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On February 14th, Peter woke up and realized that it was Valentine’s Day and he had nothing to give Wade. His heart stopped.
He looked across the bed at his lover, who curled up with a pillow crushed against his stomach and his corner of their comforter twined between his legs. His chest was bare and the sunlight filtering through the blinds cast stripes of shadows across the gnarled scars of his skin in an intricate design that left Peter’s mouth dry. Wade was gorgeous. He was passionate and funny and loving and perfect. And Peter had completely forgotten to get him anything for Valentine’s day. Because Peter was the worst boyfriend ever.
“Shit,” Peter hissed to himself.
He checked the bedside clock. If he got dressed quickly he might have time to do some Amazon shopping before Wade woke up. Paying for same-day shipping was going to be a bitch, but Wade was worth it.
So Peter rolled out of bed, took a frighteningly quick shower, threw on the least offensive combo of button downs and slacks he could find, and logged onto his Amazon account.
Only, what would Wade even like? He already owned Amazon’s entire stock of floral oven mitts. And Peter didn’t really know the ins and outs of weapons to knowledgably buy Wade a pistol or semi or submachine gun that he 1) didn’t already own, or 2) would even want. Really, buying a projectile weapon was a very personal experience (Wade had said on many occasions) and Peter didn’t want to deprive Wade of that. Peter considered a CD before remembering that they lived in the present and didn’t even own a CD player. MP3s for life. A book might be a nice gift, but it didn’t really shout romance unless Peter absolutely lost his motherfuckin’ mind and bough Wade a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. Which he would definitely not be doing, because he valued and appreciated his relationship, thank you very much. He was just about to click on the jewelry tab as a last ditch effort when the bedroom door swung open. Peter slammed the laptop closed, and tried casually get to his feet and not give off the air that he had been last-minute valentines-day shopping.
He needn’t have tried so hard. Wade was barely awake, and hadn’t stopped at all in his quest to reach the refrigerator. His eyes weren’t even open.
Peter checked his watch and then cursed again beneath his breath. He’d taken too long trying to figure out what the fuck to give his significant other. He shot out a web to grab onto his messenger bag and stuffed his feet into his shoes. “Wade!” he called.
“Mmh?” Wade mumbled.
“Babe, I’m off to work,” Peter said loudly as he slung the bag across his body and pulled on a jacket over top of that because shut up, he was a barely-functioning adult trying his best.
“Have fun at you’re the work,” Wade said gruffly, sounding only slightly less mumbled, but making no actual sense.
Peter laughed as he ran out the door, stumbled down the stairs and finally burst onto the chill and crowded New York sidewalk.
He had all day to think of something to get Wade, and then he could pick it up after work. He had time. He had all the time in the world.
All day at work Peter wracked his brains for what to get Wade. He would probably like a giant stuffed animal, to be honest, but those things were expensive. Peter wasn't about to shill out fifty bucks for a giant teddy that Wade would love and love, and eventually stain with various bodily fluids, most notably, blood.
A bouquet of flowers would be fine, right? It isn't ostentatious, but flowers are an acceptable Valentines gift. Maybe some chocolate too? Maybe chocolate covered Tex-mex?
Peter dropped his face into his hands and groaned.
And there wasn't even anyone in the lab to ask! Tony had spirited Pepper away at the beginning of the week and no one had seen hide or hair of either of them. There were rumors floating around outside SI that the CEO and former CEO had been kidnapped, but that was just unfounded gossip, unless they wanted the kidnapping of the current CEO by the former CEO to count.
Bruce was at a convention on the west coast, so he was un-adviceable as well. And Peter didn't really want to trek through the tower searching for an avenger to ask advice of. He didn't want to seem that desperate. He knew Wade, goddamnit, how hard could this be?
He just had to prove to Wade, and to himself, that he was a good boyfriend. He was.
"Honey, I'm home!" Peter called as he walked through the front door, clutching the pink cellophane of a bouquet behind his back. There was no answer.
Peter stepped into the apartment, glancing back and forth, looking for any sign of Wade. He had the day off. They're talked about their schedules jus last week. Wade should be home.
Instead of Wade, Peter found unlit candles littering the rooms and flower petals scattered across the floor. Not rose petals, but the pink and white striped ones of camellias. It made their apartment smell vaguely tropical, which Peter really hadn't been expecting in February in New York.
What Peter had been expecting was his boyfriend, who was nowhere to be found.
A loud ringing echoed through the rooms, startling Peter. He jumped a little, and almost dropped the bouquet before realizing that the ringing was the noise of the oven timer going off.
"What the..." Peter muttered to himself and strode into the kitchen. With his unoccupied hand he pulled the oven open, revealing a box of Stouffer's Chicken Parmesan.
"What the fuck, Wade," Peter muttered, slightly louder. "Don't leave the house with the oven on!"
He shut the oven, turned it off, and was about to get out the oven mitts so he could juggle the taking the food out of the oven while trying not to drop the bouquet when he heard the window in the living room slide open.
"That better be you, Wade," Peter called out, not caring that he probably came off as sort of miffed.
There was half a second of silence before Wade responded. "Hey Honey! I didn't know you'd be home so early."
Peter checked his watch. "I was actually running late."
Wade stepped into the kitchen, one hand resting on his hip casually, the other holding something behind his back. Peter was in almost the same position. "Happy Valentine's Day!" Wade said with false enthusiasm.
Peter narrowed his eyes. "You left the oven on."
"Shit!" Wade hissed. "I forgot I was cooking something, I was in such a rush."
Peter let his shoulders relax, and he gave Wade a small smile. "Shoulda figured. At least you didn't burn the house down." He paused, letting his grin grow wider. "And happy Valentine's Day to you too."
Wade grinned in response, and they both took a step towards each other. There was a moment when neither of them spoke, they were just content to look at one another, and Peter couldn’t help but soak in the moment just enjoying Wade’s company. Then Peter cleared his throat. "I got you something for Valentines." He frowned, self-deprecatingly. "It’s not the best, I admit," he grimaced, "but to be honest I forgot until this morning that I was even supposed to do anything today. I'm the worst."
Wade was shaking his head, had been shaking his head through most of Peter's speech, and kept shaking it for a few seconds after Peter had stopped talking. Finally he spoke. "No! No, me too! I'm bad too. I forgot until lunchtime, Petey-pie. I turned on the tv and there was this ad for KY jelly and it hit me like a—like a fucking Ava—semi-tru—something heavy! So I had to rush out and pick up dinner and candles and flowers! Frozen Italian food, Petey! This is what this holiday has reduced me to. If I'd remembered yesterday I coulda called up Dawna, but I was too late! And I was half way through scattering petals, the food in the cooker, when I realized I didn't have a gift. Because I'm an idiot!"
Peter laughed. "You didn't have to get me anything. The candles and the food, and the camellia petals—"
"Is that what those are?"
"—were more than enough. And I didn't need any of that either. I know how much you love me." Peter tried to keep his expression neutral but he couldn't help a wry smirk etching his lips when he asked, "But, KY Jelly?"
Wade turned up his nose. "I feel no shame."
Peter laughed. "Well, since you did this all," he gestured to the flower petals, and then to the candles, "it's only right that I give you my gift to you first." He paused. "Don't get your hopes up."
"I'm gonna love it," Wade said with confidence.
"What did I just say?" But he pulled the bouquet from behind his back, and offered the pink cellophane cradling daisies interspersed with serrated knives to his fiancé.
Wade gasped and then dropped what was behind his back, letting what looked like a wad of white fabric fall to the ground, so he could cup both hands around the bouquet. "I love it," Wade said softly, "it's perfect. Thank you." He plucked a daisy and stuck it behind his ear. Then hefted one of the knives in his hand, tossed it into the air hilt over tip, caught it by the point, and then launched it through the room until it hit the living room wall, where it stuck about three inches into the plaster.
“So you like it?” Peter asked, and shuffled a little where he stood.
“So shiny,” Wade whispered, eyes wide. “I love them, Petey-sweetie!”
Peter beamed, and then his eyes darted down to the ball of cloth on the floor. He pointed to it. “So am I to assume you’re leaving my gift on the floor? With the dirt and the bits of old food and the cockroaches?”
Wade whipped his head back to look at the cloth and then screeched. “Your gift!” He spun on his heel and grabbed up the cloth, juggled it for a moment with his knife/daisy bouquet, and then presented the wadded up fabric, dotted with crumbs, to Peter with grandeur.
Peter took the cloth and turned it over in his hand, Wade watching with such impatience it looked almost like he was going to wet himself, before starting to unfold it. The cloth began to become a familiar shape, piece of clothing, a t-shirt, a white t-shirt with the words—
Peter let out a cackle. “Wade! Wade this is perfect. Where the fuck did you even get this?”
Wade looked slightly bashful, but he grinned. “So you like it? I had it specially printed. I thought the dude at the place kept giving me suuuuper weird looks. But, it’s like, worth it, right?”
“Weird looks?” Peter asked sarcastically, “I couldn’t possibly guess why. You only bought a shirt that says ‘Spidey in the Streets, Freak in the Sheets’ with a doodle of a spider. That’s not weirdly specific or anything.”
Wade gifted Peter with a toothy grin. “And you’ll wear it?”
Peter laughed. “You sound so eager. Yes, I’ll wear it. I’ll wear it right now.” He started pulling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll put it on right now Wade, that’s how much I love it.”
“And you’ll wear it next time you go out to patrol?”
“Babe, of course I’ll wear it on patrol. I’ll wear it when I fight Doc Ock and the Green Goblin. I’ll wear it when we team up with the Avengers, even though Tony is going to tease me so hard for it and Captain America is going to give me his sad captain eyes. I’ll wear it all the time. I freaking love it.”
Peter popped off the last button of his shirt and lobbed it into the corner. He began shaking out his new and most perfectly awesome t-shirt, but before he pull it over his head, Wade caught his wrist. Peter looked up at his fiancé, whose pupils were dark and wide, and whose breathing had sped up.
“Maybe put it on for me after?”
“After what?” Peter had to ask, because he liked it when Wade worked for what he wanted.
Wade pressed forward, and Peter took a step back, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Wade stepped forward again, and again, until he had Peter pinned against the wall, his hands running up and down Peter’s bare chest, almost of their own accord. He moved his lips against Peter’s for a long heated moment until Peter was breathless and needy and wanting.
“After,” Wade repeated into Peter’s mouth, gruff and a little breathless as well, and dragged Peter out of the kitchen and into their bedroom.
It wasn’t until much, much later, as Peter was laying sated in bed, Wade tucked protectively beneath his arm, that he let out a self-deprecating snort. “We never ate the Chicken Parm.”