Chapter Text
Wade’s life is pretty fuckin’ good right now if he does say so himself.
He’s got a sweet new gig with the Avengers that pays bank, an immunity agreement for all his past non-Captain-America-approved merc work, and, oh yeah, an unbelievably hot romantic turn in his relationship with his very own itsy-bitsy spider.
Who at this moment has his hand on Wade’s cock.
Wade’s woken up worse. Way worse. This is one of his better wake-ups.
This, curled-up little spoon with Spider-Man’s hand on his morning wood, is probably in the top 5—oh, who is he kidding?—this is the best way Wade’s ever woken up.
“Oh, hello,” Wade purrs, and rocks his hips into Peter’s grip. “Good morning to you, too.”
Peter grunts, and his hand tightens. He rubs his face into Wade’s shoulder and mumbles something that could be ‘good morning’ or the start of an incantation to summon the forces of hell. Either way, Wade knows he’s in for a good time.
Peter’s hand stays teasingly still, and Wade can’t help but twitch into it.
“Not that I’m not into this, but you jerking me off or what, baby boy?”
“Huh? Oh,” Peter says, sounding a lot more with it. Bless ‘im. Wade’s got him all dick-stracted. “Yeah, fuck, sorry.”
And then Peter does finally move, palming over the head and down the shaft. Fuck, that’s good.
His Petey-pie’s hands are strong and broad, and the way his callouses catch on Wade’s skin is fucking fantastic.
Wade shoves his ass back against Peter’s cock, and hmm yeah, he’s probably still loose enough from last night that if he could just bear down enough—
“Wait, wait,” Peter says, pulling his hips away.
Wade grunts in disappointment but is instantly mollified when Peter presses a kiss to Wade’s shoulder.
“No, I mean, yes to fucking you. I just don’t wanna hurt you. Lemme get the lube.”
“Aw,” Wade says, genuinely a little touched. In the heart place, if not the ass place. “You’re so sweet to me, Petey.”
Wade can feel Peter roll his eyes as he reaches over him to grab the lube.
“One day, we are going to have a talk about how that is the lowest fucking bar on the planet,” Peter mutters, which is a hilariously unpopular opinion: tons of people would jump at the chance to hurt Wade.
Bringing that up right now seems like a bad idea, though.
Wade wiggles in anticipation at the click of the lube cap and the wet sound of Peter slicking himself up. God, that’s hot. Peter better not waste time fingering him. Wade loves his baby’s tender considerations, but he wants that Spidey-cock in him tout-suite.
Luckily, Peter’s got him figured the fuck out because he’s already pressing the blunt head of his cock into Wade’s hole. Wade isn’t sore from last night—thank you, healing factor—but the stretch burns enough to make Wade moan. It’s so fucking good.
His body remembers last night well enough to quickly relax into it, and actually, the memory of last night’s fuck with the sensation of Peter fucking into him now makes his eyes roll back.
Normally after a full six-to-eight hours of overnight Deadpool and Spider-Manning, neither one of them is usually up for anything more than some sleepy handies and maybe a blowie. And that’s fine! That’s fucking great, most of the time.
For the record: Wade is not complaining, no siree. Ain't no gift horse getting looked in the mouth here.
But Wade had been wanting to get fucked for like a week, and he’s not a patient man. He is a resourceful one though.
So last night he hatched a little plot.
A little sexy subterfuge.
A hot little spidey-surprise where Wade had shucked off his suit and bent over the bed, revealing to Peter the plug that he’d been wearing all night.
“Holy shit,” Peter said, wide-eyed. He ran his fingers around the base and tugged lightly as Wade moaned. “Did you have this in you the whole time?”
“The hole time,” Wade leered, because hello. The shots you don’t take, etc, etc. He’s earned a few jokes: he did the splits not once but twice to avoid getting shot tonight. Normally he’d just take the hit, but it turns out getting shot is a real boner-killer for Petey, so dodge it was.
Given the size of the plug, Wade should be getting an Olympic medal in the mail any day now.
Peter looked at Wade with that shiny, blown-out look— that magical expression his special boy gets when he’s too horny to listen to Wade’s stupid jokes anymore. Wade bit back a grin and shook his ass enticingly.
Oh, this was gonna be good.
“Wanted to be ready for your cock so you could just slide right in, baby. Want you to fuck me so hard I can feel you for days. You gonna leave me hanging?” Wade baited him, pouting.
It worked beautifully: Peter snapped out of his horny stupor and webbed the lube from the nightstand instead of going to get it— a great sign for the kind of fuck he’s about to get.
Peter ripped his gloves off with his teeth (hot), and then pulled the seam of his suit to shove the bottoms down mid-thigh (oh god, oh shit, was Peter gonna fuck him with the suit mostly on? Thank you, Santa, Wade has been a very good boy this year).
“It’s August, big guy,” Peter reminded him, which, hello, what had that got to do with the price of peas in Persopolis?
“Stop quoting Tamora Pierce at me during sex,” Peter said as he pulled the plug out at the same time he replaced it with his cock. Fuck yeah. “I’m gonna fuck you now, ‘kay?”
“Sir, yessir,” Wade slurred, and then god, Peter gave it to him exactly the way he asked for it.
Any-hoo, back in the present, this morning is wildly different from the pounding he got last night but no less wildly fantastic all the same.
For one thing, they don’t move from their curled-up spooning position, so it’s a slower, gentler fuck.
Peter ends up shoving one arm under Wade to grip his chest for leverage while keeping the other hand moving over Wade’s dick in a slow, easy jack. It makes Wade feel secure in a pleasant, ‘held and cherished’ kind of way.
Wade’s doing his best to rock back to meet Peter’s thrusts, but it’s all so hot and so good he’s pretty sure he’s being totally useless. He talks to make up for it—no matter how much of his brain is dopamine goo, Wade Wilson can fucking talk.
“Jesus Christ, Petey,” Wade slurs, “You fuck me so good—so perfect, baby boy, can’t get enough of you.”
Peter hitches out a hot little moan that tells Wade that talking is indeed working to get Peter off. So he keeps at it:
“Love your cock, feels so fucking incredible. Love the way you fuck me, sweetheart, make me feel so fucking good.”
Peter shudders against him and Wade grins. He clenches down and gyrates his hips to grind Peter’s cock in him. Peter mewls and Wade has to close his eyes and think of Blind Al to not bust a nut immediately at the sound.
“Fuck, oh fuck,” Peter whimpers against Wade’s shoulder. As mouthy as Wade’s little spider is on the streets, Peter in the sheets becomes amusingly monosyllabic the more turned-on he is.
It’s like the hornier he gets the less grasp on language he has. Wade would be lying if he didn’t find it incredibly hot that he has the power to make Spider-Man speechless with the power of his ass and cock.
(Wade tried to put it on his Linkedin once before Peter caught him and fucked him so hard Wade was the speechless one. Which is not exactly a deterrent, because all that did was prove to Wade that leaving his Twitter drafts open could be extremely productive.)
That whimper tells Wade that Pete’s close, and knowing Pete’s close makes his own orgasm all the more imminent.
“Yeah, fuck, baby, you gonna come? Come on, baby boy, fill me up, wanna fuckin’ feel it,” Wade groans.
Pete moans and grabs at Wade’s tit hard as he thrusts against Wade’s prostate and whoops, that’s all she wrote. Wade’s grand plans to hold out for Pete to come first were not prepared for a titty grab: he immediately comes all over Peter's hand and the sheets. Peter fucks him through it before biting at Wade’s shoulder and coming himself.
They recover like that for a little bit, panting and sweating, with Peter tucked inside of Wade and his hand still on Wade’s spent cock. It’s nice. Restorative. Wade basks in the post-orgasm glow and close contact for as long as he can.
In a few minutes, Peter’s going to actually check the time and realize that he’s going to be hella late for class. He’s gonna yelp and throw himself into the shower and blame Wade for being a terrible cocktress—a cock temptress, if you will—and leave Wade in bed still full of his come (though he does come back and kiss Wade goodbye, the mush). Then Wade will roll around in the sheets and jerk off just to make sure they’re properly ruined before heading home.
All in all, an excellent morning. 10/10.
So a few days later, when Wade wakes up in the middle of the night with Peter’s hand on his cock, Wade’s expecting a similar good time.
Except this time, his itsy-bitsy spider is totally asleep.
Last time, Wade had been facing away from Peter; this time, they’re curled toward each other. Wade has a perfect view of the face of one Peter Parker, Dead to the World, open-mouthed and drooling a little.
Which doesn’t change the fact that his hand is still definitely on Wade’s dick. Wade peeks beneath the covers to double-check. Yep: that’s one lovely Friendly Neighborhood Spidey-hand, gently cupping the Deadpool Family Jewels.
Huh.
Wade thinks back to the last time he woke up like this, ignoring the way his dick twitches as he reviews the beautiful bean footage of them boning.
Was Peter awake the last time? Wade had assumed hand + cock = aware, but now that he’s thinking about it…he can’t be sure.
Peter had sounded a little out of it when they started. Maybe he’d still been asleep?
Peter brings him back to the present by sighing, letting out a little murmur and smacking his lips. Wade gets distracted looking at him, because god, he’s beautiful.
Wade has no idea how the fuck he got this lucky. He genuinely can’t figure out why Pete lets him have this: why he lets Wade see him unmasked and vulnerable, lets him touch him, lets him fuck him. The fact that he wants Wade: wants to even look at Wade, let alone touch and fuck him, is all the more mind-blowing.
His baby boy is gorgeous: all soft, creamy skin dusted with freckles like cinnamon sugar. Long sooty lashes, full brows, plush mouth, little crooked nose.
There are two wolves inside of Wade: one wants to show Peter off screaming to the highest heavens and the other wants to shove Peter into a hidden room with a massive lock and one of those industrial barrels of lube you can get on Amazon dot com.
Both wolves want to kiss Peter though, so he gives in and does, pressing his lips to the corner of Peter’s sleep-lax mouth.
“Mm?” Peter muzzes. His hand twitches on Wade’s dick.
“Go back to sleep, baby,” Wade murmurs. He reaches up to pet Peter’s hair. “Couldn’t help myself, sorry.”
“Y’kay?” Those full brows are knitting together in concern, and Wade’s heart melts. He presses a kiss to where they’re furrowed.
“I’m okay, sweetheart, promise. Go back to sleep.”
“Mm,” Peter hums, but obediently sighs and falls back asleep.
His hand never moves from Wade’s junk. The only change is that Pete’s thumb strokes along it, almost comfortingly. Soothingly.
Huh.
Wade could really easily extricate himself from this. Pete’s grip is by no means strong or painful. But Wade doesn’t move. The idea that Peter is somehow soothing himself by holding Wade’s dick—well, okay: first of all, the thought alone is such a boost to his ego Wade has to take a deep breath so he doesn’t burst like a balloon.
Secondly: it’s not bad? Petey holding on to him this way? It’s actually kind of nice, though he has to argue with his dick a little that this particular hold isn’t heralding sexy times. It’s just a nice, gentle cupping. It feels…supportive.
Yeah. It’s pleasant.
And once his dick has calmed down, it’s easy to relax into it. As he settles in, he mulls over this new development in Peter’s behavior.
How often does Peter do this? Is this an every night thing? It’s weird that Wade hasn’t noticed, but they are still heavily in the fuck-like-rabbits stage of their relationship and a post-nut Wade is a heavy-sleeping Wade.
Is Peter even aware of it?
The people have questions. The people being Wade Wilson, and he likes to see that the people get answers.
In times like these, most people would default to the scientific method, but Wade’s had quite enough of that in his life, thank you. Scientists tend to leave a bitter taste and Wade is only interested in one scientist’s bitter taste in his mouth.
The bitter taste being Peter’s come. You get it.
Wade’s getting side-tracked. In any case, this is where Wade turns to the mercenary method:
Recon: observe the target and learn their habits.
Interrogation: question the target if additional information is needed.
Then, go in for the un-aliving.
Well, in these days of non-lethal rubber bullets and Steve Rogers-approved missions, go in for the proper procedure for hostile combatant detainment and blah-blah-blah-boring! And obviously, there’s no un-aliving or detaining in this scenario. Except for the gentle detainment of Wade’s junk, and even then it’s Peter doing the detaining, not Wade.
They’ve been sleeping over at each other’s places pretty regularly, more often than not nowadays, so it shouldn’t be hard to do some good ol’ fashioned recon. Operation: Observe Petey Sleeping. OOPS for short.
Wade wiggles happily as he feels sleep start to claim him again.
This is gonna be fun.
Unfortunately, he doesn't have the opportunity to implement his very fun recon plan because the following morning Wade gets pulled onto a mission that sends to him Swamp-Ass, Florida instead in bed with his sweet little honey.
He spends four boring days with Hawkeye (the grumpy one) watching white supremacist MAGAssholes fumble around with old AIM tech, one very exciting day where he and Hawkeye get to punch those assholes, and then another boring day of paperwork and post-mission debriefs.
The whole time, Wade thinks about OOPS: he plans his approach, method, and execution like he would a full merc infiltration mission.
So it’s a little funny that when he does get home, OOPS flies right out of his brain.
In his extremely valid defense: when Wade gets home, Peter is completely fucking naked on the bed with two fingers already in his ass, and the only thing Wade can think about is how fast he can also get naked.
Once he achieves that, Peter webs him to the bed, climbs on top, and rides him into the mattress using webbing on the ceiling to bounce himself up and down Wade’s cock.
Wade’s only more or less human depending on who you ask, he’s not a god. When Peter finally lets him come after Peter’s own second shaky orgasm, Wade conks out so hard he might as well have actually died, recon mission be absolutely damned.
So the first recon opportunity is a bust, but the next time, Wade is prepared. He initiates sex an hour before bedtime, and out of Peter’s sight, he chugs two Pool Fuel energy drinks.
OOPS is a go.
He heads back into the bedroom and curls around Peter to watch him conduct his nightly wind-down of bougie mobile games.
“Cunt,” Wade offers. Peter sighs.
“How many times do I have to tell you that The New York Times Spelling Bee is not going to accept ‘cunt’."
“At least once more, Ms. Swann,” Wade tells him as Peter huffs a laugh.
Peter taps it in for him anyway: Not in word list. Fascists.
Wade peers at the board.
“How many more points until the over-achiever in your brain will let you sleep?”
“Ten more points ‘til Genius,” Peter admits. He sounds exhausted, but Wade knows he really will force himself to stay up and solve it. Nerd, Wade thinks affectionately.
“Conjunction,” Wade says to put him out of his misery. Wade has important work to do, and it requires Peter to be sleeping and not hemming and hawing over a word puzzle for another half-hour.
Peter grunts, pleased, as it gets them over the line. He just about throws his phone away, and snuggles back into Wade with a heavy sigh.
Wade presses a kiss to the back of his head. His beautiful spidey-widey, all tuckered out.
“Nighty-night, Petey-pie,” he says softly. Peter murmurs something back, but it’s already totally intelligible with sleep.
Wade turns out the light, and settles in to wait. He’s kind of not expecting anything right off the bat, especially given that Wade is the big spoon right now. It’s kinda an awkward position for Peter to go in for a grope.
And that’s where Wade is wrong, because maybe thirty minutes later—just as Peter’s breathing hits that sweet REM cycle—his hand slides back to feel along Wade’s Hello Kitty pajama-pant clad thigh. Wade holds his breath as it travels up until it makes contact with Wade’s balls. At which point, his sweetie gently cups them, lets out a satisfied sigh, and seems to relax even further into unconsciousness.
Holy-fucking-shitballs-McGee. Petey really is just holding on to his junk for peace and comfort like Wade would his unicorn plushie.
Oh my god, Wade is Peter’s unicorn plushie.
Squee!!
Wade doesn’t know how much time he loses being absolutely zooted on this revelation. Wade’s taken a lot of drugs in his life and nothing comes close to this level of euphoria.
God, Wade loves him. Every time he thinks his baby boy can’t get more perfect and wonderful, he discovers something even more perfect and wonderful.
He carefully scoots down so that the angle is less awkward for Pete’s wrist, and then presses a light kiss to his shoulder.
Well, that certainly answers the question of whether this is a habit. Recon mission OOPS is a certified success.
Now that Wade’s paying attention, he finds that pretty much every night they spend together, Peter seeks himself a generous handful of the Wade Wilson Care Package.
He’s never forceful about it: if Wade moves or rolls over, his hand slides away without issue. It’s just that apparently his Petey-pie's preferred way of sleeping is to hold Wade’s dick while he does it.
Wade’s feeling pretty fucking great about the whole thing until the night Peter wakes up and realizes what he’s doing for the first time.
“Huh?” Peter muzzes, then—to Wade’s dismay—snatches his hand back and scoots away. “Oh, shit, sorry, dude.”
Wade leers playfully at him. Now that he’s awake, it’s as good a time as any for the next stage of the mercenary method: interrogation. Time to find out if Peter is even aware of this.
“Find something you like, baby boy?”
Peter’s face goes a bright, adorable red.
“No, sorry, I mean, yes but—” Peter scrubs a bleary hand over his face. He’s still not entirely awake yet. “I didn’t mean to—I was asleep. Sorry, Wade.”
His sweetie-Petey is starting to look actually upset, which is not the reaction Wade was expecting nor desiring. Wade had expected some minor embarrassment and maybe some horniness Wade could take advantage of.
Embarrassment? Yes. Horny? Nowhere to be found.
Wade frowns.
“It’s okay, baby boy. Just teasin’ ya. Why are you apologizing?”
Peter eyes him.
“Gee, I don’t know. It’s the nice thing to do when you accidentally molest your partner?”
“'Molest' is such a strong word,” Wade snorts. Silly Spidey.
Peter squints.
“I touched your genitals without your consent, Wade. It qualifies.”
Wade waves that away.
“You always have consent to touch my junk, Petey, I thought that was obvious.”
Peter’s eyebrows knit together and Wade has to force himself not to roll his eyes. Here he goes on another Consent Is Always Retractable Speech. Which Wade agrees with, just not when it’s needlessly interfering with his own very consensual kinks.
Sometimes Wade thinks MJ and Peter’s nice dead aunt really put too much feminist in this boy for his own good.
“I don’t want to rely on that, Wade,” Peter starts predictably. “Consent is always retractable, and I never want to violate—”
Wade interrupts him.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, my body is a temple, blah-blah, but trust me: if I didn’t want you to have an all-access pass to this theme park, I would have stopped you the first time.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Peter’s mouth drops open in horror. “The first—?”
Whoops.
“Well—” Wade prevaricates. “Yeah?”
“How many times have I done this?” Peter demands, and oh, no, he looks distraught. Oh no.
“Wade, oh my god, how many times have I done this?”
Wade tries to reach for him and Peter pulls away. Ouch. Knife to the heart.
Then Wade hears how Peter’s breathing is getting fast and panicked, and no, this simply won’t do.
Time to get serious.
“Peter, sweetheart, don’t look at me like that. Jesus Christ, you’re breaking my heart. Please come here.”
Peter lets Wade pull him into a hug this time, thank god. Wade scoops him up into his lap and holds his face in his hands.
“Pete, I promise it’s okay.”
Peter tries to shake his head, but Wade doesn’t let him. “Peter. I think it’s sweet. It’s nice.”
“I shouldn’t be-be-be—feeling you up when you’re unable to consent to it,” Peter argues. “That’s not sweet. Jesus, that’s so not okay, Wade!”
“I am consenting to it,” Wade counters. He strokes his thumbs over Peter’s brows to smooth them out. “I promise you, baby boy, I would not let you ‘feel me up’ if I didn’t want you to. It’s sweet. I like it. It makes me feel important to you.”
That cuts through some of Peter’s panic, thank fuck.
“You are important to me.” Peter’s voice is thick with emotion and his dark eyes are huge and serious.
Wade would be swooning right now except another thought seems to occur to Peter and he starts hyperventilating again.
“Oh my god, what if I have a nightmare? I used to have really bad ones after—Gwen,” Peter swallows hard and looks sick. “What if I clench my hand? I could seriously hurt you!”
Aw, bless his little heart. Sometimes Wade thinks Peter forgets who he is. Wade interrupts him to cut off this very lovely but extremely stupid line of concern.
“Baby. Baby boy. Sweetheart. Honey. Light of my life. Breathe with me, that’s it, breathe with Daddy.”
Peter immediately shoots him a terribly annoyed scowl, but Wade—of all people—knows when you need the big guns. Triggering Peter’s violent anti-daddy trap card wipes away the horrible sick look. Wade will take that beautiful scowl over that awful expression any day of the week.
Peter also starts syncing his breaths to Wade’s so it’s a net win for Wade.
Wade keeps his voice low and soothing.
“Good boy, that’s my good boy. Now you listen to me, my precious little spidey-widey. My pretty pumpkin Petey-pie. My very special boy: I promise you, you aren’t hurting me. As far as I can tell, this has been happening for ages, and you’ve never hurt me. And even if you do: eh. Sucks but it’ll heal. Won’t be the first time I’ve had my cock crushed and probably won’t be the last. No biggie.”
Peter looks massively unhappy at that.
“Besides the fact that I really don’t want to crush your dick, I shouldn’t have to rely on your healing factor to save the day if I accidentally mutilate you, Wade. It would still hurt you! I should have better control over myself.”
“While you’re sleeping?” Wade asks, incredulous. “I know you don’t do it on purpose.”
Peter huffs in clear disagreement.
“Wade, it’s completely unacceptable for you to have any expectation that I will hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. It’s the, the fucking—”
Peter seems to struggle with what the fucking is, and Wade has a horrible realization that there was foreshadowing early on this story, right in front of his fucking salad.
“‘Lowest bar on the planet?’” Wade finishes numbly, recalling Peter’s words from the first morning Wade found Peter’s hand on him. The words are like ash in his mouth.
“Yes!” Peter snaps his fingers, satisfied. “It’s exactly that. It’s the lowest bar on the fucking planet, not wanting to hurt you.”
Christ. It’s all so romantic and all so terribly, terribly stupid.
Pete’s got Spidey-stubborn written all over him right now and while Wade normally loves that particular brand of spice, it’s a real pain in the ass.
He strokes over Peter’s pinched eyebrows again.
“Please stop stressin’, honey. I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re all doin’ a-okay.”
Wade lets go of Peter’s face to rub his hands down his arms. He keeps his breathing deep and regular until Peter’s breaths are calm and steady as well. Eventually, Peter tips forward to press their foreheads together.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep,” Wade says, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. Then he smirks. “Though I gotta say, I’d be more okay if you put your hand on my cock again.”
“Oh my god,” Peter huffs, annoyed, and tries to escape.
Too bad for him: Wade digs his fingers into Peter’s sides to make him laugh, and they end up wrestling until the neighbors start banging on the wall. Pinned beneath Peter, Wade makes obnoxious kissy noises until Peter gives in and leans down to kiss him.
Crisis averted, Wade thinks as they settle back down to sleep. No harm, no foul.
At least, he thinks that until Peter shoves a pillow between them.
“Wait, no,” Wade protests.
Peter shakes his head.
“I get it, you’re fine with it,” Peter tells him. “I just don’t feel fine with it. Until I can think of a better solution: pillow barrier.”
Well, this is a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation. Wade glares at the offending pillow.
The worst thing about it is that to protect Peter’s consent, he’s gotta fucking put up with it.
Well, he puts up with it for twenty minutes. Then he leans over it.
“Peter,” he hisses like a teenager at a sleep-away camp. “Are you awake?”
He knows he’s awake.
“You know I’m awake,” Peter replies flatly.
“Wanna make out?” Wade whispers, waggling his eyebrows.
Peter sighs, but Wade can see him smiling.
“Yeah, okay,” Peter says, and Wade throws the stupid pillow clear to the other side of the room—which, since they’re at Peter’s, means it lands somewhere in the living room.
Enemy vanquished, he rolls over on top of Peter to get some of dat tongue.
Kissing turns into heavy petting which turns into them shoving their pajama pants down just far enough to rub off against each other. In the aftermath, Wade presses their bodies fully together despite the mess on Peter’s belly.
“Gross,” Peter complains. He rolls his eyes when Wade thrusts a few more times to spread it around even more. “You’re on rag duty.”
“Mmm,” Wade agrees. He leans down to kiss him, and god, Peter gives over so easy to him, that plush mouth so soft and sweet. The longer he can be glued to his sweetie, the better but—as Peter pulls away to yawn—Wade reluctantly faces inevitable. They really do need to sleep.
He pulls away, wincing when he feels the come matting Peter’s belly hair and pubes. Being full baldie has privileges every once in a while.
Peter gives him a deeply unimpressed look when he sees the state of himself.
But Wade’s a good boyfriend and an excellent provider, so not only does he get a rag, he even goes and waits forever in the bathroom for the stupid, slow-as-shit hot water to kick in to get his baby a warm damp rag.
Only then he returns from his arduous trials to find that Peter’s gone and fetched the fucking pillow and put it back in blockade formation on the bed.
Fuck.
Wade sullenly hands over the rag and flops into his designated zone. Peter wipes himself off, then leans over the pillow to kiss Wade.
“Night, big guy,” he says, and then, annoyingly sincere, “Thank you. I love you.”
And how the hell is Wade supposed to argue with that?
“I love you too, baby boy,” Wade says, all gooey despite his disgruntlement.
Shit. How does he unfuck all of this and go back to the part where Peter fondles him?