Work Text:
Peter rolled over in bed for what felt like the millionth time.
He’d started on his back, holding Wade’s hand, but then his palm got sweaty, and he didn’t want Wade to think he was gross, so he rolled onto his side, facing away.
Then he felt bad, so he rolled back—the space between their hands noticeable now, his fingers curling uselessly at his sides instead of reaching for Wade again.
Wade was already asleep, his breathing slow and even beside him.
Which made Peter feel worse, because he wasn’t, and wished he was.
So he lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Thoughts drifted in lazy loops, body tired but brain refusing to clock out. Peter rolled onto his side (again) with a quiet sigh.
“Hnnh.” Wade cracked one eye open. “That was at least a level-three sigh. What’s going on in that big beautiful brain?”
"'S nothing. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” Peter murmured.
“You don’t have to be sorry, baby.” Wade was already shifting closer. “That’s what storytime’s for.”
Peter huffed quietly. “I’m not—” He stopped, exhaled. “…Okay. Fine,” he sighed, a level two. “Storytime.”
Wade propped himself up on one elbow and reached for his red notebook, the one with the Deadpool logo Sharpied on the front, thumb marking a page he absolutely wasn’t going to read.
Seriously, there were no words on the page—just doodles of him and Peter.
He cleared his throat. “Alright. Tonight’s tale is called The Brave Spider and the Extremely Handsome Narrator.”
Peter snorted. “Is the narrator you?”
“Obvs,” Wade said. “Now shh. Once upon a time, like, six or seven minutes ago, there was a very brave Spider who did everything right all day and still couldn’t fall asleep because his brain was being a jerk.”
Peter tucked himself closer, and Wade’s arm wrapped around him.
“This Spider,” Wade continued, lowering his voice, “was smart and kind and maybe a little too hard on himself. So his very handsome boyfriend decided to tell him a story so boring that sleep had no choice but to show up.”
“Boring?” Peter protested.
“Oh, total snooze-fest,” Wade promised. “You see, the Spider lay down on a rich, mahogany four-poster bed, just -muah!-”
“We don’t have a four-poster bed,” Peter interjected.
“Don’t worry, we’re gonna add it in later with CGI. J.K., we don’t have the budget for CGI. Anywho… the succulent Spider lay down on his soft bed, the mattress rising to meet his sweet, beautiful body. Fluffiness ensued. And -gasp!- his muscles unclenched. Even those luscious glutes. Loosey-glutese-y.”
Peter snorted. “Is this story about my butt?”
“Yes,” Wade replied, without missing a beat. “And your chest. You see, the Spider’s breathing slowed. He remembered that he was safe. That nothing needed fixing tonight.”
Wade’s hand traced slow, absent-minded circles on Peter’s arm, matching the cadence of his words.
“In the story,” Wade went on, “the Spider didn’t have to save anyone. He didn’t have to plan tomorrow. He just rested because someone was there with him. Someone warm. Someone chiseled. Someone hi-LAIR-rious.” Wade pointed to himself. “Someone who loved him very, very much. Someone who would keep talking until the thoughts drifted away.”
Peter’s breathing evened out without him realizing it.
“And then,” Wade whispered, “the Spider smiled a little, because even though he pretended not to like Storytime, it worked every time.”
“Wade,” Peter said, his words already blurring together. “Thank you.”
Wade’s arm tightened around him. "Of course, baby. Anything for you. Which meant the Spider slept, happily ever after.” He pressed a soft kiss into Peter’s hair. “Sleep, sweetums. I’ve got the night watch.”
Peter reached for Wade’s hand again, fingers curling around his, warm and steady. “Tell me another one tomorrow.”
Wade tugged up the blanket. “Deal.”