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Peter wakes up with Wade's arms around him and a dying need to pee. He groans softly when the hold Wade has around him only get tighter when he tries to pull out. "Wade, c'mon," he grumbles, efficiently pushing his elbow between his ribs. The dead weight that's Wade's body doesn't even flinch at the jab. "Seriously need to pee, dude," he tries again, only to get a huff of breath for his trouble.
Even wiggling himself over isn't getting him anywhere and soon, he can't even move anymore or else he's afraid he'd actually pee himself. And that is not happening.
He pressures his elbow deeper and deeper. Eventually, Peter feels Wade's face nuzzling into his ruffled hair and a disapproving noise signaling his rude awakening.
"'m tryin' to sleep," he slurs, but fortunately for Peter's poor bladder, he's freed from Wade's death grip, and not a second later, he scrambles up from the bed, groggily bumping his way into every piece of furniture - damn his spider-sense to hell - until he reaches the bathroom.
When he comes back, Wade appears to be death to the world. And isn't that sort of an ironic metaphor. Peter winces at his own pun. Not this early in the morning, please brain. Then he actually looks at the clock. Seven in the morning. Definitely too early. He yawns quietly, scratching an itch and arching his back, 'til he hears a satisfying pop.
"Hm, that's a nice picture to wake up to," he hears from the bed. His eyes open and land on wade's gloriously naked body. Not even the scars can make him look less appealing. They sort of actually add to it, truth be told. Peter smirks, bending his arms up in the air to hear wade whine ever-so-slightly.
"Fuck, baby boy, you look gorgeous," and it's not even the words that make him blush, but the way wade says them, all gruff and rumbly. He swears his voice is enough to give him a boner sometimes. Not that he needs one. Except he kind of wants it.
"Well, ditto," Peter says, closing the distance between him and the bed until he can lower himself next to wade to his obvious approval judging by how fast his strong hands come up to run up and down his sides. "You should see how good you look, Wade," he continues, almost out of breath. Wade hands on him always get that reaction out of him. Before Wade can say something derisive to his own account and ruin the mood, Peter bends down and claims his chapped lips.
He licks across his bottom one, leaving kisses up and down his jawline and neck, biting down tenderly on his collarbone, immediately smoothing the pain away with his tongue. Wade takes the ministrations with ease, even encouraging him to move lower or bite harder and Peter can't help but smile. It's been a long way coming for them, for Wade. Letting someone see him, touch him like this, Peter can't even guess how hard that was for him, but he's so glad Wade trusts him with this, with his body. God, does he love it and he shows Wade just how much by giving him the best head of his life.
"Your mouth is a blessing to this world, Pete," he says, after his brain starts to function properly again. Peter laughs, light and happy to have Wade so blown away - pun definitely intended. He comes up, laying his body next to Wade's pleasantly warm one, sighing as he feels arms wrap around him loosely. The same pair of chapped lips come down to smack a loud kiss on his cheek and he laughs again. "You're delusional," he giggles. Actually giggles. He's so far down he can't even understand how crazy that is. He's having Saturday-morning lazy coddling with his boyfriend, Wade Deadpool Wilson. Yes, that Deadpool. Crazy, right?
"I might actually be, but scratch that. Wanna... y'know, pay your debt or whatever is a Lannister always does," Wade mumbles in his ear, already drifting off to sleep again. Peter bites down on his bottom lip to contain his laughter this time. "Maybe later," and he pats Wade's hands, squeezing them just to reassure him that he means it. Wade nuzzles himself into the crook of his neck, kissing the pulse he finds there. "How did I even score you again," Wade mumbles again, before drowsing off. Peter's insides turn and twist into a heap of overly mushy feelings.
Crazy or not, he won't trade this for anything in the whole fucking world. Romantic bullshit cliches be damned.