Spideypool Oneshots

Sometimes Cuddling Your Boyfriend Means Cleaning up Cracked Eggs

Peter blinks open heavy eyelids, purposefully avoiding the sunlight coming through the window. His limbs feel like jello, sore from last nights activities, which unfortunately did not include having sex with Wade, but stopping a couple of drug dealers who had more weapons than Peter had originally anticipated.

He'd definitely rather of been having sex with Wade. Wade, at least, cares for his fragile limbs and does not shoot at him. Unlike certain crabby criminals.

"Morning baby tenderloins," A voice whispers into his ear, arms tightening around his waist.

"I'll give you ten dollars to never call me that again." Peter gently turns over to face Wade, careful not to disrupt the arms wrapped around him.

"Make it twenty and i'll throw in some pancakes," Wade negotiates, kissing Peter's nose.

"No," Peter grumps, nuzzling his face into Wade's neck. "Don't get up to make pancakes. Stay laying with me. Warm."

"Did you eat last night?"

"The blood of my enemies," Peter answers, avoiding the question.

Wade laughs, jostling Peter's head from where it was buried. "I don't think that counts as a meal, sweet pea."

"You once ate nothing but chimichangas for an entire month, I really don't think you're an authority on what is and isn't a meal," Peter says, petulant.

Wade hums, bringing his hands to rub Peter's back in slow motions. He instantly melts, allowing Wade to soothe his aching bones with hands that Peter believes to be magic in multiple ways.

"And you once went two days without eating at all, which makes me more of an authority than you!" Wade exclaims in a hushed voice, and Peter cringes at the memory. "You see how that works?"

"Are you trying to get out of cuddling me?" Peter whines, knowing he's lost.

Wade gasps, tightening his arms and rolling onto his back, so that Peter's laying on his chest. "Blasphemy," he says, hands moving up to rub Peter's neck before venturing towards his hair. "I can cook and cuddle at the same time. I'm a man with many talents, you know?

"You really can't," Peter sighs.

Wade's hands momentarily still, then resume once Peter whines in displeasure. "That sounds like a challenge."

"It isn't," Peter argues.

"It is."

"It isn't."

"It is."

The finality of the statement causes Peter to groan, knowing that for the second time this morning, he's lost.

Which is how they ended up in the kitchen, with Peter still plastered against Wade's chest, and Wade's arms cocooning him. Only now Wade's hands were preoccupied with cooking pancakes rather than petting Peter. A bit of a downgrade, if you asked him.

"This is hard," Peter complains, shuffling with Wade as he went to retrieve butter.

"Not as hard at my—"

"Don't finish that statement."

"—resolve to cook and cuddle you at the same time. For Pete's sake, honey bunches, get your mind out of the gutter."

"You're impossible," Peter says, laughter creeping into his voice. Exasperation and fondness at war with each other.

"Damn right." Wade kisses the side of his head in response, then taps his thigh. "Lift your legs."