Chapter Text
While Wade wouldn’t call himself, orphan that he was, a challenge in the “meet the family” department (and also given that Nate began his relationship with Wade under a very enthusiastic seal of approval from Wade’s ex, landlord, and even the BFF he had picked up on opening night), there was still a somewhat-family member Nate hadn’t had the chance to meet yet.
“Nah, man, we’re not buying Girl Scout cookies,” said Russell when he opened the door to Wade’s apartment and found Nate and Hope standing on the welcome mat. “Wade gets weird about them.” He closed the door.
Wade scrambled from the kitchen to re-open the door.
“OK, this is not what it looks like,” said Wade as he opened the door. And it’s true that if you wanted to distract your...um...the person with whom you are….your person from the fact that your sometimes-ish brother just shut the door in his face, you can absolutely open the door covered in green goo.
“It looks like you tried to cook,” said Nate, smiling.
“So maybe it’s exactly what it looks like.” Wade shrugged.
“You know you didn’t have to, right?” said Nate and kissed Wade on the cheek, ignoring what must be the absolutely vile good all over his face.
“Yuck,” said Hope. She had used the cover of their distraction to drag a finger down Wade’s arm and taste the green goo herself.
“Wade, man, why are you letting the Girl Scouts in?” asked Russell, coming back into the room. He was hardly free from the green goo himself, but he’d escaped a lot more than Wade had. This was mostly because he was a coward who had ducked behind Wade when the pressure cooker exploded.
“When your boyfriend gets here,” continued Russell, licking a spoon, “he is not gonna be into you picking up random dudes.”
“They’re not the Girl Scouts,” whined Wade. “This is my---my person that I---my--”
Nate snorted. “Your boyfriend, genius,” he finished for Wade. He’d had to do that a couple times already.
“--my person of the male varietal--my--yeah, OK, you do it,” Wade conceded.
“Hi, I’m Nate,” said Nate, holding a hand out towards Russell. “And this is my daughter, Hope.”
“Wade, he’s so old,” said Russell, wiping a hand on his jeans so he could shake Nate’s hand.
“He’s not--” said Wade and then turned to Nate, “you’re really not that--”
“Is it a Daddy kink?” Russell continued knowingly over Wade, finally taking the offered hand. “Do you make Wade call you daddy? Like--” and here he dropped his voice conspiratorially without actually making it quiet enough that Wade didn’t have to hear “is that your thing?”
“Oh god,” said Wade.
“No,” said Nate. He was doing the squared-shoulders-upright-back stance of absolute honesty that he did when he was uncomfortable but Dealing With It and Wade wanted desperately to save him.
“Oooooh so Wade’s a twink?” continued Russell. “I did a google image search and I was like, ‘That’s probably not Wade,’ but, like, what do I know?”
“I’m not a twink,” said Wade, mildly offended. “I’m a twunk at best.”
“You’re not a--” started Nate, but Hope interrupted.
“Dad, what’s a twink?” she asked, but she absolutely had that evil glint in her eye that she got when she was messing with Nate. Nate spluttered and turned red.
“It’s a---a word for a---” he started to explain and Wade was into this dude, he really was, but this he wasn’t going to save him from. “It’s a term? That, um, indicates that one man---who, who loves another man---”
“I should have recorded this,” said Russell, also rapt.
“You really should have,” agreed Wade.
“--and the other man? The other man, um, is--is, um, more physically imposing? Than the first man, um---the one who, um--”
“That sounds like you and Wade,” said Hope. “I mean, you’re definitely more physically imposing than Wade.”
“Hey,” said Wade mildly. Even during the time in his career when he’d been dancing two shows six days a week, he hadn’t had biceps like that, but it was the principle of the thing.
“No, she’s right,” said Russell, nodding scientifically.
Nate looked over at Wade, clearly floundering.
“Hope, stop messing with your dad,” said Wade, finally taking pity on him.
“Wait, she was--” Nate started to say as Hope simultaneously sighed and said, “Fine.”
“So if Wade’s a twunk, are you a Bear?” asked Russell.
This time Hope looked honestly confused. “Hang on, what’s a Bear?”
Nate looked at Wade for confirmation that this was a Real Question---which, for Nate, was a challenge to his Dad credentials or something so he would always power through, no matter what the question was about. It was one of those stupidly adorable things that Nate did all the time, every day, without even thinking about it.
“Russell, explain,” ordered Wade, “Nate, come look at the kitchen and freak out.”
“Shouldn’t I be--” Nate started to ask, but Wade hauled him bodily into the kitchen by grabbing his flesh hand and pulling. (Wade had already learned: do not pull the metal hand. At best, Nate didn’t notice he was being pulled. At worst? Awkward pop-goes-the-weasel and Wade would be left holding an arm.)
“Nah, Russell’s got this,” said Wade with feigned confidence. Russell’s explanation would be crazy, yes, but no worse than what Hope would have gotten if she’d googled it later. And chances were pretty good that they’d end up googling it anyway.
And then Nate got distracted by the state of affairs in the kitchen.
Since they had begun---begun spending a lot of time together in a romantic way, Nate had slowly and inexorably cleaned Wade’s entire apartment. Wade had never considered (a) that cleaning was fun or even really necessary or (b) that a man with a feather duster was capable of roiling with sexual tension, but. Lessons were learned by everyone. It turned out a lot of fun could be had while sorting laundry or scrubbing the baseboard.
Wade basked in the quiet, horrified shock for a second before pulling Nate towards the pot that has stopped (mostly) boiling on the stove. He scooped a spoonful and held it out towards Nate.
“You have to tell me what you think,” he instructed, putting on his best innocent expression. He was planning to pretend to be horribly insulted when Nate grimaced, maybe even knocked the spoon away (which would be great because then Wade would spend all evening claiming that the mess was from Nate knocking the spoon away instead of from Wade and Russell attempting to cook in the first place).
But Nate dutifully opened his mouth and actually reached out to shepherd Wade’s hand with the spoon towards his own open mouth. Wade was so surprised he actually did it, he fed Nate the spoonful of eldritch green horror. And Wade had gotten a faceful of the stuff earlier, he knew for a fact that it tasted like feet.
“That’s good,” said Nate and, oh no. He was doing the thing, the one with the straight back and the squared shoulders. The “this is my duty and I will achieve this task” thing.
“Oh, babe, no,” said Wade. “I didn’t think you’d actually--”
Wade was too moved by the spirit of the moment to bother finishing the sentence. Nate was too adorable, must be kissed. He kissed him thoroughly and it was only slightly awkward that he was still clutching the spoon in the hand that was resting behind Nate’s head. The other hand was pulling Nate as close as possible around his waist because this man, this wonderful man.
When they finally parted, both panting a little bit, Nate smirked. “You really shouldn’t cook,” he said, wiping at some more of the green stuff caked on Wade’s face.
“I really, really shouldn’t,” agreed Wade. He ducked back in for another kiss.
And then they were interrupted by a loud banging on the door.
“If it’s the pizza, I forgive him,” said Wade. “But otherwise, I am gonna cut a bitch.”
Nate blinked. (Wade was a big fan of kissing Nate until his brain slowed down.) “The pizza?”
“Yeah, you didn’t really think I was gonna make anyone eat this shit, right?” asked Wade, patting himself down for his wallet. “Got the Hawaiian for Hope, thin-crust organic margherita for you, right?”
Nate’s face went all warm and he kissed Wade again, not vehemently like a moment ago. Just a soft, delicate little thing that took Wade’s breath away all the same.
“What was that for?” asked Wade.
“You just--” said Nate, but the pounding on the door began again.
“Wade! I must speak with you!” came Piotr’s voice. “It is an emergency!”
And, OK, Piotr had never banged down Wade’s door before so whatever the emergency was, it was important. Wade nearly broke the land speed record on his way to the door and even skidded a little into it.
When he opened the door, Piotr immediately pulled him into a rib-crunching bear hug.
“My friend!” bellowed Piotr in excitement. “She has texted me!”
“What,” gasped Wade.
“Kitty has texted me!” Piotr said and released Wade enough to shove his phone in Wade’s face. It was far too close for Wade to read without going cross-eyed, so he took the phone. Piotr noticed Nate.
“Nathan! My friend!” he said and pulled Nate into the next bone-grinding hug. “And Russell!” Russell was next. “This is a good day, my friends!”
“This text says she wants to be friends with benefits,” Wade pointed out, reading the screen of Piotr’s phone.
“Yes, you see?” said Piotr. “We must first be friends, no love can be built without first a foundation of true friendship.”
“OK, but--”
“And this will allow us time to test our sexual compatibility,” Piotr added earnestly. “So that in time our intimacy may grow.”
“That’s not really what usually--” Wade started to protest, but Nate interrupted.
“Well, if you know what you’re doing,” he said to Piotr, but seemed to be trying to communicate something with Wade through the power of intense eye contact.
“But the whole point of a FWB situation is--” he started to protest again, but Nate cut him off a second time.
“Congratulations, Piotr,” he said despite the fact that this would obviously lead to Piotr giving him another rib-crushing hug. He accepted the hug and patted Piotr’s back.
“Thank you, my friends,” Piotr said, getting a little misty-eyed. “I am sorry to have interrupted your date, but I---Wade, what has happened to your kitchen?” He had finally noticed the wreck.
Thankfully for Wade, that was when the pizza really did arrive and he had to buzz the pizza guy in. Russell explained about the pressure cooker and the spinach while he did so, pointing to where the lid had gotten wedged into the ceiling. On a different night, Piotr would probably have been miffed about that, but he was too far into rainbows and kittens land to do anything but guffaw.
“I wish you luck,” he said, still beaming when he left.
After that, dinner was casual. Russell continued to pepper Nate with questions about his and Wade’s sex life (which Nate answered coolly), about Hope (which Nate answered by pulling out the string of pictures he kept in his wallet like an old man), and even about Nate’s prosthetic (which were asked with more tact than Wade had assumed Russell was capable of). Hope chimed in a couple of times, especially when Nate started to tell everyone about her victories in taekwondo but was apparently getting it “all wrong.”
Wade had been to that match. Nate was transitioning slowly and awkwardly from Dance Dad to Sport Dad. He’d been a natural at Dance Dad, had known exactly when to bring roses and what was the thing to shower your daughter with praise about. He knew hardly anything about taekwondo that he hadn’t googled frantically and still had a bad habit of calling the matches “shows.” He was getting better at hiding the fact that he was in a state of desperate terror for the entirety of every match, though. This last time, he’d only clutched at Wade’s shoulder a couple of times and only needed to bury his face in Wade’s shirt once. It was progress.
They talked and laughed and ate and then Nate slowly and inexorably started cleaning the kitchen. Russell and Hope played Mario Kart (which they both claimed was “super lame” but also both always played when they came over to Wade’s house) and Wade sat on the counter, singing “You’re the Top,” while Nate scrubbed.
“You’re an O’Neill drama, you’re Whistler’s mama,” sang Wade, “you’re Camembert.”
Nate grinned without looking up at Wade.
“You’re a rose, you’re Inferno’s Dante--”
Hope called from the other room, interrupting Wade’s song. “Mom just texted,” she said. “She’s gonna be here in five to pick me up.”
Wade fell off the counter. “She’s coming here?” he asked, squeaking in panic.
Nate put down the sponge and looked worried. “Yes?” he asked. “Was I not supposed to tell her we were going to be here?”
“You were supposed to--” said Wade, struggling to find the words to express how very bad it would be to have Nate’s high-powered lawyer bombshell of an ex in the same room with him. The contrast alone would be devastating. Possibly even enough to make Nate wake up from whatever fever dream he’d been in for the past….god, had it been two months?
“She’s just coming to pick Hope up,” said Nate. He pulled Wade towards him by his belt loops and Wade went reluctantly. “She’ll be in and out so fast, you’ll hardly notice she was here.”
“That’s what she said,” said Wade glumly.
It had to end at some point. There was only so long Nate could just coast along, forgetting that he was himself in a class of looks and charisma better suited to people who could carry off green sparkles on a red carpet instead of….the bits of green still stuck in what little hair Wade did have.
“It’s going to be fine, babe,” said Nate and Nate never called Wade anything other than “Wade.” Wade melted a little more into Nate and Nate kissed his forehead, then his nose, and finally his lips.
“Just remember I told you so,” said Wade nonsensically. It was just…..broadly going to be bad.
“I will,” promised Nate.
It was nice to be pampered through his weird attacks of self-doubt like this. Nate didn’t really get the why of these moments---which, if Wade was being honest, was reasonable, since the logic didn’t usually hold up to being said out loud, let alone unpacked for someone else---but he had somehow developed this strategy of sweet little kisses and letting Wade hold on tight and not telling Wade he was wrong, just holding on and. And. It was just nice.
“Do I have time to shower before she gets here, do you think?” asked Wade. His voice was muffled by the fact that he had pressed his face into the crook of Nate’s neck.
“Probably not,” said Nate. “But she’s not here to judge you. She’s just picking up Hope.”
“Yeah,” said Wade, unconvinced.
The front door buzzed and Wade could hear Hope running to the buzzer.
“Check who it is first!” called Nate, not letting go of Wade even a little.
“I was gonna,” called Hope. They heard her check and, yes, it was Aliya. “It’s Mom!” Hope confirmed, calling back to the kitchen. “I’m gonna buzz her in!”
“You want to just stay in the kitchen?” asked Nate and pressed another kiss onto the nearest part of Wade’s face, which happened to be his ear.
“Ugh, no,” said Wade. He stepped back. He had green goo caked in his hair, he was wearing one of Piotr’s bright yellow crop tops (which, on him, only just barely exposed his belly button), and he was going to stand right next to all the reasons why Nate should dump him post haste. This was a terrible idea.
But he was going to do it anyway.
“Thattaboy,” said Nate.
Hope had opened the door and was sticking her head into the hallway waiting for Aliya to make it up the stairs. Wade could hear the approach of high heels clicking on the floor.
“Hey, baby,” said Aliya, scooping Hope up for a kiss when she got to the door.
Hope squirmed and protested, “Moooom,” but also looked secretly pleased.
“Damn, son,” said Russell fervantly. He turned to Nate and help up a fist for a fist bump. “Respect.”
Nate glared at him and he lowered the fist with a shrug.
“Aliya, this is Wade,” said Nate, keeping a hand firmly around Wade’s waist.
“Wade, it’s so fucking good to finally meet you,” said Aliya. She pulled him out of Nate’s grasp easy-peasy and pressed a kiss to each cheek. “I am so fucking glad you dumbasses worked this out.”
OK, so this was already not going quite as Wade expected.
“Wait, what?” he said.
“Nate was a whiny little bitch for the entire final month of arbitration,” Aliya continued. “I mean, you want your divorce to be a bloodbath, am I right? Grind the souls of men under your Jimmy Choos? And here’s this sad bastard---” she flapped a perfectly manicured hand towards Nate who shrugged like fair cop, guv “---just barely holding back from openly weeping. Let me tell you, it is hard to grind the souls of men under your Jimmy Choos when the souls of men are soggy from UST.”
“...I can see that,” agreed Wade.
“I assume, given the horrifically blissful nonsense he’s been spouting recently, that you put him out of his misery,” she said. “Good on you.”
“Oh my god,” said Russell in awe. “She’s perfect.”
“Yes, well, I try,” said Aliya and winked at him.
“Nate, bruv, why the hell are you slumming it with Wade when you’ve got the game to pull someone like her?” asked Russell.
Wade closed his eyes. Trust Russell to just say it.
“Rude,” said Hope and smacked Russell’s shoulder. “Wade’s standing right there.”
Wade sighed. Better to bite the bullet or whatever. “No, he’s got a point,” he said, opening his eyes. “It is one of the mysteries of the ages.”
“See?” said Russell and stuck his tongue out at Hope.
“No, he doesn’t have a point,” said Nate, frowning. “I’m not ‘slumming it’ with you, Wade.”
“You really are,” said Wade, aiming for cheerful, “but I guess that’s just your major malfunction.”
“Wade,” said Nate, frown deepening. “I’m not.”
“Oooh, boy,” said Aliya. “Hope, baby, we’re leaving now.” She pointed towards Russell. “You. Whoever you are. You’re leaving too. We’re giving you a ride.”
“I don’t need a--” Russell started to protest, but Hope stepped on his foot. “OK, fine, drive me three blocks, see if I care.”
“Wade,” said Nate again, reaching out, but Wade ducked away from him.
“Do you wanna take your pizza home, Hope?” he asked. “I can go get it.”
Hope bit her lip, checked with her mom. “Yeah,” she admitted. When Aliya coughed loudly, she added, “Please?”
Wade closed the Hawaiian pizza box and handed it over.
She hugged his knees before taking the box from him. “You’re great, Wade,” she said fiercely.
“Yeah, I didn’t mean--” said Russell, guilty. “I was just--”
“Yeah, man, I know,” said Wade. “It’s all good.”
Russell nodded, relieved, and was herded out with Hope by Aliya.
“I’ll see you around, Wade,” said Aliya. “Keep your chin up.” Then, vaguely appalled at herself: “Ugh, boys.”
“Wade,” said Nate again, louder. “I’m not.”
Wade closed the door and rested his forehead against it briefly.
“Look,” he said without turning around, “I look like me and you look like you and those are the facts.”
“What facts?” asked Nate, coming closer. “Those are just sentences.” He wrapped his arms around Wade from behind. It was nice. Still didn’t change things.
“Here are some facts I know,” continued Nate after a long pause. “You’ve got all these people who love you and treat you like family and I had to build mine from the ground up.”
Wade tried to turn around then, but Nate was holding too tight. A little panicked tightly, even.
“And you’re clever and funny and nice in ways you don’t even notice,” Nate continued. “And everything in the world has conspired to make you mean and you just---you just won’t.”
“Excuse you,” said Wade around a damp catch in his throat, “I am plenty mean.”
“Yeah, and you’re sharp sometimes, and I never can predict what you’ll say next and, god, the lingerie--” said Nate and when Wade tried to turn again, Nate relaxed his grip enough to let him. “But me, I just always say the wrong thing and I never know how to put someone at ease and...and not everybody can see past the arm--”
“That arm is sexy,” interjected Wade wetly. “I will take so much offense if you say shit about that arm. Be warned.”
“From where I’m standing, you’re the one who’s slumming it with me,” Nate finished.
“That’s so dumb, though,” said Wade, fervently. “You’re the actual best.”
“See?” said Nate, like Wade was proving some part of that tirade of nonsense.“I love you, Wade.”
Wade blinked. He hadn’t even gotten to the point where he could even think the word “boyfriends,” without stuttering and here was Nate leveling up to the boss fight.
“Oh,” he said. Then: “Um.”
Nate grinned. “You don’t have to say it ba--”
“I love you,” said Wade in a rush. “I love you too,” he repeated, slower.
Nate looked gobsmacked.
“Just…” said Wade because a redirection was so very much in order. Wade was slowly building a tolerance for all the feelings Nate wanted to talk about, but it was slow going. Baby steps. “Just take me to bed, Mr. Feelings.”
“You love me?” asked Nate, delighted. “So am I your boyfriend now?” He was fishing, Wade knew he was fishing, but still.
“You’re definitely something,” said Wade. He meant it for a laugh, but the tone came out all wrong. It was all earnest and gooey instead.
Ugh. Feelings.