he leans down to press kisses against knuckles. ]
You were addicted to slug goop and had to bring your boyfriend [ There's a slight inflection to his voice like he's still asking if that's his appropriate title. ] from the brink of unlife. There's a lot to hinder the third best Spidey-part. That's normal.
[ Not to mention trying to get it up to Wade. But he keeps that thought to himself, and any relating to it. ]
I can go down on you for as long as it takes, if you want me to. Or we can cuddle until your stomach threatens to sue us for negligence.
[ There's no anger, no judgement, not even disappointment in his voice. The closest thing to a negative reaction is the hurt expression that appeared on his face, before Peter tried to explain, and the way it lingers in his eyes. ]
[Peter looks up at the kind gesture with a worried frown. As expected, at this point. He's just a little startled at how easily Wade shifted. Maybe Peter just expects the worse to happen now, even if Wade's nothing if not patient and careful about this kind of thing. Things don't usually... go swell for him? He smiles weakly, trying not to feel like he's let the other man down in his own lame way.]
Just — remember that it's all me. I'm the idiot who's off here. Not you.
[Because he honestly hated seeing that expression. It just reminds him that he's royally stupid. Just a mess. He pulls Wade's hands down to him, offering his own thankful kisses against the man's hands. Instead of going round 10 in the 'beating himself up' ring, he tries to inject some lightness to the moment.]
[ Wade's lips curl up into a smile, that neither meets his eyes nor seems all that happy. If anything it seems to be sad and maybe just a bit spiteful toward himself. ]
Trust me, my doe eyed sugarplum, your "off" is easy, breezy, beautiful if we're whipping them out and comparing.
[ But then he hums, raising his gaze up, as if he's doing some heavy thinking. ]
Behind dat ass, and your eyes, mouth, and brain are all tied for second. Third has to be your dick. It's subject to change the more I get to know him.
[ He sighs, demeanor and voice changing to something far more typical of Deadpool. ] I'm pretty sure there are sonnets about your ass. You're doing the world a great service every time you slip it into that spandex.
[ He tugs his hands away and flops over to the side, off of Peter. But then a moment later he's squirming closer so that he can rest his head on Peter's chest. ]
[Peter is swift and firm in the way he pulls Wade close, like it's critical that he clings back to him. Can't get it up, but doesn't want to let go. Cool. Now that Wade's face is turned away, hair tickling his chin, he can squeeze his eyes shut and feel appropriately regretful. Can't see it, can't complain about it, right? Breathing out, he smiles more softly after that feeling of helplessness leeches out of him a bit more.
It's fine. It's not a big deal.]
I feel like having three parts tie for second is cheating.
[He brushes his hand through Wade's hair, a little more at ease.]
... You've got a pretty cute butt, yourself, but I'm not sure there's a part of you I don't like; I'd say your taste in button-up shirts, but I've looked in my closet and realized I'm throwing stones in a glass house.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
NSFW | CW: for depression themes | yes i used my own art im lacking in sexy icons
He's curled up in bed with Wade, actually, when he has a dream. A not so fun dream where he's trying over and over to jump-start Wade's heart under his hands. He's limp and unresponsive, but he tries. And Clara pulls him aside and says 'I guess I was wrong about you, Peter. Maybe you're the furthest thing Wade needs.' But he's dead — how is he needing anything if he's not here anymore? The panic hits him like a anchor to the face, and he startles awake to find Wade's Wade, which is to say he's alive and probably lightly snoring.
He reaches over, presses a hand to the smooth space of muscle over Wade's heart. It takes him time to calm down, but he does, and lays there for a few hours while he traces the lines of Wade's face with his eyes; what's time, anyway? Who's to say he really just laid here and stared at his boyfriend for two hours, just to make sure he's not going into cardiac arrest? His body aches for some ADAM every time he thinks about it.
"Who does Spider-Man protect? Not the city...! Not his family...! All he's good at is getting knocked down, over and over again!" Otto'd said. Not really Otto. It was probably all from his own head. "Is this the face of a man worth risking your life over? He's already a lost cause." He closes his eyes, buries his face into Wade's chest. Counts backwards from one-hundred.
He's fine. And Wade's trying his best to make him fine, just like Clara, even though he totally is right now. It's just one of his dark places, you know? He has one at least once a year. He's always due for one, so it's not a big deal. Things are still normal, still business as usual. Shake it off. Like Taylor Swift says.
He curls his legs around Wade's like he's done plenty of times before. The slightest stir from the other, and Peter's utterly relieved for not being alone with his own thoughts. A hand slides up to Wade's chin, and he kisses the spot while the other man rouses. Just like usual. He'll prove it; he can handle this whole 'dark place' phase with a little TLC. He doesn't have to swing all over New York City and slam himself face-first into work to make it go away.]
... Hey.
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Mmm, hey, goodmorning to you too, baby boy.
[ He stretches somewhat similarly to a cat, seeming to try to stretch every muscle. ]
What time is it? Do I need to get more pizza? Ice cream? Grapes?
[ Look, Peter hasn't even let him feed him grapes yet, it's an insult to so many movies Wade's seen.
His mouth, as usual, starts up before the rest of him is awake. But now his eyes are open, and one of his hands is scratching blunted nails through Peter's hair - a familiar comforting technique he'd learned from Peter himself. ]
Sleep well? Do I need to staple cardboard to the windows?
[ Was Peter trying to set his mind to something? Wade's is flailing all over the place.
Dying isn't anything new to Wade; he's done it just about every which way is possible. Any particularly nasty deaths do plague his dreams for a little while after, but it's something he's gotten used to - it goes away to be replaced by something else. Dying relatively peacefully isn't one that was upsetting enough to haunt his dreams. Sure, his neck had hurt and the entire Rapture stay had been a shit show but that wasn't the worst part of it. Since their return, he's been able to sleep as best as he normally can, which isn't to say is pretty great, it's just no worse than usual. ]
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Peter hums at the rambling, treating it more like an alarm clock telling him not to go back to sleep than actually responding just yet. He's groggy and feels like he can't really move from this space, and even after the deep-clean showers Wade's subjected him to (which he has to admit... were really, really nice), he still doesn't quite feel clean. Which is kind of ridiculous at this point; he hasn't done anything physical to warrant feeling unwashed, feeling exhaustion.
Everything's good, though. He rubs his hands up and down Wade's arms.]
... Save the cardboard for a rainy day.
[He wriggles closer until he's flush against him, fingers trailing over the muscles and uneven little scars across his back and hips. Peter feels like there are phantom bursts of electricity at his fingertips; he wishes he could have it back, distantly. Could have a way to jumpstart a heart, just in case. (If only he could just find some more ADAM.) Ugh, he feels like the veins and sores'll come back. He resists the urge to touch the space on his cheek that had been cut up in Rapture.]
How're you feeling?
[He asks it to push it all away. Wade's fine right now, but he has to ask.
Just don't ask him back.]
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He might be horribly offended if he knew Peter thought of him as scraggly - a word Wade once used to describe a french fry on a date once. ]
Not trying to keep the rain out. [ But Wade seems horribly distracted by Peter's hands and sudden closeness, not that they were very far apart before. This is probably the part where he begins to consider listing horribly unsexy things. Like literally every sex shop experience he's had. Or rhubarb. Or Jeff Bezos. ... okay, Wade would consider his pocketbook pretty sexy...
He keeps scratching against Peter's scalp idly. ]
Like I woke up to the cuddliest bedbug. How are you feeling?
[ Sorry, what was that? ]
All my previous offers still stand. Or pancakes? Eggs n bacy? I bet I could find Soylent Green in this place. I heard a rumour that it's made of people!
[ When his hands do move, it's to inspect over the places Peter had previously been injured in Rapture with feather light touches. ]
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Is the Soylent Green comment supposed to make me hungry?
[He's not hungry anyway.
He likes the touching, though. That tangible, physical thing that reminds him everything's okay in the moment. No nightmares, no violence, no need to drown himself in bleach the way Clara and Wade apparently love to tease. Some small part of him says, underwater: You shouldn't be in bed; what if something's happening in town? What if people are getting hurt right now? You should be surveying.
But there are comfortable hands on him, and he's not sure he wants to even look out a window right now.]
This is way nicer than cakes in pans, anyway. Bring it in, team.
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[ He sighs wistfully. ]
Are you dissin' cakes of the pan variety? I'm not sure I can stand for that. [ But he's grinning like he definitely doesn't actually mind.
Wade shifts a bit, and slides his hands over Peter's lithe muscles to find his back. ]
I could spend the rest of my life like this. [ Which is an incredibly sappy and suddenly scary thought at how Deep it was. The last person he felt like this with was Vanessa. ] Who knew the secret ingredient to get the best Peter cuddles was do feed your Spidey after midnight and definitely get him wet.
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Terrible choice, for the record.
[That's — one of the nicest things anyone's said about him, in a relationship. Not the getting him wet part, that's just the usual. But the parts before that. It makes him feel happy and nervous and everything in-between; sure, they've had some pretty weird patches, but — he doesn't wanna let Wade down.
More importantly...]
What, so Spidey can turn into a gremlin? I'll show you a gremlin.
[He nips at Wade's shoulder, a mischievous little gesture, like a cat that bites its owners ear to get them out of bed. The slight ache jumps right over to him before his lips even leave that space. But hey! It's been a while since he sucked a few hickeys onto his own neck, huh? At this point, he does it just for funsies. Which he's gonna just start doing now, without delay.
Like a real gremlin.]
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You think I haven't seen you before your morning coffee? Hashtag burn!
[ His head tilts to the side to give Peter better access to whatever the hell he wants. Wade's hands are a little more ruthless, skimming up Peter's sides with a touch that's borderline ticklish in how light it is. ]
Bee tee - [ Take a W, that certainly was a little gasp at a particularly rude nip. ] dubs, field glue is always the right choice. You use your spider jizz for that all the time I bet. I mean the jizz that comes from your wrists. Not like in the Tobey Maguire movie though. If you ever do get organic spidey sploogers dibs on seeing if any of those weird fanfics are right.
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He lays on Wade, hip to hip, chest to chest, feeling comfortable as he proceeds to blemish his own neck and chest with little reddened splotches that would no doubt deepen into something that would last... maybe a day? Probably less. Either way, he's learned how to leave them where they won't be an embarrassing topic for teenagers to bring up in science class.]
I mean — [kiss] I have on occasion — [kiss] — used it for first aid. [smooches for days]
[He sits up a little more, looking down at Wade.]
There was this one time — boy, Fisk got me good with this katana he kept at his place? What a weeb. But he sure could use it, and I swung out of there with my fancy makeshift web tourniquet to keep stuff on the inside of my body.
[What sexy bedroom talk.]
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Acorns, jammed guns, having to touch suspiciously sticky elevator buttons.
Cool, cool, cool, cool. ]
Did you just stealth insult me by insulting the big ugly bald guy you and Daredevil get your ass kicked by all the time?
[ Katana and weeb were apparently the big take-aways from that story. Hands slide up his sides and then back down to rest at Peter's lower back. Wow, it's a miracle he's not grabbing dat ass. ]
Insult me again, see what happens. [ There isn't much heat to that threat. The worst that would happen is some tickling, maybe some light bullying. ]
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[Peter shifts himself further up Wade, sits with chin balanced on hands, which are oh-so-politely crossed over Wade's chest. And maybe throws in an innocent eyelash flutter, just to look extra ridiculous where he's perched.]
Huh. What's gonna happen?
Don't tell me you're going to take back the thrift store eggplant vase.
[What a prized possession, sitting so confidently on the nightstand.]
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[ He pops the p, as one does. Then he brings his hand to his mouth, making a show of sucking on his pinkie. ]
I'm gonna give you an unfun wet willy.
[ His other arm suddenly clamps down around Peter to hold him where he is. Sure, Wade's got super strength but he doesn't have Spidey super strength; it's hardly a competition if Peter tries to get away. Of course, Wade will wrap his legs around him like a mangled octopus.]
I accept all manner of bribes and apologies!
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[The indignation of it all. He sounds so startled, much like he does just before getting tickled — which Wade should know is a dangerous game. He squirms and shimmies and performs all manner of wriggling. Despite being obscenely strong, he apparently just tries to lean himself from the imminent finger threat—]
Is this really your idea of 'spa month'?!
I wanna talk to the manager!
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[ Luckily, he only seems half-hearted in his attempt to stick his finger in Peter's ear. Either way, you can be as indignant as you like, Pete, it's not bothering Wade.
He's risking any stray elbows or jabs, arm still clamped down around Peter. ]
Stop squirming so much!
[ You little wriggly worm! He's gonna have to start thinking about unsexy things again for the millionth time this spa month. ]
Gotta get your ears, baby. Everyone always forgets to wash 'em.
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Plan D.
[He says it confidently after his disarming kiss, before he slides a hand down between them to do some unfair fondling. Sure, Peter's not really at his best lately, but do you really have to be at your best to touch a dick? Nay, he says. Making Wade feel good, that's a better plan. Better than lying in bed and feeling sad and sorry for yourself.
...
The D stands for Dick, by the way.
It's Plan Dick.
In case you didn't decode it.
It was a difficult one, I know.]
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Plan D?
He's about to ask if that stands for dick too, but the wandering hand causes him to lose the words. His own hand finds Peter's wrist. He's not exactly stopping him, but he's heavily considering it. ]
Petey, what are you doing?
[ A dumb question, especially since Dora the Explorer knows exactly what that hand is up to. Or down to.
It worked on keeping him from sticking that slobbery finger in places Peter didn't want it, so, victory?
And yeah, Wade is always down for fucking around, but this is Peter's spa month! ]
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He raises his eyebrows and continues seeking out an elastic waistband, tentative and careful.]
The same thing I do all the time?
You + me + bed = bad jokes / handjobs? Or is there some other equation I'm forgetting?
[A pause, as his hand slides under said waistband. Hey there, old friend — it's been a while since we've had some interaction, huh? Since they'd almost gotten down and dirty on a certain ship, pre-sinking? God, he's never going to live down Godzilla sending them from romantic 1920's dating to traumatown. He's absolutely going to start stroking Wade under his boxers, excuse him.]
... I found Waldo?
[Is that what we're renaming Wade's Willy? Wade's Wilson? Wilson's Wade.
.................... Waldo fits the W theme.
Anyway, he's trying to hijack your perfectly prepped spa month.]
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I'm bad at math. [ Which isn't actually quite true. His head drops down to nestle his face in the crook of Peter's neck where it meets his shoulder when the stroking begins.
Nevermind, his dick can be named Waldo. It's a traitor, a hard rude traitor. Wade's never felt such deep betrayal.
He sucks in a breath against Peter's skin and can't stifle the moan he lets out, even if he tries. How'd he score a grade A babe? His grip on Pete's wrist tightens and he pulls the hand away from Waldo.
Wade leans back, so he can look into Peter's eyes. ]
Spa month. Your spa month. I make you feel good.
[ Awakened to get frisky, Peter's a TROPE. Maybe Wade's a bigger trope, what with the way he moves his hand so he can lace his fingers between Peter's and press the hand to the bed so it behaves.
Waldo disagrees, but Waldo can get a fucking a job.
Idea! At the Disco! ] The less you try to sass me into letting you jerk me off when I tell you to tell me how I can make you feel good, the less I'll talk about Judas Donkeys while making you feel good. Whattya say?
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[Peter says it in a huff, and there's a whine of complaint when Wade pins his hand down on the bed — hardly even a sexy whine. More like someone who was just told he's not allowed to have a third helping of cake.
... All matter of joking aside, there's hesitance on his part as he looks up at Wade, big eyes lacking that kind of... sensual spark. That slinking, indecent act fades a little with the talk of Wade turning it around on him. Because despite the raunchy little attempt to touch all over Wade and turn him on... Peter's, uh, peter... is as limp as can possibly be, prone under Wade's legs. Suddenly the idea of his small facade falling apart first thing in the morning (... is it morning?) worries him. A lot.
He holds up one finger on the hand that isn't being held down, as if to make a very crucial point.]
What if it makes me feel good to make you feel good?
[It's not untrue, even if he's probably leaving some key points out of that statement.
It makes him feel less like a fuck-up in his time of abject misery, to know he can at least pleasure his partner.
It's a win-win for both of them. C'mon.]
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[ Peter's looking a little flighty, but Wade would be a liar if he said that flighty was an uncommon part of Peter's personality. ]
That's a line people use when they're not in the mood, and you started it.
[ The tides are turning, ruh-roh! His entire body pulls away from all the lines of contact it has as Wade moves to straddle one of Peter's hips, his knee pressing into the bed, while his other one wedges between Peter's legs to try to press up against Peter's dick.
When he finds nothing even remotely hard and sexy to meet him back his body freezes. It's hard to pin the expression that forms over his face aside from suddenly being caught doing something he shouldn't. Brown eyes seek Peter's own eyes, a handful of emotions he can't tamp down or hide behind a mask flickering in them before he manages to school everything away behind humour. ]
Baby, is that pocket lint in your pocket or are you not happy to see me?
[ He'd been so certain Peter was turned on, by something, and wanted to get frisky. He shouldn't feel like it's a rejection, and yet. ]
It doesn't feel like it's making you feel good.
[ He moves his knee so that it presses into the bed on the other side of Peter's hips.
Maybe different strokes for different folks. Wade's sure he'd be at least half chubbed if Peter was on top of him moaning into his neck and getting jerked off for even a second.
When the insecurity hits... it's definitely weird, Peter seemed genuinely into their sexual adventures. Wade is already trying to pinpoint when that changed, or what he did wrong.
His hand does that all too familiar half-aborted attempt to pull his mask down, to hide, when he remembers or realises too late that he doesn't have it on. It's a sign he wears the suit too much, probably. Instead, his index and middle finger just scratch idly at a stubbly cheek for a second.
Maybe he's about to be Judas Donkey'd. His head swivels to the side, breaking the strictly 'them' time to look at the fourthwall. ] Spoilers for He's Just Not That Into You.
cw: depressive mean thoughts wooOO
Maybe it's just some mind game he's given himself. It's not the first time it's happened — nah, it's happened before, but it's never been this obvious. Never been on full display, just how screwed up in the head he is, how this whole deep, dark place has royally screwed up his ability to be a decent boyfriend and lover and everything else. He should've kept the damn 'spa month' in mind. Should've known Wade wouldn't take one-sided sex in mind for even a second. It's Wade.
He's not sure how to even relax. He should be out of bed. Not laying around making his partner feel like garbage because it looks like he isn't even trying to get it up. Shame burns his face, but he tries not to look away from Wade, even as his mind throws every insult at himself that it can fathom. Dammit. He stumbles over his words, his breath caught up like he's nervously giving some speech in front of millions. What is he supposed to say? 'I just wanted to make you feel good to make myself feel better?' How selfish does that sound?]
I am into you! I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, Wade. It's not you, I —
Maybe I need some time... To, uh... To get going, you know?
[Worthless, tongue-tied moron. You blew it. You ruined a perfectly good morning.
Evening?
What-fucking-ever.
He puts his hands on Wade's hips, anxious. But whatever his plan was, it was a very aborted one. For someone who has a college degree, his head sure feels empty. Actually, that'd be nice; shove him in front of a blackboard full of math equations instead, and he could do that instead of literally anything helpful or conductive to living. He kinda wants to cry in frustration, which is by no means a new feeling, but it's one he's been very good at punching and kicking into a pulp around other people. What happened to your plans for the day? Good job, mister hero.]
... I'm sorry. [It's sincere and quiet behind his hands as he rubs at his eyes, voice dripping with regret and disappointment.] There's something wrong with me.
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I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine. [ Yes, motherfucker, he's quoting RENT. But he means it. His head tilts, as he watches Peter. Yeah, it's a little upsetting that his boyfriend can't seem to get it up for him, especially when the last conversation - the last meaningful one - had been about sealing the deal with a pretty little bow that says "fuck u xoxo spideypool". But Wade knows trauma.
Wade knows trauma that ruins wanting to get close to someone, or feeling like you deserve to be close to them. He's been punched every which way with trauma.
His hands collect Peter's, bringing them up halfway to where he leans down to press kisses against knuckles. ]
You were addicted to slug goop and had to bring your boyfriend [ There's a slight inflection to his voice like he's still asking if that's his appropriate title. ] from the brink of unlife. There's a lot to hinder the third best Spidey-part. That's normal.
[ Not to mention trying to get it up to Wade. But he keeps that thought to himself, and any relating to it. ]
I can go down on you for as long as it takes, if you want me to. Or we can cuddle until your stomach threatens to sue us for negligence.
[ There's no anger, no judgement, not even disappointment in his voice. The closest thing to a negative reaction is the hurt expression that appeared on his face, before Peter tried to explain, and the way it lingers in his eyes. ]
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Just — remember that it's all me. I'm the idiot who's off here. Not you.
[Because he honestly hated seeing that expression. It just reminds him that he's royally stupid. Just a mess. He pulls Wade's hands down to him, offering his own thankful kisses against the man's hands. Instead of going round 10 in the 'beating himself up' ring, he tries to inject some lightness to the moment.]
... The third best spidey part, huh?
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Trust me, my doe eyed sugarplum, your "off" is easy, breezy, beautiful if we're whipping them out and comparing.
[ But then he hums, raising his gaze up, as if he's doing some heavy thinking. ]
Behind dat ass, and your eyes, mouth, and brain are all tied for second. Third has to be your dick. It's subject to change the more I get to know him.
[ He sighs, demeanor and voice changing to something far more typical of Deadpool. ] I'm pretty sure there are sonnets about your ass. You're doing the world a great service every time you slip it into that spandex.
[ He tugs his hands away and flops over to the side, off of Peter. But then a moment later he's squirming closer so that he can rest his head on Peter's chest. ]
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It's fine. It's not a big deal.]
I feel like having three parts tie for second is cheating.
[He brushes his hand through Wade's hair, a little more at ease.]
... You've got a pretty cute butt, yourself, but I'm not sure there's a part of you I don't like; I'd say your taste in button-up shirts, but I've looked in my closet and realized I'm throwing stones in a glass house.
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