Something's on my mind (mind)
Always in my headspace
Peter had been dating Wade for six months. He's known Wade for three years and two months.
You'd think they'd have managed to figure out better places to have a date.
"I'm starting to think that we're getting stale," Wade comments, chewing on a taco coated liberally in hot sauce. "We never do anything any more."
"You take that back!" Peter points the taco in his hand at Wade accusingly. "We're not stale!"
"Babe, we should switch it up a little," Wade says. "We do nothing except patrol, eat, play COD, and bang-"
"I'm gonna stop you right there," Peter interrupts. They did do things, they were just...the same things.
Shit. They were the boring couple.
"See?" Wade says knowingly. "We are that couple."
"Huh," Peter says, thinking.
It wasn't as though Peter was bored. Quite the opposite, as the two of them were chemists in bed (Peter was a chemist in the streets and the sheets), and Wade was one of the most spectacularly terrible shooters in the history of Call of Duty. Which is the funniest thing Peter has seen in a long, long time.
But when you're a superhero, fighting a new villain every week, having an exciting relationship isn't exactly your biggest priority.
Peter's perfectly happy to flop down on the couch after a fight, pick up a controller, and beat the living snot out of some twelve-year-olds while Wade cackles and plays Fruit Ninja.
Peter never really wanted one of "those" relationships. He's seen the rom-com's, okay. (Hey, Love, Actually is a classic.) Even if the protagonists of some Hallmark movie always got who they wanted, Peter didn't. He's reminded of that every day.
And yeah, he'd love to have one of those loves- the ones that are heart-wrenching, tear-your-soul-out-for-the-other-person, can't-breathe-cause-you-miss-them loves. A love for the ages.
But Peter can't have that. Not anymore. Not after her.
Even if he's in love with a dumbass ex-merc who occasionally sets his kitchen in fire and makes dumb comments about his ass, he's okay with that.
He wouldn't really have it any other way.
Peter smiles and holds out his hand for a taco. Wade obliges. Taking a bite, he says, "Who cares if we're boring? We're the hottest couple around."
"Amen, babe," Wade holds up a fist. Peter bumps it, smirking.
They'd been dating for seven months when Wade realized he had to shit or get off the pot. Figure out if he wanted go stay with Peter or ditch him like he did everyone else.
He'd never made it a secret that he was terrible with commitment.
He'd openly admitted it to Peter a week into their relationship. But Peter had just accepted and rolled. Like he always did.
"We'll get through it. We always do, Wade."
Being the absolute coward he was, Wade completely avoided anything to do with feelings after that.
He was still waiting for the ball to drop.
"Hey, you wanna switch it up a little?" Peter asks, waving the menu for a Vietnamese restaurant. Wade moves to get comfortable on the couch, shirtless and wearing only a pair of boxers. "This place delivers."
"Thought you swore off Asian food after you lived off ramen for a month," Wade teases, smirking. Sprawled across the couch, he's about as comfy as can be.
Peter's about as adverse as Wade when it comes to discussing feelings, so they're eternally stuck in limbo.
"Shush, you," Peter retorts, the sting of the remark tempered by the quick kiss he presses to Wade's mouth. "What do you want?"
"Give me Pho Tai or give me death," Wade imitates Patrick Henry, pumping a fist in the air as he shifts, lying down.
"What a patriot," Peter comments dryly. He picks up the phone, snatching up his phone and making a call.
As Peter chats to someone over the phone, Wade has nothing left to distract him. Which means thinking. Which means Bad Thoughts™ that should really be left elsewhere. Preferably dead in a ditch somewhere.
Wade has long since come to the conclusion that Peter's a little jacked in the head. He has to be if he's willing to date him. And Wade is a world-renowned (okay, WAS a world-renowned) mercenary. And you don't get that far in his (former) line of business if you're a dumbass without critical thinking skills.
He's seen the blond chick on Peter's screen when the latter moves through his camera roll (sometimes Peter still moonlights as a photographer when he's strapped for cash). He's seen the way Peter's eyes soften when he looks at her image, sweet and a little bit sad, like looking at what could have once been.
But there's no way in hell Wade will bring her up, and he knows Peter won't, so they're once again stuck in limbo.
"Alright, food will be here in about thirty, what you wanna do?" Peter plops himself down on the couch, effortlessly lifting Wade to fit onto the space.
"I vote Mario Kart," Wade says, instantly out of his reverie. What? You expect him to reveal that he's been thinking Deep Thoughts™? False. "I'm Peach, so obviously you're my Mario, you short brunet, you."
"I'm five ten, not a midget," Peter grumbles, standing up and grabbing two Wii remotes. "Go screw yourself."
"I expect you'll do that for me later," Wade shoots back cheekily, lounging. Peter chuckles, shaking his head.
Yeah, he's going to hold off on that whole feelings stuff. Lord knows he's not going to address it.
He's mostly content to sit here with Peter, playing Mario Kart and occasionally making out.
As it should be.
Peter relieves stress by patrolling. It's curiously therapeutic, going outside and stopping bad guys.
Mostly, his stress is because he wants to take Wade to meet his aunt. So as Peter swings between buildings, he thinks.
It isn't as if he's ashamed of Wade. Just the opposite. He's ecstatic Wade is his boyfriend. Thrilled, really, and yet-
He's not exactly ready to take him to meet his last piece of family. That would be like admitting something. And Wade is about as great as Peter is about discussing emotions.
They had been dating for eight months. Long enough for Peter to finally spit out those three little words that had tugged at his tongue for a while.
He knew he loved Wade, could feel it in the warmth in his chest, the serene contentment that came when they were together, just being around each other.
But saying it was an entirely different matter. And Peter doesn't know if Wade would bolt if he said it.
He can, however, take Wade to meet his aunt, even if Peter won't say those specific three words.
Thirty minutes, one phone call and one message later, Peter is rolling through the open window of his apartment.
Wade is in the room, holding his phone and looking concerned. He holds up the phone, raising an eyebrow. "You said we needed to talk?"
"Yeah," Peter says. "I want you to meet my aunt."
"Ah, jeez," Wade replies.
"Hey, c'mon," Peter says, looking imploringly at Wade, making the puppy eyes he knows work. "It's not like I have anyone else. It's just her and I."
"Lovely grammar there," Wade comments, looking deep into Peter's eyes. "Dammit, Parker, how can I say no to those eyes?! It's like Puss in Boots in the second Shrek movie, S-M-H."
"You could have just shaken your head instead of using an acronym," Peter says. "We're meeting her in two hours, so I'm going to shower and you're going to look presentable or else."
"Define presentable," Wade challenges.
"Nice shirt, jeans, no mask!" Peter yells as he scoops boxers out of his drawer and moves to the bathroom.
"Fiiiiine," Wade groans.
The dinner with May goes well, and although she admonishes Peter for not telling her about Wade, she likes him.
"Bring him back soon, Peter," she tells him. "You both need something better than takeout."
(They both know Peter can't cook, and Wade is better at pancakes and Mexican than other foods.)
Wade likes her too, and they bond over the Golden Girls when she discovers his love for Bea Arthur.
Peter watches them both, happy.
"I love you," Peter blurts two weeks after the Aunt May meet-and-greet. Of course, in true Parker fashion, he does it as they play Minecraft, him picking away at iron ore.
"I know," Wade replies instantly. Peter's immediate reaction is to think, Dude just Han Solo'd my ass.
"Thanks," Peter manages, trying to avoid noticing how his face has done a spectacular impression of an embarrassed tomato. He fiddles with the buttons on his controller, mortified that he just blurted that shit out.
"I'm just kidding, Pete," Wade says, pausing the game. "I love you too."
"Is this the part where we have mind-blowing sex or what?" Peter asks, still in shock, but somewhere in his chest, warmth thrums. "Because I'm down."
"Yeah, me too, but you're about to get killed by a Creeper, better save your game," Wade tells him, grinning. Peter snatches up his controller just in time to get away before the thing explodes.
"You know, I think I had a whole plan for telling you," Peter mentions, going into his house and shutting the door. He stashes his ore and tools in his chest before saving. "Had rose petals and everything in my head. I was gonna romance the shit out of you."
"A bouquet of dead, decaying flowers? Lit candles as a romantic fire hazard? Amazing sex?" Wade inquires.
"Yep, basically," Peter nods. "It would have been awesome."
"Well, damn, Parker, why'd you spit it out now?"
"Because I do love you. And I'm broke as hell, so no flowers. Candles also cost too much."
"And to think that it would all go to waste," Wade sniffs. "When would we even USE candles?"
"I dunno," Peter says. He leans over, giving Wade a lingering kiss. Wade holds his jaw, keeping him in place to deepen the kiss.
"Mmm...Peter...my character just exploded-" Wade protests as an explosion comes from the screen.
"Fine," Peter pulls away, rolling his eyes. He watches Wade gather up his items and save his game before the latter turns and gives him an expectant look.
"Hey, you were the one pulling away," Peter raises an eyebrow. Wade rolls his own eyes this time, a fond look on his face. Peter feels the warmth in his chest rise.
"C'mon," he pulls Wade over to him, on top of him, so they're sharing the same space, the same breath. Wade leans down to meet him as he goes up, and it's simple, really, the way their bodies fit.
Later, when the lights are off and Wade is passed out next to him, Peter smiles and swipes his thumb across the curve of Wade's brow.
"I love you," he whispers in the dark. The response is a sleepy hum, Wade curling around him, arms around his waist.
Even if Peter can't talk about Gwen without his tongue failing, even if he can't put words to the warmth in his chest, it's enough.
He exhales, falling asleep, and his breath meets the night.